Hey guys, sorry I haven't updated in so long. I decided to take a break from writing for a while since my Dad recently passed away from cancer, but I going to get back into it now hopefully. Anyways hope you like it!
August 2, 1946
I woke to the cool, Cairnholm morning breeze dancing across my cheek, the only part of me not bundled up into my thick, brown blanket. As my eyes adjusted to being open I saw the peak of sunlight making its way through my window. I suddenly shot up as I remembered my plans for the day; this time I wouldn't be so careful as to stay on the beach path, but would instead venture into the woods to find that old children's home.
My glance shifted to the small desk the other end of the quaint room, on top of which held the blank papers I was meant to turn into an essay over the summer.
"Write about what makes you who you are, what has been and will continue to shape your wonderful young minds!" My rather eccentric Professor, Uther, spoke, waving his hands about as always.
It was my own fault that I had summer work to do, as I had indulged my father who had me skip several grades, but still I nearly passed by the stationary without so much as writing my name. That is, until the memory of my father's strict voice rang through my head, "It does not do to leave work until the last minute".
With a reluctant sigh I sat down on the dusty chair, which creaked loudly as I moved, and got to work. I pulled the dictionary out of my bag with a nod, start with a definition; that's always a good way to go.
"Family can be defined as a group of persons closely related by blood." the words rolled of my tongue as I tried my best to neatly write them.
I set the pencil down and begun to lightly tap the floor with my foot, taking in the smell of must which invaded the desk.
"And I agree with that? Wait no, I can't say that." I had begun to pace "Family is… important? Obviously! Genetics and nurture both play a part in… not nearly good enough." I gave up instantly, seeing that my inspiration to write anything was at a firm 0.
It was then, in the height of my frustration, a single blue feather drifted slowly down from my desk to the floor. I kneeled down to examine it, clutching the feather in my grasp and holding it close to my face while I squinted at it, something I surely picked up from my father.
"Peregrine feather" I spoke as my brows furrowed. It must have come in through my window during the night, but Peregrine birds never come this close to humans.
I remembered the Peregrine bird from yesterday, staring at me from an overhead tree branch with eyes wiser than any birds should be. I then thought of the caves which I had been exploring yesterday and became excited about seeing the children's home. My essay would just have to wait until tomorrow!
I picked my brown leather satchel form the floor, collecting the necessary items for my expedition like my mother's pocket watch, and, after some debate, the Peregrine feather for good luck.
Shoes turned out to be quite the dilemma, with the places I'd be trekking I needed boots, but the closest thing I had were my least fancy kitten heels, that, at least, wouldn't as easily show mud stains since they were black.
Despite the sun's appearance, I could already see clouds looming over the entirety of the island, with a promise for rain later. So over my typical silver dress I put on my forest green cloak and went off, leaving a note saying I'd join father back at the pub for dinner around seven.
I stopped to say hi to Mr. McGually, who was just opening up the pub to a few early risers.
"Where are you off to in such a rush?" he belched.
"Oh, I'm just going to the beach again I think" I smiled.
"You should really have something to eat before you go out to the 'beach'" Mr. McGually winked in between serving, "at least have some jam on toast, on the house."
"Thank you sir" I answered politely, but I hadn't really been paying attention. I was watching around the bar for the man I'd seen yesterday in hopes of getting some directions, as, 'the woods' were not quite specific enough.
Sure enough, a few moments after Mr. McGually brought me some toast, there was the old man, twirling his sunglasses around like the day before. So I picked up my plate and sat down to join him, once again, something of a scowl permanently etched into his features.
"Hello sir, how are you today?" the old man looked up, taking a great pause before responding.
"I'm wonderful, how are you?" he answered in a mocking tone, daring me to reply as if he cared.
"I don't mean to bother you; I'm Blakely, what's your name?"
"Arthur Baines"
"I was just wondering if you could tell me how to get to the old children's home?"
"You were actually serious about going?" the man paused, seeming to consider his options, "It's on the other side of the island, if you pass by Mr. Lithgow's sheep farm and continue to the north for about 20 minutes you should find your way. Just be careful."
"I will thank you!" I called over my shoulder, once again eagerly dashing out the pub door.
After around half an hour of searching, I finally came across the old children's home, and it didn't disappoint Mr. Baines horrific description as well as Mr. McGually's apparent fear.
Trees burst forth from broken windows and skins of scabrous vine gnawed at the walls like antibodies attacking a virus—as if nature itself had waged war against it—but the house seemed unkillable, resolutely upright despite the wrongness of its angles and the jagged teeth of sky visible through sections of collapsed roof.
Large, misshapen hedges popped out amongst the garden, which had grass nearly 3 feet tall due to lack of care. As I stepped closer though, I could look around the wreckage and begin to see parts of the children's life.
There was a soccer ball stuck inside an indented part of one of the larger hedges, that looked as if it was meant to be some creature but had been lost without trimming during the last few years. Venturing nearer, I edged into a room with plants right inside aided by the sunlight which could shine through the glass roof and walls.
The wooden floors creaked in protest as I took each step, whilst I quickly fell into a pattern of moving slowly and avoiding cracks as much as possible.
In the main house was a glass cabinet holding all types of wonderfully framed photos, untouched by disaster as if the bomb had forgotten it entirely. I hadn't been bothered by the 'ghost stories' about this house until I begun to examine each black and white image only to find the most peculiar things.
In one, a girl around my age floated several feet above the ground with a solemn look on her face, the rather large shoe in her right hand seeming to be the only thing keeping her from floating away.
The next looked even more bizarre, a swarm of bees took refuge all over a young boy about 10 years old, nearly covering him up entirely though the boy didn't look at all frightened.
There was something odd about the last photo that caught my eye, even amongst all the oddities of others, and compelled me to attempt grabbing it from its high shelf.
Carefully, I climbed from the chair to the cabinet's surface and took the photo from the very top, jumping down to examine it more thoroughly.
As soon as I saw it I couldn't help but to gasp out loud and tried not to drop the photo; in the photo stood a boy about 16 with a dashing smile and sophisticated suit, the same boy I could've sworn ran into me at the pub!
'But there's no way; that couldn't be!' my mind raced as Mr. Baines word's swam through my head "Not one survivor".
"Are you alright?" a voice came from the other side of the room. This time I did drop the photo as a whipped my head in the direction of the voice and saw none other than the man in the photo.
"This is not possible" I accidently spoke out loud, as the man gave me a confused look.
He took a step forward and I snapped; suddenly sprinting past him and out of the home, making my best attempt to jump and dodge rubble.
"Wait!" he shouted, but I only ran faster, past the beautiful green room and out of the wreckage that was once a children's home.
He obviously knew the land better than me, and seemed to be on the verge of catching up so I made a last minute turn in the direction of the beach; where I hoped to hide in one of the caves.
Immediately after getting to the caves I ducked into the first one, despite having not seen it there yesterday. Only a few steps in I could tell something was different, and suddenly all I could hear was a series of ticks, like a hyperactive clock.
For a minute I felt dizzy and lost my footing, landing with a thump onto the hard ground as the ticking noise made an abrupt stop.
At this point I was tired, confused and afraid all at once, so my instincts led me to conclude there was only one person I could go to for help: my dad. However, almost immediately after exiting the cave I could tell something was off: the day had completely changed from just a minute ago and the once gloomy sky had changed to reveille the bright shining sun, not a cloud in sight.
Disregarding my previous observation, I began once again sprinting; only I wasn't going to find my dad, I decided to circle back to the children's home since it was doubtful he would think I'd run back there.
It seemed as if everything had changed in the short time I'd gone into the cave, suddenly there were more people walking about, though, for some reason, it was mostly women. There was a more cautious air about the people though; a lingering worry that clouded what should've been a perfectly happy bunch of people.
I thought at this point nothing could surprise me, but after trudging once more through the bog, effectively ruining my heels, I had to blink a couple of times at the sight before me.
Gone were the treacherous vines all along the home, complete with a collapsed roof and various other forms of overgrown wildlife. In its place was an almost magical sight, with a little swing out front and a hedge in the shape of an elephant, a structure which could only be described using the word home.
For the third time in less than 48 hours of being on this island I found a Peregrine bird at an almost alarmingly close distance. It elegantly swooped down from a large tree, and landed right in front of me; turning its head sideways as if it was giving me a thorough examination.
Then, without warning, the bird shot up from the ground, flapping wings about as its shape begun to change…