MEETING WITH A GHOST FROM MY PAST

About 6 month after my arrival at the Wammy's House. I was barely 8. I got completely used to this strange orphanage. Indeed, know (or remember, according to who you are), that Wammy's children aren't like what we could call « regular children ». Besides the fact that most of these children had fags, or a peculiar personality and way to act, they were, before anything else, highly intelligent. Geniuses.

For those who may don't kow what kind of institution the Wammy's house is, it's an orphanage created to welcome gifted children. An orphanage founded for one, and only one person, L.

Well, more precisely, the Wammy's Houses exists for one goal : find a successor for L, the best detective of this century. Consequently, in addition of our « regular » classes, we had yo study criminology, sociology and we had simulations of criminal investigations. At the end of all of those classes, we were evaluated and then ranked. You may think that's unwholesome to put so young children in competition. That totally was. But we didn't take care at that time. The most important for Wammy's Children was to reach the top of the ranking. Higher they were, more chances to success to L one day.

You may ask at which place I was. In fact, succeeding to L wasn't my goal at all. Firstly because if I managed doing great things with my brain, I would like it to be in my name. Secondly, because taking the place and the name of someone, doing like he had never existed, disturb me a lot.

We all deserve to have our proper life and name.

But even if I didn't want to become L, I found my life goal there, at the Wammy's House. I wanted to be an investigator, the same kind L was. But as me, as S. And with all the means I'll have, I'll be able to search for my brother, wherever he was.

But let's come back to the story. As I said earlier, it's been 6 months since I arrived at the orphanage. As it was previously mentioned, I got used to the life at the Wammy's. I was spending the most of my time in "my" attic. I was writing and reading a lot. I've always liked to write. That's partly why I'm writing this diary. But above all, I played a lot to chess. I like this game because it revealed itself very useful in my investigations. Of course, at that time, they weren't real, I was only 8. Chess are helpful for structuring strategies. I moved the pieces according to the actions of the criminal. Doing so, I was able to know about the psychology of the criminal I was working on, and I could know by advance what he was going to do.

As I said before, everything at the Wammy's was simple, and my life was very monotonous. So, I couldn't know that that day, the 21th of July 1995 would be a huge upheaval in my routine life. After all, that day began just like all the others before it I went at class for the first four hours of the morning, where I heard new rumours about « the ghost of the attic », which would be one of « Backup » victims.

I really wondered who that boy was. In addition to his « rebel » reputation, children thought he was certainly a murderer. And I was curious about what Fire said to me a few month ago, on the fact I looked like him. Well, he didn't say it as clearly, but he confounded me with him.

After the course, I went to the refectory to take the jar of jam that Roger used to put aside especially for me. I liked him, he was very nice with me, even if he wasn't very comfortable with children.

Then, I returned to my attic to finish the reading the five books I had to sum up for the French class. When I came out to give back the books to the library, I saw behind and ajar door a beautiful Grand Piano taking stage in a wide music room. I've always loved music. My mother used to play piano a lot when I was young. And she taught me a little before she died. Even if she couldn't teach me a lot, I remember everything I learnt from her. I was only four but I remember of everything. Sometimes I would like to curse my memory. That capacity to remind of everything, to never forget anything was sometimes like torture for me. Because we all have some parts of our life we would like to forget. But I couldn't, even if I wanted to. Hypermnesia. I know it's not a disease, but sometimes, it was so for me.

Once again, I got caught in my memories. The memory of my mother playing the piano overwhelmed me. I sat in front of the instrument and began to play. Even if I was able to talk quite early in my life, I've always had difficulties to express myself and my feelings with words. Music was one of my ways of expression. I could transcript my feelings with words.

I didn't see the passing of time, and suddenly, a supervisor interrupted me and took me out of my thoughts.

"S ?". I turned my head nonchalantly. "It's late, you should go to sleep. Come, I'll lead you to your room.

- No, thanks, I can go there by myself." I said calmly but firmly to make understand to her to let me alone. Indeed, even if I didn't spend to much time in my room, I could find it by myself. Moreover, I didn't want anyone to know that I lived in the attic.

I remember well of this night. I was a calm spring night. As often, I was sitting on the padded edge of my window and I was admiring the moon and the stars, as I liked to do with my brother some years ago.

Later in the night, I heard noises behind the door. More precisely, I heard footsteps. Drawling but very soft steps. A sound that, I didn't know why, was very familiar to me. In fact, this evening wasn't the first one when I heard someone walking behind the door of my attic, without never coming inside though. What did that person expect to find? "Officially", this room has always been empty. It just had these rumours about a ghost, a lost soul haunting this place. Did that person believe in this? That would be stupid and childish. Despite my opinion on these gossips, I've never denied them; ghosts usually afraid children, and if they were afraid, they wouldn't try to come and break my precious tranquillity.

Suddenly, a sound caught my attention. Or precisely, an absence of sound caught my attention. Maybe because the prowler went away, I thought. But if it was so, I would have heard him drawing away. So he was still there, maybe waiting for something, a noise, a sign which would prove the fact that the attic is occupied. If it was that, he could wait for a long time; I didn't intend to betray myself as easily.

But suddenly, the door opened. I didn't bat an eyelid. I stayed still, looking at the nocturnal sky. I was thinking about the possible identity of the invader. Who, besides Roger, was sure about my presence here to the point of entering?

"Tch, I was hearing rumours that said there was a ghost here, it amused me, so I came to have a look, but if I knew that was you..."

Bluntly, I froze on spot. That voice...that soothing voice that I wanted to hear again so much.

Slowly, I turned over. And what I saw root me on spot. It was like I was seeing myself into a mirror. Those raven like hair, those blood pearls instead of eyes…

That was him.

"Beyond..." I whispered. My voice stayed caught in my throat. That really was my brother.

"Feasgar math* Shadow". I shivered. It's been months since I've heard someone calling me by my real name. And years since I heard my mother tongue. And hearing both in the mouth of the person I liked te most in the world filled me with happiness.

I've finally found him. And, in a rush of immense joy, I threw myself in his arms in an embrace he gave me back.

For the first time since my life exploded with the death of my parents, I truly felt happy.

* "Good evening" in Scottish Gaelic