MISSING JAM
There was a general rule about leaving jam in the fridge that you did not. Unless it went in a specific cupboard before a certain time, there was little doubt in anyone's mind that it would soon go missing. At first, Y thought it was because there was another child in the house with a jam addiction, thinking back on her old friend B who had been obsessed with all sorts of jams during his time alive.
However, the further her time went on at Wammy's House, the more confused she became at the location of jams once she had found them. At first, it had started small. They were found half-eaten on tables and chairs, on window sills and other places that were easy for children to reach, and she thought the child had left it behind after having themselves a tasty snack.
As the days went on, and the November stretched into December, the location of the jams became more and more unusual. They would be found in high places that her short figure struggled to reach without a chair, then even stranger places. On the top of the fridge, on top of cupboards, in the linen cupboard on the top shelf.
She thought the child was certainly messing with her to put them in places she could not reach, giggling at the delight of seeing her actually struggle with something, having to ask Esmerelda or, in other circumstances, Roger to help her reach the jam.
Then there were places even children could not scale.
One time she had spotted a jam jar on the top of the light shade in the main hallway, then a rafter in the East Wing glinting down at her.
Half empty jam jars were left in locked rooms that were still locked by the time she had reached them. She had even found them in A's former room, which was certainly locked at all times.
"Just what is going on here?" She would think with crossed arms, growing increasingly puzzled by her experiences.
The only time she had issue with it was when the jam jar was left exposed to the elements and a mould appeared on the surface, or bugs managed to get inside. It was a waste of a perfectly good jar of jam, and there was nothing Y loathed more than wasted food. She would have to scrap the entire thing into the food waste bucket and think to herself that this child was proving increasingly troublesome.
A jam jar stared back at her.
She had just unlocked the door to her bedroom and saw it there by her bed side along with various notes that were covered in sticky red finger prints. She soon saw that the finger prints were too large to be that of a child and read the notes.
She would know that writing from anywhere. The scratchy, barely comprehensible chicken scratch of B's disturbed writing told her enough.
ENJOYING MY GAME?
She was not enjoying it at all. She quickly folded the notes, barely reading them, and tucked them into the drawer next to her bed.
She only turned away for a moment, but by the time she had turned back around the jam jar had vanished.
She found it three days later under her writing chair.