Chapter One
Annemarie Havenston stared up at the creepy mansion. At twenty years old, it stood in the middle of nowhere, looking like a piece of junk.
I have to live here? Annemarie thought with pure disgust. She thought of her old house, in a nice neighborhood where everybody was everybody else's best friend. All the girls on her street were Annemarie's best friends. Now she was all alone.
"Annemarie Elizabeth Havenston, get your butt over here and help us!" Mrs. Havenston demanded as she lifted a carton from the U-Haul truck parked in the gravel driveway. Annemarie turned away from the crumbly building as her mother handed her a carton labeled ANNEMARIE'S BOOKS.
As Annemarie entered the house, she looked around. The den was to her right, the dining room to her left. Down at the very end of the hall stood another door, but there were no other doors in between it and the other rooms. That's strange, thought Annemarie as she followed her mother up to the second floor. A whole bunch of rooms were up here. The first door on the left was Annemarie's. She guessed the others were going to be used for guest rooms and for her mother's publishing and her father's art.
"Mom, why did we get such a huge house?" Annemarie asked incredulously. It seemed strange to own such a big mansion when just three people were living in it.
Mrs. Havenston looked strangely at her daughter. "Didn't Dad tell you?" she asked. Annemarie screwed up her face and looked at her mother.
"Your cousin Lucy-May is coming to live with us along with Kory and Merideth. Remember them? They're your cousins on my side."
Annemarie thought for a second. She did remember Kasey, Taylor, Kory, and Merideth—but not Lucy-May.
"Hey, Mom," Annemarie said suddenly, "Can I explore the house?"
"Sure, sweetie." Mrs. Havenston mumbled. She was studying a picture book and smiling to herself.
Annemarie strutted downstairs. She was about to look at the den, but the "lonely door" caught her eye. She walked over to it and tried the doorknob.
The door swung open with a creak.
Annemarie glanced up. A splintering-looking staircase stood before her. She put her foot on the first stair. Creak.
Annemarie glanced up again. Oh, please, please, please don't let Mom hear me! she prayed as she climbed the staircase. Another door stood in her way. With a loud, disturbed sigh, Annemarie pushed open the second door. This one opened up right away, too.
Annemarie now faced a large room with wooden ceiling beams. She was obviously in the attic.
Annemarie coughed. There was so much dust. Quickly, she glanced around the room. Nothing but empty cartons…except for a small, semi-thick object lying on the floor. Annemarie crept closer and picked it up. It was a book, no smaller than a mouse pad.
It wasn't just any book, though. It was a diary, written in Spanish.