Silver Diary

Sarah sought refuge atop the roof outside of her bedroom window. She does this often in an attempt to escape the constant yelling coming from the living room downstairs. This time her mother was losing her mind over a text message John received from “some skank.” Other times they argued about Sarah and her “shit attitude,” according to John. But most of all they fought over drugs. Most of the yelling was over who did the last of it. Followed by who would be going out to get more and finally, who would be paying for it. This has been Sarah’s reality for the past three years, ever since John came into the picture. Before him, Sarah and her mother were perfectly happy alone, yet together.

She liked to let her mind wander while peering into the many apartments visible from her rooftop. Each window a portal into a different life that she could be living. Some seemed so much better than her current life. Like the charming family of four that always had a beautifully decorated tree every christmas. Other portals actually seemed worse somehow, though it was hard to believe any life could be worse than hers. Her favorite set of windows belongs to a stunning twenty something. She has plants lining her window sills in colorful pots. Unique artwork on every visible wall. Mirrors, tapestries and mood lighting throughout her apartment. She always had candles burning and new age blues echoing out into the city. Sarah could see she had a lot of friends. The girl was free. This is the life Sarah pretended was hers while escaping her own on the rooftop.  

Apart from the many rows of windows surrounding Sarah, there was no view of the city from her perch. She could only hear it. The never ending sirens, obnoxious bass from rattling trunks passing by, people laughing, babies crying, even other arguments from other broken homes vibrated the night. It was all so overwhelming. The yelling from inside her own home had finally ceased. Now Sarah sought refuge from the city itself by climbing back inside her window and lying face down on her bed. Now what? She thought to herself. She was thirsty, but It was still too soon to leave the safety of her bedroom. 

Sarah decided to kill some time by going through her closet. She pulled out old photo albums put together by her mother when Sarah was younger. Full of images she no longer wishes to perceive. She found tattered stuffed animals from her childhood, and dismantled board games missing most of their pieces. An erratic spider startled her. It caused her to stumble backwards, bumping her head on the inside wall of her closet. Bits of horse hair plaster fell away upon impact. After assessing herself for any signs of real injury, Sarah found a flashlight to assess damage done to the wall.  

“What is that?” she whispered inquisitively as something glinted from behind the broken plaster. 

Breaking away just enough to reveal what was hidden, Sarah discovered a small wooden door with silver inlay. She brushed away dust with her finger tips. The thin silver swirled like vines upon the door. Chills ran throughout her whole body. This old house had many interesting characteristics, like the stone wall dirt basement or the original claw-foot tub that was well over one hundred years old, but this is something extraordinary. Sarah could feel the door beckoning to her. “Just open it,” an ethereal voice uttered from inside of Sarah's head.

Without much hesitation Sarah opened the door. leaning flat against the wall was a book. It was even more enticing than the door. With even less hesitation she removed the book from its hiding place. It too was silver with a similar pattern of symmetrical vines. Underneath the book's silver cage jacket was leather wrapped in deep purple silk. A metal clasp held the silver tipped pages secure between the covers. Sarah stood and relocated to the edge of her bed. She opened the clasp to find, just the first page contained writing. The rest of the book was blank. The entry was dated, May 11th 1860.

Dear Diary,

I am absolutely delighted with my new room. Our house is the most magnificent in all of Manchester. I hope I am able to make a friend by the weeks end. Father insists on employing a governess for my education, so school will not be an option. I am just so deeply lonely ever since we left England. The only soul I have to confide in is my nursemaid Lucia. It is a bit ridiculous that I still have a nursemaid. My Fifteenth birthday is in but a few days. However, I would be devastated to lose Lucia. She truly is my only friend, though she is more of a mother to me. I miss mamma and with father so busy at the mills I fear to see even less of him. Other than Lucia I have, you diary, to confide in. You make an excellent companion. Not to mention the most elegant diary I have ever seen. I absolutely love my early birthday present! ‘Tis all for now, I must retire. More to come in the morrow.

Sarah closed the diary and gazed out her window into the city. How had this remained untouched in the wall for one hundred and sixty years? What happened to the girl, why hadn't she written in her diary again? What was her name? Sarah was positive of one thing, her mom or John could never find this book. She would never see it again. Judging by how old it is and the context of the first entry, it is highly likely to be real silver. Sarah decided to keep it as her own diary, she could never sell it. Before hiding it away again behind its silver door she wrote, Who are you? on the next blank page. Then finally traveled downstairs for a cup of water.

*** 

At school the next day Sarah could only think of the diary. So badly she wanted to know why the girl had only written one entry. She searched her address in 1860 on the internet during computer class, but nothing about who lived in her house came up. Just old pictures and a short description of who built it. A wealthy entrepreneur, Everett Mckay. He was the owner of the largest cotton mill in the world containing over 4,000 looms. He came to America from England and owned many other mills in Manchester, New Hampshire. 

“He must have been her father!” she announced aloud. 

Some of her classmates gave her sideways glances, while others snickered at her awkward display. Sarah felt her cheeks burn. Turning back to her computer, she continued her search but discovered nothing more. 

While walking home from school, she thought of one last thing to try. Sarah made her way to the city library. Maybe she could find something in the digital archives of historical newspapers about the girl. For the first time in a long time, she felt some purpose. How exciting, she thought to herself as she started up a computer. Sarah typed, Manchester NH 1860, in the search bar. She found extensive articles covering the arrival of Abraham Lincoln. One article states President Lincoln visited Amoskeag Mill and shook the hands of many workers. She searched Everett Mckay, but found nothing on the mystery girl. Finally she typed, Dufort Street 1860. 

There she was.

Daughter of the aristocratic businessman Everett Mckay. Emma Mckya, fifteen years old perished in a fire while sleeping in her room on June 11th 1860. Probably started by candle flame. The fire was extinguished in time to save the home, but poor Emma died from carbon monoxide poisoning. Her only diary entry was a month before her death. The article spoke of her mother that died the year before, complications from pneumonia. 

How tragic, Sarah sighed. It felt as if she lost a friend. At least the mystery is solved, sort of. This discovery does not explain why she had not written in her diary for a month before she died. Or how the diary was still in the wall after all that time. Her room was once on fire, it was obviously restored. Sarah suddenly took notice that the library was all but vacant. Snatching up her school bag, she made her way home. Maybe John was not there. When her mother was alone she was different. Almost like a mother again.

***

Sarah could hear John’s muffled contentious voice while she waited for the best opportunity to enter her home. Cautiously she pushed open the front door and dashed up the stairs to avoid any interaction with him. Despite her impressive attempts at invisibility, Sarah heard a soft voice emanate from the bottom of the stairs.

“Sarah is that you?”

“Yes mom, sorry I was at the library.”

“Bullshit, library my ass,” John scoffed from the couch.

“I’m going to bed, see you tomorrow mom.”  

“Okay honey.” 

Sarah despises the way her mother always sounds so lethargic. Slipping into her room she slowly closed the door and prayed nothing more would materialize from the foul mood that John was in. Sarah studied the moonlit bedroom. Shadows held so many dark secrets from years past. This is where Emma died. The thought made her hair stand on end. Promptly she pulled a metal chain hanging from a sconce to illuminate her room. The diary called to her. It pulled Sarah in like a moth to a flame. She removed it once again from its place of hiding and opened to Emma’s entry.

May 12th 1860. 

Wait. She turned back one page where the original entry still was. On the next page, written just below Sarah’s own handwriting was a new entry. This is impossible. Her mind raced, was she going insane? This was blank before, she was positive.

My name is Emma Mckay. 

Read the first line of the new entry. Sarah’s heart was beating so fast she feared it might stop, but every fiber of her being urged her to read on.

I must confess It is a bit strange that my diary has asked me a question. I was a bit taken back, but then decided, where is the harm? I have wished for a new friend. The origins of you, diary, are mysterious at best. My father paid a gipsy girl handsomely to obtain you. For all I know this is magic, and hopefully not black magic. To test my theory, I too will ask you one question. Who are you? 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” Sarah flew across her bedroom to fumble around on her desk in search of any working pen. She tried as best she could to steady her hand. 

My name is Sarah Taylor. I live in your house, but the year is 2021. I don’t know if this is black magic or not. I am freaking out! I found this diary behind a wooden door with silver decoration in my closet yesterday. I wrote the question.

Sarah closed the diary and fashioned the clasp. She waited sixty agonizing seconds before turning back to the page anticipating a response. Nothing. Sarah thought for a moment, what could the rules for a magic diary be, do I have to wait a day? Or, she jumped up with an epiphany, the door. She placed the diary back and shut the door. This time she waited only a few seconds before checking for a response. Emma had written back!

This is beyond all possibility! I had just placed my diary back in the wall moments ago before finding your response. I thought for certain someone was playing a trick on me. This is absolutely magnificent. You must tell me more, tell me all about you and the year 2021. 

Sarah had never felt more alive. For the next several hours the two unsuspected friends shared every element of each other's lives. She was surprised that Emma, despite being very wealthy, was incredibly lonely as well. Sarah divulged her relationship with her mother and the unfortunate state she was consistently in. She spoke of her hatred for John, and his abusive nature she endures daily. They confessed their dreams, they admitted their fears. Emma was able to outline all of life in 1860 with a surprisingly small amount of words while Sarah took up three pages in an attempt to explain just social media. Emma was quite puzzled how anyone could ever be lonely with that kind of technology. 

Three weeks had gone by in a flash. At every possible opportunity the girls connected through the diary. Sarah knew she had to tell Emma about the fire. To learn of your own death has to be exceptionally disheartening. But she had to tell her, this information will save Emma’s life. So, Sarah wrote to her friend.

Dear Emma,

I have something very serious to tell you. I found a news article from June 1860. The accident is in just a few days from you now. I don’t want to scare you, please believe me. The article states that you die from carbon monoxide poisoning when a fire breaks out in your room on June 11th. It happens while you are sleeping. So that could mean in the morning or maybe you were taking a nap or just during the night. Please, stay out of your room on June 11th and do not light any candles. I don't want to lose you.

Sarah promptly returned the diary to the magic door. After a few seconds, she removed it to find no response. She continued to check for any reply from Emma throughout the day. Had she offended her? What if something happened and Emma did not get her message. She feared the worst. All Sarah could do is wait. She felt increasingly helpless as the day went on. I should have told her right away, she thought to herself. If she dies now, it will be my fault.

***

The night before June 11th Sarah sat on the roof outside of her bedroom window. She no longer peered into other windows searching for a better life. Whatever slim chance she had at happiness felt forever out of reach. Emma never wrote back, but that no longer bothered Sarah. Two nights ago her mother passed away from an overdose. Sarah was alone, but much worse, John was her legal guardian. She had no family to speak of. One last time Sarah wrote to Emma.   

 Dear Emma,

I don’t know if you will read this. At this point I may just be writing in a diary. My mom died. I don’t know what to do. I can’t stop crying. I can’t feel my body anymore, I'm completely numb. John has custody of me. I have to get away. Tomorrow morning I will check for a reply one more time, but then I will be gone. I hope you don’t die in the fire Emma, I am sorry. I miss you.

Sarah woke up just as the sun found its way through the maze of buildings surrounding her old house. She packed a bag, ate some breakfast, and went to her closet one last time. Sarah reached for the enchanted door, but felt only a wall. She stepped into her closet to investigate further. The door underneath the broken plaster had vanished along with the silver diary inside. Sarah stood utterly defeated in her closet and wept. She collapsed to her knees with her head in her hands and forced out all the agony that plagued her for so long, until her lungs burned for oxygen.

As Sarah laid in her closet, there was a knock at the front door. She pulled herself together as best she could. The last thing she needed was for John to wake up. Sarah picked up her bag full of what was left of her life and went to answer the door. 

“Hello,” a lovely woman said as she pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head. “I am looking for a Miss Sarah Taylor.”

“That’s me,” Sarah replied, half expecting the woman to be a social worker.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she sighed. “My name is Rebecca Dionne. I believe you know a relative of mine.” The woman reached into her shoulder bag. Sarah gasped. Rebecca held Emma’s diary in her hand. 

“I have one question for you... who was she?” 

Sarah’s heart skipped two beats as she reached for the silver diary. “Emma Mckay,” she uttered.

Rebecca smiled. “Read the last entry.”

Dear Sarah,

The year is 1940. I am an old woman now. Very old, 95 to be frank. I have never forgotten you. If all goes to plan this old diary will find its way to you in the nick of time. I got your message, and it did saved my life. Now I am in debt to save yours. The fire was inevitable, but my death was escapable thanks to you. Everything that I am, everything that is because of my existence, it is all thanks to you. The person standing before you is alive, because of you. Go with her, or him now. I know of your mother’s passing. I know John is your legal guardian now and you are living in hell. I have made arrangements and passed this old diary on to each generation. You deserve to be happy, this is my wish for you Sarah. Live well my friend.

Sarah looked up from the diary with tears in her eyes. Rebecca held Sarah’s hand and led her down the front steps to where an armored Mercedes Benz sat idling. Rebecca then took both of Sarah’s hands in hers.

“One more question, are you ready for the rest of your life?”