A Season For Secrets

Serena hadn’t meant to snoop.

After dinner, her mom gave her the go-ahead for her to bring the Christmas ornaments down from the attic. As she climbed the wooden ladder, her heart swelled with the spirit of the holidays. She loved unwrapping the ornaments and hanging them on the branches, each one a memory.

It took Serena a few minutes to locate the boxes labeled XMAS Decor. But just as she reached for them, something caught her eye.

Tucked into a far corner, buried underneath a layer of dust was a locked leather journal. Curiosity got the best of her, and she stuffed the find underneath her sweatshirt and then carried the decorations downstairs.

The scent of pine greeted her as she placed the boxes next to the tree. Her dad had just finished stringing the multi-colored lights, and her mom was in the kitchen fixing her signature peppermint hot chocolate for the occasion. Serena was an only child and decorating the tree together was a family tradition.

“Be right back,” Serena dusted off her palms. In the bathroom connected to her pastel pink, floral-adorned bedroom, she opened the cabinet underneath the marble sink. She wedged the journal behind the furry pink make-up bag her aunt had gifted her on her twelfth birthday last July. Serena then made a show of flushing the toilet and washing her hands. She couldn’t wait to pick the lock later and discover what was inside.

Her family hummed Christmas tunes as they put the finishing touches on the six foot tree, but all Serena could think about was the journal. Whose was it? Why was it locked? Did it belong to one of her parents? Or was the notebook already there when they bought the house. Serena’s dad was a corporate attorney at Honeywell. She couldn’t picture him keeping a journal. Her mom, on the other hand, was an interior designer. She was always jotting ideas down in a notebook. Maybe that’s all it was—a book filled with plans for a project.

“Sweetheart, you’re unusually quiet. What’s going on in that little brain of yours?” She brushed a strand of strawberry blonde hair from Serena’s face.

“Nothing.” She shrugged. “Just thinking about which dress to wear to church tomorrow.” Pillars of the Charlotte community, her family rarely missed church.

“Don’t forget. We’re headed to Aunt Aggie’s for lunch after the service.” Agatha was mom’s sister and Serena’s favorite aunt.

Serena nodded. Maybe she could ask her aunt about the journal tomorrow.

Dad topped the tree with the star that had belonged to her grandparents and flipped on the lights. Serena gasped with delight and then yawned.

“Go get ready for bed, little girl. Your dad and I will be in to tuck you in a few minutes.”

“Mom,” Serena groaned. “I’m too old for that. You guys act like I’m five.”

“And don’t forget to brush your teeth.” Her mom said as Serena marched toward her room.

Serena quickly retrieved the journal and a flashlight from her bedside table and tucked them under her pillow. Remembering that she’d need something to unlock it with, she fetched a pair of nail scissors from the bathroom drawer.

She’d just climbed under the covers when her parents arrived.

“Night, night.” Her dad kissed her forehead. “Tree turned out good.”

“Best one yet.” Serena smiled, as she repeated their annual ritual.

Her mom tucked the covers under the mattress and kissed her cheek. “Sweet dreams,” she said before she turned off the light.

Serena counted to one hundred before she reached under her pillow and turned on the flashlight. From underneath the tent of covers the light gave off an eerie glow. After three attempts with the scissors, the lock burst open. She let out a small squeal of delight before she opened the pages. Little did she know her whole world was about to change. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

It’s done. They’re dead, and I’m not sorry. I’m a fool to write these words, but I can’t help it. If anyone ever discovers this journal, I’ll be incarcerated for life. But they won’t. I’ve promised myself that I’ll get rid of it as soon as I get the words on the paper. I just need to process what happened and then let it go. Go back to being the perfect couple everyone thinks we are. Pillars of the community. Volunteers. Generous. Hah! What a farce. People like that don’t kill people.

Serena dropped the book. Her hands shook. The handwriting was undoubtably her mother’s. Her parents had killed someone? No way. This had to be a joke. Her stomach fluttered and with trepidation she returned to the page.

The couple killed Chandler’s parents with no remorse, a robbery gone bad. All for what? Jewelry and a few televisions?

She knew the grandparents she’d never met had been murdered. Serena read on.

The cops were reluctant to arrest them because of the lack of evidence, but it was a botched investigation. Chandler was incensed and so was I. Mitch and Anna were such sweet people. They treated me like a daughter, and they would have been great grandparents. Neither one of us could sleep as the days wore on without an arrest. So, we formed a plan, it was perfect, really. They lived in a trailer park on the outskirts of town. Their trailer backed up to the woods. After midnight we hooked a generator to their window’s air conditioner’s unit and pumped carbon dioxide into their home. The generator and us were gone the next morning and the couple was dead. And now the rage that I felt has been replaced with guilt and shame. Chandler’s sleeping again, but I’m still struggling. Dear God, I hope you’ll forgive me, and I hope my in-laws are resting in peace knowing that their murders have been avenged. I guess I

The entry stopped there, like she’d been interrupted and hadn’t had the chance to finish. After I closed the journal and then tossed and turned a plan formulated in my head. Although my dad had always encouraged me to tell the truth, the truth would destroy my family. The entries in the journal were only two pages long. Slowly, I cut them up and tossed them in the toilet and flushed them away. I was finishing the job my mom had not. I’d put the journal bank in the attic after I took the decorations upstairs. When I hit the flush handle, I felt like I’d aged ten years.