I knew I was going to miss living out on the west coast, and that it was going to take some getting used to. I loved living right by the ocean, and I LOVED the ocean. So, when I found out my dad lost his job I was very upset, and then knowing I had to leave my school and all of my friends, I was crushed. My little sister didn’t even know what was going on, she was five, and she was always so happy. Her name is Alex. I never knew what was going on inside of her head. Maybe unicorns and rainbows, that’s what five year olds think about right? Anyway, I just wished I could be as happy as her all the time, especially through all this moving crap. My dad worked hard for us though, and he worked long hours so we could have a nice house right on the beach, so I knew we would be fine. My mom was just as upset as me. She was a middle school teacher, and she loved her job. She is such an enthusiastic and positive person, she made it seem like this was going to be a good thing, but I didn’t fall for any of her lies. I could tell she didn’t really want to move either because she, like me, loved living in California. He already had arrangements for another job though, but it was in Pennsylvania, 2,000 miles away. Oh yeah, and we left the next day.
When we arrived at our new home just outside of Philadelphia I was kind of confused.
“We are living in this dump?” I blurted out. My parents gave me the “glare of death”. Of course my mother responded with EXACTLY something she would say.
“Well Drew, some people aren’t fortunate enough to even have a home, so be thankful,” My mom paused a moment,” However, this house is only temporary until we can earn enough money to buy a new house. It might be a year or so.”
The house was really old, like REALLY old. I was convinced that it was 500 years old but my dad told me that was bologna. The stairs creaked like crazy when I walked up them but it seemed like the floorboards creaked even when no one walked on them. There was dust everywhere, like no one had been here in a LONG time. Every time I walked outside neighbors who were riding their bikes, running, or even just sitting outside looked at me like I was crazy. I absolutely hated the place.
Two weeks after we moved, I had started school, gotten settled, but still didn’t have any friends. Everyone at my school just looked at me like my neighbors. I heard kids whispering things like:
“The new kid lives in the old Jones’ house.”
“His family must be crazy.”
“Poor kid.”
I had no clue what they were talking about until a few days later…
The story went like this: There was a family 20 years ago that used to live in the house. They were called the Jones’. It was a big family with seven kids, four girls and three boys. The father hated the mother and his family and was very abusive. One night, he choked the mother to death after an argument they had. The children tried to get away but it was too late for all but one, the youngest son got away. The father got put away for life. That sentence somehow shortened to 18 years, after he convinced everyone that he had recovered from that craziness, and was a “man of god” now. After the death of almost his whole family, the son had post traumatic stress disorder and was crazy in the head.
When we figured out the Jones father had gotten out of jail a week ago, my sister had already been gone for two days. It all happened on a windy fall morning. It was Sunday. When I walked in her room to wake up it was very cold. but when I went to wake her up, just like I do every morning she was gone. I thought maybe she was already up and out of bed but her window was broken and glass was all over the floor. That’s why it was so cold. Something was not right.
“MOM!” I screamed desperately. “Alex is gone!”
She ran in the room followed my father. They scanned the room and she saw all the glass on floor.
“Her blanket is in the grass outside the window,” my mother said very quietly.
My father called the cops and reported a kidnapping. He was scared. My mother was too. I was scared. My five-year old little sister was kidnapped. What do we do? When the police showed up, we were panicked, and they tried to calm us down.
“My daughter has just been kidnapped from our OWN home. Tell me, how in the world am I supposed to remain calm?” My father yelled in despair.
My mother gave him a hug for reassurance, but I don’t think it helped much.
We figured out that after the Jones father had gotten out of jail, he moved a few doors down from us. The police already knew that so they took him for questioning. He had an alibi, that multiple people confirmed, so they let him go. He was at church.
“Maybe he isn’t so crazy anymore,” I told my parents. Of course, they gave me that “are you dumb” look again.
Weeks passed and we began to lose all hope. Until one day the police knocked on our door and told us that there might be a lead on my sister. The Jones father had gotten a suspicious note from someone. It read: Tomorrow night at 10:00 sharp, I want to meet you at the Lakewood Cemetery. If you don’t show up, a little child will be hurt, or worse. If you really have changed, then I will see you at 10.
The guy who wrote the note is the one who took my sister. I knew it, and so did my parents.
The next day, my father walked over to the Jones father’s house and knocked on the door. I was peeking through the open window from my house. My dad had told him he better meet the guy who wrote the note tonight because that child could be Alex, his daughter. He kept yelling and by the end he started crying, and Mr. Jones calmed him down saying he is going to go.
The police surrounded the cemetery right before the meeting. Mr. Jones had walked in the cemetery at 10pm. He didn’t see any sign of anyone. He walked around for a few minutes until he saw his wife’s grave. And all of his kids’. Then his last living son popped out behind the mother’s grave… with the little girl.