Chapter 34
SOPHIA
I rarely ventured into my dad’s bedroom.
He said it was off limits. Always. He said I had no need to go in there, which was true before I found out he could be hiding something; something that could explain the origins of John Hammel and The Hanging Tree curse.
Now, his room potentially held the answers.
Somehow, he knew more than he was letting on.
I had always taken my dad’s word as gospel.
What he said was the truth in my eyes, but things had changed.
I no longer trusted him. I needed to know more.
Since finding John’s things hidden in our old house, I was more convinced than ever that my dad and, quite possibly, some of the village committee members were covering something up.
But what?
I needed to find that book.
I was surprised to find my dad’s bedroom door wasn’t locked.
More fool him, I suppose. He trusted me not to enter, which meant my betrayal would hurt him all the more if he ever found out I’d trespassed into his personal space.
I had my own rules with my bedroom too. He always had to knock and wait for me to respond before entering.
He was never allowed in there if I wasn’t there.
It was to protect both of us, not only him.
The moment I stepped foot into his room, the hairs on the back of my neck tingled, like my body knew what I was doing was wrong, and I had to watch my back. He was away. For now. But for how long was still up for debate.
Right. Time to search.
If I were hiding a secret book in my bedroom, where would I hide it?
I started with his wardrobe, chest of drawers and bedside cabinet. Clothes. More clothes. And medicine, some dirty magazines (gag – may need trauma counselling now) and general random items, like phone chargers and an old watch.
I checked under the bed, but there was nothing there except dust bunnies. The room was carpeted and I couldn’t see any loose threads or evidence of the carpet being pulled up in a corner. I stood with my hands on my hips, scanning the whole room from top to bottom, left to right.
I couldn’t see him hiding the book anywhere else in the house. This room was the only room I wasn’t allowed in, so it made sense he would hide it in here.
The bed.
It looked higher than the average bed.
The mattress was almost waist height on me. Could be because he was getting old and struggling standing up out of bed in the morning, or it could be because he was hiding something underneath it. I pulled up the duvet which draped over the edge, covering the base of the bed.
Bingo.
There, underneath the mattress, the base of the bed had a small handle. I grabbed hold and lifted, but the weight of the mattress was too much for me. I struggled, unable to shift it. I had to push the mattress half off the base before it enabled me to lift the lid up.
Inside were more clothes. It was an extra storage space, but I knew I was nearing the final reveal. I could sense it. Smell it. I pulled the clothes out, keeping them as neat as possible until I found a second handle beneath them.
I was so close.
So close.
But then … the lid was locked.
‘Dammit,’ I said in a whisper.
Clearly, my dad was stupid enough to not lock the bedroom door, but he was smart enough to lock the actual hiding place under the bed. I needed his set of keys; the ones he kept on his person twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.
It was time for me to get resourceful.