the journal of literature and the arts at saint david ’ s school
nothing that a little fresh paint couldn ’ t fix . Little did I know , the broker was not to be trusted . He never mentioned the filthy mice , he never mentioned the revolting insects , but worst of all , he never mentioned anything about the dark past .
On the first day of moving in , I drove to the small market about a mile away to gather supplies for my new house . I pulled into the tight parking lot . The Greendale Market only sold the basics but had everything a person would need . Upon entering the market , the store clerk greeted me with a smile . “ Welcome . You look new here .” “ Well , I bought the dilapidated house on the hill . I ’ m hoping to fix it up real nice .” The store clerk leaned forward , and his eyes widened . “ That house has been vacant for years ,” he said in a concerned whisper . “ Is something wrong ?” I questioned . “ The baby . . . ” he stammered . He immediately became silent , but I pressed for more details . “ Whose baby ?” I asked . He looked at me hesitantly . “ The missing baby .” “ What missing baby ?” I beseeched . Then the clerk reluctantly filled me in on the ominous past of the house on the hill .
“ Twenty-three years ago , a young man and his wife happily lived in the house on the hill . They welcomed a baby into their life about a year after moving in . On October 31 , the baby disappeared without a trace . To this day the whereabouts of the baby are unknown .” His eyes diverted from my stare . He became silent again . “ What happened to the couple ?” “ So many questions have swirled through the town . Was it the nanny ?
Was it the father ? Was it the mother ? Was it the neighbor ? In the end , there
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