Secrets Never Known

AnnaBelle stared at her reflection in the mirror curiously. Her eyebrows knitted together and a frown made its way to her lips. She leaned closer to the mirror, bringing her hands up as she did so. Her fingers plucked at the skin of her cheeks and below her eyelids. She stuck out her tongue, and her frown deepened.

Though she'd slept perfectly soundly all through the night, when AnnaBelle woke up she felt incredibly ill. She'd vomited twice in the 45 minutes since and had the most horrible migraine. Upon looking at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of her bathroom door, she found that she looked as bad as she felt. Her normally bright, shiny golden hair was duller. Her blue eyes were flat, and there were dark circles beneath them. Her skin looked tired and sullen.

She was very confused. She'd never been even slightly sick in her entire life. She wasn't used to the feeling and was very frightened. And who was she to tell? She had no friends, her family was out of town. She felt weak, much weaker than ever before. Her heart beat was erratic and she was very dizzy. She wanted nothing more than to have what all of the other girls had: a family who cared for her. She wanted someone to be there to tell take care of her and tell her that what was happening was perfectly normal.

But it wasn't normal. Not for AnnaBelle. And that chilled her to her bones. What she really wanted, what she knew would make everything better was the one thing she couldn't have: the terrible, lovely man from her dreams.

AnnaBelle was just about to go to her room and sleep the day away when the sound of the doorbell rang through the house. She sighed, leaving the room and walking downstairs to answer the door.

Standing on the front step of Anna's house was Mr. Smith. He had a smile on his face and he twiddled his fingers at her in a wave. Under his arm he held a yellow-covered notebook. His face fell when he saw how sickly his old student looked.

"You look horrible," he commented.

Anna's eyes flickered to the notebook he was carrying. "You have my notebook."

A sheepish grin covered his features. Mr. Smith reached out and handed the notebook to its owner. "Sorry I didn't get it to you sooner. You left it behind on the last day of-"

"You're lying, Mr. Smith," AnnaBelle said, clutching the notebook close to her chest. "You let me sleep that day so that you could take this notebook from me and read through it. You're not sorry. You loved looking at it." She paused for a moment. "Did you read anything interesting?"

The man sighed, walking passed Anna after she motioned for him to enter the house. He looked around the tidy living room and empty kitchen with a look of intrigue. "It's quiet," he observed. He took a seat in the armchair beside the sofa.

"My family's gone out of town, and I've just woken up."

He nodded. "I gathered that from the empty driveway, and you're also still in your pajamas and your hair's a mess. Do you usually look so sick when you wake up?"

"I don't get sick," she said, sitting on the sofa end closest to him.

Mr. Smith laughed. "What do you call this then?" he asked, motioning to Anna's down-trodden appearance.

AnnaBelle ignored his question. She was unsure as to whether or not she was capable of admitting to him how terrified she really was. "Did you read anything interesting in this?" As she repeated her own question she opened the five-year-old notebook. She skimmed through the pages quickly, nervously.

"Everything I've ever read in those notebooks of yours has interested me, AnnaBelle. There is one that I'd like to talk to you about. If it's alright with you, that is." He looked again at the dark circles under eyes and the ashen colour of her face.

She nodded. "Which one."

"If I remember correctly, it's dated the 17th of March 2006. It's much older than the others that have been written in the notebook."

AnnaBelle knew exactly which one he was talking about and found the passage quickly, reading over it herself, though she remembered most of it after reading the very first sentence.

Like always, it was a weird place to be. He always seems to be in weird places. Even so, I still expect to see somewhere sunny, somewhere happy. That's what kids dream about, isn't it? Happy places with a nightmare here and there. But I guess I'm lucky. I never have any nightmares, and I'll tell you a secret: I don't think I ever will. How could I with him there?

He's not real, of course. Just a friend in my dreams. Mom says it will pass once I grow up some more. She thinks he'll leave and never come back. I think she's just being stupid. He wouldn't do that. Sure, he never really talks to me, even when I talk to him, but I'm fine with that.

Like last night's visit. Just like every night, I told him all about my day, my week, my everything. I told him all about annoying Micheal who sits in the back of the classroom and about how pointless all of my classes in school are. And how Mom plans to ship me off to Grandma's over the summer.

"That's okay, though," I told him. "You'll still be there and that's what matters."

I can see him a lot more during the summer. There's no school to stop me sleeping all day. And falling asleep never seems a problem.

I think he helps me every night. Because I'm his friend too. Maybe even his only friend. I never see anyone else around when I visit him.

He didn't respond to my words. He seemed like he was sleeping, his body stretched out on the ground, eyes closed, and breathing even. But I could tell from his absolute stillness that he wasn't asleep.

"Mom said it's not normal," I said quietly to him.

No response.

I went on. "Not to me, of course. But I hear her talking to Dad about it. How she's found some of my notebooks. She keeps telling him that I need a doctor."

I thought I saw him twitch then tense, but I brushed it off when he made no further movements.

"She says I'm not acting like I'm supposed to. That it was meant to stop years ago. But you know something?"

Still no answer. I stared at him, part of me hoping against hope that he would answer. Nothing.

I smiled anyway. "I know it won't it won't stop and you won't leave me. Just like I promise not to leave you."

AnnaBelle's eyes drifted from the page in front of her to Mr. Smith's own dark orbs. "What did you want to talk about?" she asked, voice heavy.

"Why is that one so much older than the others?"

Anna thought for a moment. "The notebook I had was filled up, so I grabbed one from the pile I had in my closet and just wrote in the middle of it. I didn't use it again until a few years later. I was less careful with my...documentation back then."

"How old were you when you wrote this?"

"About 11, I think. Why?"

"That's very fine writing for an 11-year-old."

Anna shrugged. "That's what everyone always said. I started reading and writing when I was only three. Technically I could have been put into kindergarten two years early. Mom didn't think it was such a good idea, though."

"How come?"

She turned the page to stare at a small sketch of her Madman she'd drawn the day after the passage she'd just read. Her fingers moved along the lines of his body. "She wanted me to be normal."