I have no memories of my mother. When I was little, I'd have dreams about her. But, unfortunately, I cannot remember much of the dreams anymore. My father doesn't talk about her, it's as if, even after all this time, the grief is still consuming him. Lost in his own grief, he locked away every trace of her & refused to speak of her with anyone. Because I had so few memories of her, I used to ask him about the woman we had both lost, but the old pain would simply overwhelm him anew and the last thing I wanted to do is hurt him any further, so I stopped asking. That was until a year ago, when I was searching the attic for treasure when I found a portrait of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. My Mother. Her snow white skin, her blonde, almost a white platinum hair, her smile that seemed to light up the world around her, & my own blue eyes that reflected back at me. Now her face haunts my dreams. I knew that if my father saw it, he would hide it away, just like how he hides everything else. It feels like everything in my life is a secret. My mother, even my own relatives, this house that I was born in. But what scares me isn't the voices I hear at night when I'm trying to sleep. The faint whispers, calling out to me, calling for me. It's not even the feeling of eyes on me at all times, it's not even that my father doesn't believe me. What scares me is the notes I've started finding. - Aisha Stay tuned for a thrilling tale of Mystery, Vengeance, & Tragedy.