After lunch, Dad said he was tired and wanted to go back to his room to rest.
He even took a shower before heading to his room, turning on the air conditioner there as well, setting the temperature low.
As I passed by his room, I felt a chilly draft blowing out through the crack in the door.
Inside, it was pitch black. Dad had pulled the curtains all the way shut, giving off a strange sense of him loving the darkness.
I saw everything, but I didn’t dare say anything. I silently returned to my own room.
Once Dad had fallen asleep and there was no sound, I grabbed a shovel and quietly headed to the backyard to dig up the empty grave!
The grave wasn’t very deep and in just about ten minutes, I had it open.
When I pulled the diary out of the backpack, I quickly stuffed it into my clothes, then hurriedly filled the hole back up before running back to my room.
I shut the doors and windows, hiding in my room with eager anticipation as I opened the diary.
It was indeed written in Dad’s handwriting.
The first twenty or so pages were his records of everything that happened in Pinehill.