Concealed

This must be why there was a mailbox, as it used to belong to the house that stood there years ago, but what happened to it and who owned it? I examine the image again and notice that next to the house is a man: he is tall, stocky and has a large scar placed left arm going down all the way from this shoulder to his elbow. I immediately realised who it was. He was the umpire from the game before. With all the air and strength, I have left, I lifted myself back to the game. Luckily, they were just about the end the game, but I saw him, the umpire. His scar still lays there telling us the story of his pain. Chapter 4 Maybe it is plain fate, or dumb luck that I happen to stumble across this ‘mysterious gift’ . But, the old edges of the paper and tatter cricket team photos give off a mystifying aura that I have never felt when reporting on a story before, maybe that is so much more enthralling than the usual amateur cricketers, playing their puny little Saturday games. The nature of the pictures and newspaper articles are especially enticing; the dates suggest that they are nearly two centuries old – but also obviously intending for someone to open it. The message I found earlier which reads, ‘It’s done, I did what you asked. You’ll never hear from me again,’ gave me a sense there is more to the story, than what was reported on this seemingly normal newspaper article. Just the thought sent a sinister tingle down my spine, but also a sense of hope; there was a new story afoot, and it was calling my name. Still optimistic of the new story that is emerging, I direct myself out of the oval – hastily packing up my notebook and briskly sticking my pencil in my bun, rushing to the exit, to find myself at the student directory to find more information in the school records. Colours blur and so does the world around me. It is exhilarating, I am already concocting theories about what happened on that mysterious day. As my mind gets lost in thought, I feel a sudden person in front on me, hindering me from my path. I step back in shock, nearly dropping my notebook. As I return to reality, my eyes focus on the distressed figure standing Infront of me. I recognise him as the usual umpire directing the cricket games, with the abnormal scar found on his upper arm. ‘Sorry, sir’ I quickly respond. He gives me his blatant stare and then returns his attention back to the game. I roll my eyes and continue my search to uncover more information about this perplexing mystery. After searching the winding paths of Rockwell State High School, I find a small building located near the opening of the school that is named ‘Information Services’ I walk in to hear the clicking of a computer mouse, where I am then greeted with a disgusted stare from the desk lady. ‘Hi there, I’m an intern a Bluebird Publishing, I was wondering if I could have access to some of the past school records?’ I ask awkwardly. She rolls her eyes, and wheels her chair near a cabinet ‘Don’t do anything that’ll get me fired, ok kid?’ I give her another half-smile, and proceed to the ladder pathed room, and insert the rusty keys, turning it revealing a room full of old files. The files gave off an unpleasant acrid