A rich boy named Henry, had an accident thirteen years ago, his memory was then wiped clean so he has no memory of his family, when he found an old photograph, Henry is then set on a mission to find his family.


2. Thud, Thump and A Splat

At this point I am ready to burst into tears, I don’t get it, I just don’t, why is this old photograph still here? How did my family make so much money that we live in a mansion? Does this lot even theirs? Or mine? But most of all, is my family still out there? And if they are, where are they?

Got so many questions running around my head, I don’t know what else I am supposed to do. I can’t go tell my parents yet, they’ll freak out, and I can’t just go barge in to my gramma’s bedroom, she’s basically ill. Think. Think. THINK. There’s gotta be some way I could investigate. “Come on, Brutus! We need a gate!” I shouted, litterally, shouted. “Our first clue is just hiding under our noses, its right in front of us, I can feel it!” I carried on shouting and eventually, I decided to stop the shouting and just, think. Sat down on my bed with my head to my knees.

“Come on, Henry, you’ve read all those mystery novels, what would Sherlock do?” Carried on thinking, and started to hum gramps’s song for gramma back then, that is, when faith interfere. Brutus was thinking too, I guess, well, I was too busy with myself I didn’t even notice what my dog was doing, apparently, through a window, Mr. Moe’s cuckoo flew into my room and caught Brutus’s attention. Before I even realised it, Brutus took a leap on to my lap and the bird flew away, his leap has caused me to drop the picture and in to an experiment I’ve been working on; with a mixture of dry yeast and hydrogen peroxide to generate heat (with some other components of course).

“Brutus! Look what you’ve done! You ruined our one and only evidence!” Freaking out, I took the picture out of the bowl and just try to blow it off. The mixture was hot enough to bring out some steam from the picture, freaking out, I took the picture and blew it off. Apparently one side of the picture receieves too much heat that marks have begun to appear. “Well at least these are just small marks.” I said as I tried to rub off some of the mixtures. “Hey, these aren’t just any marks, these are written with lemon! Brutus, come and see.” I grabbed my experiment closer to me, and set the picture just a few inches above the mixture.

I heard my parents’s car coming and hear footsteps, but I decided to just ignore it, since they’ll probably think that this is just one of my mad experiments. “Okay, so the heat here is generated by the mixture of H2O2 and catayse, (hydrogen peroxide and yeast), and the heat is supposed to make the letters...” I said to Brutus as we watched the letters slowly appearing. “...Visible.” No wait, we’re missing something here, these aren’t letters... “This is just some old doodle.” Yes, indeed, the only thing the heat has showed us is an old drawing of a face wearing square glasses and it has this very cheesy smile.

“I give up, I’ll ask gramma tomorrow.” I promised myself, that is, until I heard my gramma scream and a big thump coming from outside, a little bit thuds afterwards and some sort of a splash just across the hall. I hear nothing then, but after over an hour later, I hear Sal, another one of my maids, scream, then other people (sounds like they're starting a crowd, crowding on something), they're talking to each other in hush-hush. 

Well, don’t know what they’re doing out there, but I’m still not ready to leave my room, still thinking about that drawing in the back of this picture. “It just doesn’t make any sense, in a situation like this, could be a matter of life and death, some ‘genius’ actually have time to goof around and draw something as silly as this.” I complained, lying down to my back on my bed, just throwing a baseball ball to the ceiling and catching it, helps me think.

“Maybe its a map? Like a base?” “No, it can’t be... Tjhis doodle can’t possibly be a map.” My own conscience answered. “Then its a code! It must be some sort of a code or something.”

“Only problem is, what code should we use?”

I thought. Keep thinking, for there are so many questions in my head, with more exceeding every minute, its just superfloulous for a boy my age. But the answer is right here, I’m sure the answer’s not burdensome, it’s simple, its up in my head, I know it is. I just gotta find it.

My thoughts were then cut by the sound of a knocking by the door. “Sir?” It’s just Mary, as it seems. “Are you alright sir? And may I enter?” I didn’t get to answer, but Mary has already opened the door and is now infront of me. She looks horrified, and I guess, worried. “Mary, what’s wrong?” I asked, still not oving from my original position though, probably nothing, so I just keep on lying down closing my eyes, still trying to think.

“Sir... Uh, sir?” She mumbles, a little shiver in her tone. “Speak.” “Uh... Sir... There’s a... Uh...”

“Speak up woman, I don’t got all day.”

“Well, you might want to go see for yourself outside.” She said, finally.

“Mmmmeh... Busy, not now.”

“I think you really should see.”

“Mary, not now.” I answered, trying to put my point and not start an argument.

Eventually, Mary pulled herself together and said it loud and clear. “Sir, your grandma, just fell down from the stairs.” I paused, I looked at Mary, my eyes are already watering, Muriel is gone? She can’t be, I still got tons of questions to ask her. “Gramma? You sure? When did this happen?” I asked putting aside all my thoughts about the picture. 

"We just found out about this five minutes ago." "Then why didn't you tell me?" I asked with my best I'm-making-you-feel-guilty look. "I was about to, but then I remembered you, uh... Freaking out? So I decided that its best to leave you alone for a few hours or so." She answered, and I just blinked, staring at her, I could almost feel her guilt. "Sir." She finishes. Without gramma, I have to solve everything on my own, I'm all on my own.

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...