Sometimes she would wonder,
About who she was, asking herself over and over again,
Who are you?
And with the same dry answers shed say her name, her parents, her hobbies and friends…
And each time she would whisper it to herself, trying to convince the tiny voice shouting from inside her,
“No! You’re wrong!”
Maybe she asked the wrong questions,
Maybe she just deep down didn’t really want the answers..
But at the end of the day the question still remains…
Do we ever really know who we are?

Sometimes she would wonder,
About who she was, asking herself over and over again,
Who are you?
And with the same dry answers shed say her name, her parents, her hobbies and friends…
And each time she would whisper it to herself, trying to convince the tiny voice shouting from inside her,
“No! You’re wrong!”

Maybe she asked the wrong questions,

Maybe she just deep down didn’t really want the answers..

But at the end of the day the question still remains…

Do we ever really know who we are?

chapter 1

The lights had been switched off and the wind howled at the rattling windows. Forest stirred in her sleep and suddenly bolted awake; she looked around the room in bewilderment, trying to figure out what had woken her,
Then she heard it,
A distance scraping sound followed by a thud.
Someone, or something
Was in the basement.
Her heart stopped mid beat.
Still as death she sat there,
The hairs on the back of her neck pickled up in defence,
And then slowly she returned to life, and crept out of bed,
Down the stairs, step, by painful step,
A chill ran up her spine, and into her shivering lips.
The tips of her toes curled back hesitantly as they touched the cold kitchen floor,
By now she could see the top of the stairs that led to the basement,
And the shadow flickering below.
She leaned against the doorframe and watched it for a while her fear numbed by dangerous curiosity,
The intruder poked around in between the shelves,
Desperately trying to find something in particular,
And then in a sudden moment of triumph
He found it.
It was a small simple
Cardboard box,
But he handled it as if it were the most precious thing he'd ever held.
She watched him place it in his bag.
Frozen,
Bound to the doorframe in chains of fear and suffocating curiosity.
She heard the sound of liquid sloshing along the floor and just as her nose registered the smell of petrol,
She heard the strike of a match,
He was going to set the place ablaze!
Her eyes widened and the panic inside whirled furiously into a hurricane emerging from her throat in a terrifying scream.
The man startled, ran towards the window he'd broken and tried to climb out,
His bag snagged on a broken shard of glass and tore as he jumped out into the dark night;
Leaving his precious cargo,
Lying in a gasoline puddle on the floor.

Forest’s parents where already coming down the stairs she could hear them calling her name,
But her mind was on the box,
Why had the thief wanted that box?
What did it contain?
And why had he tried to burn down their house?!
She climbed down the rickety stairs to investigate,
The box had begun soaking up the flammable liquid and was beginning to darken.

A lamp was turned on in the hallway and the footsteps drew nearer, Forest knew that if she didn't want her parents to know of her discovery shed better act fast, so amidst the haze of questions she shoved the box inside a small corner cupboard,

Unnoticeable and safe.

She stood up, hastily dusting herself off and stepping into a shadow, before her parents could notice the damp rim of her dress.

Her mothers figure glided in, all tears and smothering motherly love, oozing out of her, unnaturally, awkwardly.
It did not befit her.  Feelings.
She clasped her bony hands around Forest’s firm shoulders, her eyes prying into the young girls soul.
“Oh poor child!” her voice shrill and sugar coated,
“Are you alright dear? Did he hurt you?”
Her voice suddenly low
“Did he take anything?”
Her eyes no longer startled discs of pathetic blue,
Rather they where now brooding sensors ready to attack this foul creature that had dared enter her house and frighten her precious little girl.
Inside Forest’s head whirled the thoughts:
Why did her mother talk as if she already knew the facts and was simply looking for conformation?
As if she was expecting a break-in?
Her thoughts where interrupted by her mothers high-pitched voice rattling in her ears again.
“Forest are you listening?”
“Um yes mother.. I…erm…I didn’t see the man take anything…I screamed before he had a chance”
Her mother didn’t look convinced at all..
She let it go, and told Forest to go back to bed.
Her father didn’t say anything.
As Forest walked up the stairs she took a last glance behind her at her parents, they where staring at her and whispering,
And Forest thought she saw something,
Something so small she normally would not have noticed,
A wave of perhaps...
Hostility?
But then it was suddenly gone, washed over like a bad dream,
And they where waving at her,
Blowing her kisses.

The next night, after her parents had gone to bed thinking she was sound asleep,
A curious young girl crept out of bed and down to the basement.
Arriving there in the pitch black,
All she could see was the darkness that surrounded her.
Step by step feeling the shelves of their contents her hand stretching out into an abase of long forgotten objects.
A sudden creak of the floorboard jostled her on franticly; she glided her hands along the shelves. A square shape suddenly entering her hand,
The box!
She grabbed it and ran.
Reaching her room without another sound, she placed the box gently on her lap, heart pounding.
Imagination spinning.
  Slowly, she lifted the lid half expecting some sort of nightmarish creature to jump out and grab her,
But no,
Her heart stopped and sunk deep.
Papers.
The whole box was just full of boring, old, documents.
Unwilling to accept the disappointment she dug her hands in and burrowed to the depths of the box, searching for more, but it remained,
a boring box of papers.
The anger rose up in side her and threatened to burst.
All that for nothing.
She threw the box across the room in disgust and watched the papers rain down as she collapsed on her bed in defeat.

A paper fluttered down onto her bedside table blocking the light from the lamp, she flicked it away and then suddenly gasped and grabbed it again.
She stared at it, and it stared back. A documentary of some sort with a name, a date of birth and small paragraph at the end.
But what had caught her eye was the picture in the top corner, it was the same one she had on her bedside table. A picture of her younger self.
But the name, it didn’t match.
The one on the document read Lea Glissman rather than Forest Aguilar.
She slid of the bed and crouched down to gather the rest of the papers, they all had the same layout as the one in her hand, names, dates of birth and pinned to all of them where photographs of young children.
They also all had a red X slapped across their front.
Except for her one.

What was all this?
She was sure it was hardly a regular occurrence to find a mysterious box in your basement filled with documentaries on children she did not know.
What did all these children have to do with her family?
Why was she in the box too?
And why did she get the sickening feeling her parents where involved in something terrible, they didn’t want her to know about?

Her head whirling with questions like a crazed merry-go-round.
She picked up a document and read it desperately.
The picture was of a boy around eight years of age.
He had no life in his face, his eyes sunken and his smile gone forever,
Lost on the shadows of his innocent face.
She continued reading and confirmed that he was in fact nine, his name was Adam Rosen.
Her eyes moved down to the short paragraph at the end of the page.
It read:
“Has not been cooperating, lack of communication, strength is waning, appetite is not stable, is loosing sleep.
Final verdict: death by injection.
Date of death: 04\03\1950.

Forest’s stomach lurched into her mouth, which was hanging by its hinges. She felt sick.
Her trembling hand slowly put the paper down and picked up another,
It was a girl this time, of fourteen, she too was pale and sickly looking.
Her name was Sara Glissman.
The same surname as the girl on Forest’s document.
There was no last paragraph this time.
Just a thick red line sprawled across the bottom that underlined one word.

“Missing”