The House on Silk Street

“The Gitbirt family is moving!”

My dad announced. My sister Allie apathetically questioned,

“Why, I thought that your business was taking off. Is selling trips to Egypt or China not as lucrative as it used to be. Wait, it never was.” My dad was mad, he practically had steam coming out of his ears.

“I’m not just a travel agent I’m a manager of a travel agency, and people still do use travel agencies. We are moving because no one in this town wants to leave this town so unfortunately, Git-birt-Outta here Travel Agency is going bankrupt. We’re moving to Wasaya and I’m going to be working out of there for now.” Allie didn’t seem to care. I didn’t really care all too much my family has moved around alot in my lifetime.

“Your father and I have never been to Wasaya, this will be a fun adventure.” My cheerful mom said trying to make this move seem more exciting than it was. I didn’t want to be a part of this conversation, but I had to say something. “We haven’t even unpacked everything from the last move.” I muttered under my breath.

My dad was done with any arguments that could bubble up against the move and said,

“Go to your room and pack.”

I was done packing so I decided to help my dad pack up, maybe to put him in a better mood. My dad was in his room packing up the paper that seemed to always be strewn across his room no matter where we moved. I tried to pick up the papers but a something hit my hand. I looked up and saw my dad with a ruler.

“Don’t touch my work.” he growled.

My dad might have been older, he was almost 60, but he was stronger than he looked. After realizing how harsh he sounded he tried to console me.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been so stressed with this move and I don’t know if this new business will actually take off.” I still didn’t know why he didn’t want to help him pack. After my dad left the room, I noticed a piece of paper on the floor. The paper looked very official, with a fancy border and an official signature. After admiring the border I noticed that it wasn’t just a fancy document, it was a marriage certificate from Wasaya.

Confused, I read the name on the paper...It read, Gabriel Ryan Burt and Sarah Marie Burt. My mom’s name is Kathryn and my dad’s name is Robert. I went downstairs to ask my mom about why dad might have someone else’s marriage certificate.  “Mom, why does dad have someone else’s marriage certificate?”

“I don’t know sweetie, Can I see it? I handed the paper to my mom. She looked at me in shock,  “I’ve never heard of these people, I’ll ask your dad tonight.”

Scared that my dad might know that I looked at one of his papers, I quickly said,

“Mom, could you not tell dad that I looked at the paper.”

“Okay honey.” The only problem was that my mom looked scared as well.

After I finished packing the next day, I went to find my mom to see if she ever asked my dad about the paper. I didn’t see her at her usual post in the kitchen. I did see my dad in the kitchen, he was washing something red off his hands. In horror I realized that it was blood.

My dad noticing my shocked expression said, “Sorry for the mess I was chopping up some tomatoes for omelets when I cut my hand.” I didn’t completely believe him, but I saw the cut and some tomatoes laying on the counter.

“Oh dad, where’s mom?” I asked, worried that his answer would make me more suspicious.

“She’s with her friends, I don’t think she’s going to be able to leave with us tomorrow, but she’ll be in Wasaya with us in a few days.”  Knowing my mom, his story was somewhat believable, but I was still suspicious. I went to talk to my sister Allie again, she was in her room, as always. I hesitated before saying,

“Hey Allie, have you heard from mom at all?”

“Not really, why do you ask?

“No reason I just haven’t seen her since last night.”

“Weird, I don’t think that you need to worry. She was with dad last night, and we both know that he wouldn’t do anything to her.”

It was finally the day of the move, and I still haven’t heard from my mom. I was worried, but I knew that sometimes she disappears for a while, but, that usually only happens when she and dad are fighting. We were in the car when I finally asked my dad where we were going to live.

“Dad, where are we going to live?”

“We’re going to live on this place called ‘Silk Street’.”

I knew I had heard that name before but I couldn’t remember where I had heard it. After the four hour drive I was finally able to see the house. I remembered this house, this is from one of the many shows about murders. The ‘murder story’ from this house is about a family that was killed, the wife’s name was Kate and the husband was believed to have killed his children and his wife, but they never found him.

“Dad, this is a really nice house, are you sure that we can afford it? I asked hoping he’d say something to make my fears go away.

“Money isn’t everything, don’t be rude and insult how much money we make. Also no one really wanted to buy this house because there’s a rumor that it’s haunted. We got the house at a discount.” He sputtered out trying to find out which one was most believable.

To be honest that seemed like a made up story, but I was not going to say anything. When I entered the house, I noticed the lack of care that was put into the house. The creaking floorboards, the dirt stains on the walls, the skittering mice. I could see why people would think that this place was haunted. I am definitely a skeptic all of the ghost stories I’ve heard have either been proven to be fake or just people lying and trying to get attention, most of the time both. Just then I remembered the family who used to live here.

I went onto my computer and searched ‘ Kate, and Silk Street’.  I wasn’t surprised that there were only a few articles about it and they were written by sketchy conspiracy theory websites. I was curious enough to at least check it out and clicked on a link to a site claiming to have found Kate’s murderous husband.

The Murder of Kathryn Burt and Her Children

Wait, Kathryn Burt, that’s the name of the woman on the wedding certificate I found. I think I’m going to talk to my sister now. When I got to my sister’s room, I decided to immediately ask about what she thought about dad. I slowly sauntered into the room before asking,

“Do you think that dad would ever do anything bad?”

“I can say that he hasn’t done anything bad.”

“No, I mean like really REALLY bad.”

“Not really, why?”

“I don’t know, I’m not really feeling well I must be imagining things.”

“After your psychotic episodes stop come back and talk to me.”

After I left my sisters room I decided to look into this house more to see if there’s anything else that might lead back to my dad. After a quick search online I found out about a public records office that was near our new house.

The next day I decided to go to the library, as I was headed out the door my dad called after me,

“Where do you think you’re going young lady.”

“I’m going to the library, I didn’t think that it would matter all that much.”

“This is a new town if you go somewhere, I’m coming with.”

After the ridiculously short ride in my dad’s truck we got out of the car and went into the library. As soon as we got into the library, I tried to ditch my dad and get to the public records office that conveniently is in a library only a few blocks from our house.

“Dad I think that I’m going to go look for some new books.”

“Alright, if you leave before me or vice versa we can meet at the cafe next door for lunch.”

He had finally left, I went straight for the records, there was an attendant, but he seemed to be out of it and didn’t care what I did. Regardless, I asked him where the property ownership papers were.

“Sir, where are the papers about home ownership.” I asked Not knowing much about licenses and deeds.

“Ma’am those are in the back if you’d please follow me.” As we were walking back I noticed a confused look on his face.

“What do you need to know about property, you look barely 17.”

“We just moved here, my dad bought a house. The house that he bought is old and I just want to know about the previous owners to see if it’s really haunted.” I lied.

“What the address of the house and or the name of the current owner.”

“Robert Gitbirt and the address is 1089 Silk Street.”

“Is that the one by the quarry.”

“I think so, we haven’t been there very long.” As we walked through the towering file boxes the old man whose name I had yet to learn watched the labels until he finally said,

“Ahh found it, Ryan Burt 1089 Silk Street.”

“But sir-”

“Please call me Bill.”

“But Bill, isn’t there a new owner?”

“Nope.”

Afterwards I met with my dad, he was acting strangely. After learning the truth about the house, I decided not to say anything. After we got home, I went straight to my sister’s room to tell her about the house and see what she thought, she wasn’t there. I noticed a note partially hidden underneath her bed, it read.

You’re not my sister.

RUN!

What could she be talking about. After reading the the note I went downstairs to ask my dad about what was going on. My dad had just started making dinner… I knew that I might regret asking this but I was able to get out the words,“Dad, was I adopted.” That was my first and maybe last mistake.

“In a way.” soon after, I was hit on the back of the head and I blacked out.

I woke up in the basement terrified and confused, but slightly less confused than earlier.

“You know what, I was planning on killing you next week, but after your sister ran away I knew that I would have to get rid of the evidence, you. After doing this so many times you’re the first person to figure it out. Too bad you didn’t figure out the whole truth. You could have run away, or your sister could have taken you with her. Too bad she doesn’t care about you that much.

I suppose that since we have time and you were the closest to finding out the truth, besides your ‘mom’  I can tell you what I’m doing. I married your “mom” about seventeen years ago, she wasn’t very willing but after I paid off her parents and they were more than happy to give her away.She was one of their six daugheters. I kidnapped you two from the same hospital. You were just born and your sister had broken her arm(She was only one).”

“Why are you doing this? I asked trying to stall.

“Because, I can.”

“But what about mom?

“She was going to run, but I was able to catch her in time and she is now floating along aimlessly in a river somewhere. As to why I do this I suppose it’s just for fun.”

The person who I called my dad went to a small room in the basement, probably to look for something to end my life with. I could hear someone knocking at the door. Maybe they were my savior, maybe my sister was able to get to the police in time. My dad, hearing the knocking, put down the knife and went to answer the door. I could barely hear the conversation.

“Sir, do you know anything about the murder of Kathryn Burt.”

“Nope.”

“When did you buy this house sir.”

Knowing he’d been caught in a lie, he answered, “It’s been in the family for just about forever.”

“Then you are under arrest for squatting in a house, you should be released tomorrow morning if you are willing to pay the fine.”

“Why?” He feigned shock.

“The last person who lived here, seventeen years ago, is wanted for murder.”

“But what about my daughter.” He knew he would be in much worse trouble if they found me tied up in the basement so he corrected himself. “Who lives out of state, do I at least get a phone call?” Will the police find me? I wondered fearfully, or will I be stuck here for the rest of my short miserable life.

After hauling him away the police officers decided to do a once over to see if there was anything dangerous in the house. That’s where they found me trapped in the basement.

“Ma’am, what’s your name and what are you doing here?

“I don’t know my real name, and that monster killed Kathryn Burt and her children.”

“We know.” I stared at him in shock.

“What do you mean by ‘we know’ were you going to just let me be killed just so that you could arrest him for something that isn’t circumstantial. How did you even know he was back in town?”

“When you went to the library and were asking about the house the chief, who works there part time because we don’t make a lot of money, remembered the case from years ago.”

That old man at the library was the chief of police. He really needs to retire.

The man who I now knew as Timothy Bart(my “dad”) was sentenced to life in prison without parole. They would have given him the injection if it weren’t for the strict no death penalty in Utah.

I went on to find my birth parents. My new mom was the nicest person I had ever met; she filled a hole in my heart that had been empty ever since my other mom was found floating in a river, dead. She had most defiantly been killed by Tim. I hope to move on from this horrifying ordeal, but hey, maybe I could use it as an essay for college: they can’t say no to a girl who’s been kidnapped most of her life and still kept up a 3.9 GPA.

The End