"Well, that's the last of it," Samantha's mother said as she put down a brown box.

 Samantha frowned. "Why do we have to move back here, Mom? I was happy in Connecticut. This house is too big."

 "It'll hopefully only be for a few months, darling," her father said. "You have a new room, on the third floor. Nobody except the servants have been in it for ages. Would you like me to show you?"

 "Don't bother, I'll find it myself," she replied, and walked out of the lounge. First she stopped at a room on the second floor - the library. It was filled with classics, schoolbooks, and past family members' favourites - for Cache Castle had belonged to Samantha's relatives for hundreds of years. Nobody knew who the first family members to own it were, or where the name came from. They did know nobody was allowed to sell it but instead pass it from one generation's woman to another. They didn't know why.

 Next, Samantha stepped by the room that had been hers until she was seven. It no longer resembled the room she had known - it had been transformed for her baby cousin Zachary (all of Samantha's relatives lived in the castle, making it necessary to be the size Samantha despised). So, being disgusted by the change, she climbed another flight of stairs and searched for her room. It wasn't difficult to find, for all of her female cousins (who shared this hall with her) had decorated her white board (everyone had them on the outside of their doors for messages) with writing such as "Welcome home, Samantha!" and "Hope you'll stay awhile." She ignored them and walked into her room, closing the door behind her.

 "You look depressed." Samantha looked up and smiled, and then hugged her brother.

 "I thought maybe you wouldn't get here, Jack," she said, keeping her voice down. She couldn't imagine what would happen if someone heard her talkign to her dead brother.

 "I'm only visiting for a short time. I heard you wondering about this place. What's the name of it?"

 "Cache Castle."

 "Right. And what is a cache?"

 "A place for hiding things."

 "Right. And the lady who bought this three hundred and fifty years ago hid everything. Her secret still remains, and she wants you to find it. She thinks it will help you. If not, you'll enjoy it."

 "Where is it?" Samantha asked.

 "In the fourth floor library, at the back. Go."

 Samantha didn't watch her brother disappear, it hurt too much. Instead, she went to the castle's other library, which nobody ever used due to the poor selection of books in it. She made her way to the back shelves, which were against the wall, and looked through copies of Shakespearean tragedies (which were also downstairs but on ancestor had insisted on buying two of every book in case something happened to one), books of awful poetry, and biographies on those awful poets. Samantha searched through every book but found nothing. She finally pulled out the shelves, thinking some might have fallen behind.

 "Aha!" she exclaimed. Something was behind them - but what? She moved the shelves completely from the wall, and then gasped. Set in the wall was a golden door, and a plaque was mounted on it, reading "Lynne's Room". Without hesitating, Samantha opened the door and stepped inside. Every object in this mysterious room seemed to beckon to her, calling for her to come see what its function was. Most things were completely foreign to her, but others - such as the flag hanging between the windows - she had seen in history books. One object in particular caught her attention - a small, leatherbound book sitting on top of a wooden desk. Samantha picked it up and flipped to the first page, where there was an inscription:
"She said life is what's behind you."

 She flipped to the next page, and out fell a folded piece of paper. She carefully unfolded it and held it up to a window to read.

 "I wrote this diary many years after the events happened, so they might not be entirely true, but they're how I remember them. It is my life at the turn of the twenty-first century, when I lived in Newport, Rhode Island, of the United States of America. It no longer exists. Newport still exists (or at least at the time of writing this), but, as you are probably aware, the United States fell to the Boyorn Empre in 2011. The exact place I lived (he Newport Naval Base) was destroyed in the conquest and is now just a ruin of where I spent my happiest years.

 "I was compelled to write this memoir by forces I do not know. Perhaps it is just to collect my memories, or maybe it's so a distant relative can stumble upon it and learn about their crazy great-great grandmother or whatever. If you do come across it, I hope you larn something useful about life. If not, the least I can hope is it's an interesting story. Enjoy.

-SLPJ"

 The date was August twenty-ninth, I remembered as I walked across the school parking lot. Because my mother had to work, I had walked to the school from our house, taking close to twenty minutes. As I neared the group of friends, I heard a voice call out from behind me, "Hey Sarah!" I froze, but did not turn around. Nobody called me Sarah nowadays, that had been my name from moving from country to country. Now, with my father assigned a stationary position in the United States Navy, I had chosen to create a new me - using my middle name, Lynne.

 "Yes, Sarah, I know you heard me," the voice said again, but nearer. I turned around and found myself facing Ryan Lewis. Briefly, I wondered if this was another of my hallucinations. The doctors had said I was cured of them, but how else could Ryan be standing in front of me? I hadn't seen him since my father was stationed in Norfolk, Virginia in seventh garde...right before I went crazy.

 But then Ryan smiled, and I knew he wasn't a vision. He had never smiled when he was created b my imagination. So I finally managed to ask, "What are you doing here?"

 "I just got out of soccer practice." He held up a bag, and then saw my confused look. "Oh, you mean...My father got transferred to here." In case you're wondering, "here" is Newport, Rhode Island. "I'm going to this school."

 "Well, that should be fun," I replied, dryly.

 "Sarah, I know you've hated me in the past, but I was hoping-"

 "I didn't hate you," I interrupted. "I don't hate anyone, and I definitely couldn't bring myself to hate you. Sure, at one point I disliked you. A lot. But I had no reason to. After all the times just the thought of you saved me-"

 "Saved you from what?" Ryan asked.

 I sighed. "I have to get to band practice," I told him, holding up my flute case and purposefully ignoring his question. "I'll see you later, at the base. Goodbye." I ran over to my friends, who were filing into the band room.

 "Who was that?" Aimee asked, looking back over her shoulder.

 "A haunt from my past," I answered.

 "Well, he's pretty cute, but he doesn't look like a ghost. He's too...substantial." Aimee always took things too literally, but was the resident expert on ghosts. She had three in her house.

 "Don't get attached," I warned her. "His father's in the navy...and not stationary." Aimee had gotten her heart broken three times by navy guys moving away in the three years I had known her.

 "It's too bad. Well, at least your father has a permanent position." They never asked why he didn't move around anymore. They didn't know enough of the navy, despite living next to it, to know that nobody stayed on the same base for very long unless special circumstances were involved. I was a very special circumstance, but nobody knew it. That was my wish.

 As we took out our instruments, the conversation changed to the topic of the new school year, which would be starting the next day. I nervously wondered if I had gotten into the art class I picked (I was an artist, not a musician, at heart). Even fretting over school was better than thinking about Ryan. I could forget about him at band.

 Back at the naval base was another thing. He was waiting for me at the gate entrance. I walked by him wit a polite "Good evening," showed the guard my ID, and continued to the houses (single officers lived in the barracks, families lived in big houses all to themselves).

 "Sarah, wait!" I heard Ryan call.

 "That is not my name anymore," I said without stopping.

 "Then what is?"

 "Lynne."

 "Okay, Lynne. Can we talk."

 "Why? You've never wanted to talk to me before."

 "I know."

 "Of all the bases we've shared together, you've never talked to me except to insult me. No matter if I was the only person you knew, you kept your distance. We've never come close to being friends. And why are you being so charitable now, when some of your old buddies live here? They haven't changed."

 "I'm aware of all that you say, but I have changed. When you left, I realised you were the only one who was sincere. Everyone else is hidden because they don't want to get hurt when they move again. I want to be sincere in my thoughts and actions."

 Could he sound more corny? I shook my head at him. "No, you don't," I told him. "Opening my emotions got me into a big mess."

 "Do you mean about Andy?"

 "Yes. Did you ever wonder why we left so suddenly after his death, and I wasn't even seen before we moved?"

 "Everyone moves suddenly in this world, and you were grieving. We all knew you were very close to Andy, so we didn't bother you."

 We had reached my house. "Come inside, and I'll tell you everything."

 Before we continue, I feel it's important to write down teh stuff about Andrew (or Andy) that Ryan already knew. Andy was my brother, and we were always very close to each other. He was ten months older than me, so we were in the same grade and classes. Ever since we were little, we told each other things we'd never tell anyone else. In seventh grade, Andy died in a house fire - actually, the stove blew up, which started the fire. Andy had been in the kitchen when it blew up, and received the full force. The fire was put out quickly, but there was no hope for Andy. He had died instantly. I was so devastated that I didn't even go to the funereal. But things were about to get worse.

 "While my parents were at the funeral, I found a belt-knife - it wasn't too hard, living on a military base. I knelt on the floor of the kitchen, right where Andy had lain when we found him. I held the knife between my knees, held my wrists against each sharp edge of the blade, and brought them up, from hilt to tip." I showed Ryan my wrists, where white scars would remain forever. "I wasn't worried that anyone would find me, because everyone was at the fneral. Andy was well-liked by everyone. But nobody loved him more than I did, nobody felt as much pain as I did by his death. And so, I didn't consciously feel any pain as I stared at the growing pool of blood on the burned floor. I would soon be joining Andy in whatever place kept the dead. Nobody would find me until it was too late."

 "Then how did you survive?"

 How did I survive? The truth is, I'm not exactly sure. I had gone unconscious very quickly, and only had the words of others. "You remember Old Benedick, and how he said he could sense human pain?" Ryan nodded. "He had been in bed since Andy's death, because my pain was so great. He could barely walk because of it. So he didn't go to the funeral. All he could register was my pain. But then he felt a different, physical pain, and then nothing. That was when I blacked out. He knew what was happening, so he rushed over to my house, stopped my wrists from bleeding, and called the hospital. My parents finally came back and went immediately to the hospital. I was unconscious for most of the next week, but when I was awake, I had fits. My parents kept it hushed up, and we moved as soon as I was healthy enough. They thought staying there would have too many painful memories.

 "So we came here, a naval base we had never lived at before. I use 'we' as in the entire family, since my parents grew up near here. But things started to get worse. It was summer, so I hadn't made any new friends at school. I stayed inside by myself most of the time, so my parents didn't notice anything strange. They thought I was doing fine. But I set the table for supper one night, and we all sat down to eat. As we passed the dishes around, I put food on both my plate and the plate next to me. 'Are you expecting company?' my mother asked, and I said no. 'Then why are you putting food on that plate?' And I said, 'Because Andy wants to feel like he's still part of this family! You two ignore him like he's a disgrace to our country. I'm the only one who will talk to him. And there's no reason for you to shun your own son!' I was fairly screaming. 'Darling,' my father said in a gentle voice, 'Andy's dead.' 'He is not dead,' I shouted between tears, for I was so angry about my parents ignoring Andy enough to say that. 'He's sitting right next to me, telling me not to shout and become upset!' 'Of course, honey,' my father said, for he always knew how to act in any situation, even when his daughter was going insane. 'I'm sorry we brought up the subject. Now, if we may continue with this fine meal?'

 "So nothing more was said during supper, but as soon as I went up to my room for the night, my father called the naval hospital on the phone." You, the reader, probably don't have phones, since the Boyorn Empire detests all technology and destroyed every piece of it they could find. I did, however, manage to keep mine, along with other artifacts, and they are in my room with this diary. Anyway, a phone is a rather convenient device used for talking to people anywhere on the planet, from your neighbour to halfway around the world (if you have the money to make such a call). Back to the story. "He contacted the psychologist," I told Ryan, "and set up an appointment. Then he told me I was going in for a standard check-up. I didn't know he was the psychologist. So I went, and he asked me a lot of questions about Andy while he pretended to do the things doctors usually do. But then I kept going back, and eventually the truth came out, as it has to for someone to heal.

 "At first, I went crazy again, but it was controlled. And then I started thinking. If I kept having fits, they would never let me be alone. So I fooled them, week after week, until I finally convinced them I was sane. One day, I was alone in the kitchen, cutting up some watermelon. 'Is it true, what they say?' I whispered, for my parents were watching tv in the next room, and they would like it if they heard me talking to myself." I don't think you'd know of tv's either, but oh well. One's also in my room, but it's no good without electricity. "And nodded," I continued. "'Then I shall join you,' I said, and pressed the huge watermelon knife above my heart.

 "'Go ahead and kill yourself; no one will mind. I'll be happy,' another voice said. Do you know who it belonged to?" Ryan shook his head. "It was you."

 "I would have never said such a thing," he denied.

 "I know that now, but I didn't then. At that time, you were a torment, always looking out for my worst interest like Andy looked out for my best. But," I smiled, "you know how I was. Whatever you told me to do, I wouldn't do it. So you saved me. And since I certainly didn't want to talk to you and your cronies anymore, I started being truthful in my sessions with the psychologist. They say that I'm just about as sane as anyone else now. I go to a regular school, have great friends, am involved in activities, and my grades are good. But my doctors have warned that the reason I relied completely on Andy was because we moved around too much for me to make a variety of friends. So we're here to stay. But none of my friends know about my insanity, so please don't tell them."

 "You have my word on it," Ryan promised. "Now, tell me about your friends, so I'll know what to expect."

 So I did, I told him all about Aimee and her ghosts, clutz Hamilton who can't walk without causing a major disaster, genius Fred, the twins Jeanette and Claudia who still loved to play tricks on people concerning their identities, and stubborn Steve who would go any length to convince people he's right on subjects they don't really care about. I think Ryan sensed how happy I was with this life. I wasn't sure how happy I was with him being a part of it, but I was willing to give it a try.

 The supper bell rang, jolting Samantha out of her reading. The similiarity between her life and Lynne's became more errie the further she read. They had both lost brothers in a house fire and then gone on to have visions of them. Both had convinced their psychiatrists that they were sane when they were actually far from it. And both had felt they were alone without their brothers, so they should die as well...Samantha ran a finger down her wrist, where the scar was still red. But Lynne had found friends to love, would the same be true for her?

 "Father, may I move into another room?" Samantha asked as she sat down at the long table that held all the Rosenburg adults and teenagers. Most were already seated, as they tended to hover about the dining room entrance before the bell rang.

 "Why, Samantha? All the rooms on the third floor are essentially the same."

 "Actually, I wanted to move to the fourth floor, into that spare room next to the library."

 "All isolated up there? Why? The third floor is for the females, you should become friendly with them."

 "Father, with them?" She looked at a pair of girls who were giggling furiously, trying to get a fosterling's attention. "They're dimwits, and I'd be apalled if you really wanted me to consort with them. Please, Father, I'll be okay on teh fourth floor. The room is a lot bigger, and there's already everything in it except my belongings. I just spent the whole afternoon in the library after doing my chores, just reading, and no ill has come of me. I'll be closer to books, which I love even if they're not masterpieces, and there's peace and quiet, which is only available on the third floor in the dead of the night, and not even then sometimes. Please, may I have that room? I'm certain Cindy wouldn't mind having her own room for once."

 "Well...okay," he relented. "I'll get some of the fosterlings to move your belongings after supper."

 "I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself."

 "Not here, in skirts. You know how it is, the menfolk do the work while you direct. I know it's been different, out on our own for all those years, but we have to adjust again. The sooner you do, the more you'll be accepted."

 Samantha sighed, but didn't argue. She had read in the oldest books in the library of a time where girls were allowed to wear pants. It had been a brief time, only half a century or so, but she had read about it as much as she could. But then the Boyorn Empire had taken over, conquering more than half the planet, and girls had once again been forbidden to wear pants, except in country peasant families. Samantha's family wasn't peasantry, but had acted like it for many years because of her father's old yearnings to experience all types of human life (except for royalty, since they weren't of Boyorn ancestry, but they were nobles). And so Samantha had come to like pants (although they were nothing like pants of four hundred years ago) and was upset when she had to trade them for the frilly dresses of nobility once again. Her old sister, Marie, was of legal adult age and had decided to stay in the peasant life. Samantha envied her, but also wished she had come back so she would have someone imaginative to talk to.

 But so Samantha was moved into the fourth-floor room by the aide of three fosterlings, and nobody asked any questions when she preferred that library to the second-floor one. To be truthful, nobody noticed, for no one else lived on that floor except one fosterling who did not fit on the boys' fifth floor. But his room was at the completely opposite end of the hall, so Samantha did not see him. Instead, she spent her time in the secret room, which was easy to get to by crawling out her window, walking along the ledge, and going through the other room's window, and she thoroughly devoured as much of the diary at a time as she could.

 It was in mid-September when Frank, the marching band director (everyone called him Frank, not Mr. Saunding, as we should have) told us the big announcement he'd been keeping secret all summer. Everyone knew what it was about, but nobody knew the details: Every year, since a few years ago, the band had gone on trips for national competitions - New York, Virginia Beach, and North Carolina. But none were as exciting as this one.

 "What's the happiest place on Earth?" Frank asked, and the band went silent. Marching bands are never completely silent by will, but we were then. Everyone knew what the happiest place on Earth was. "That's right," he continued, "we're going to Disney!"

 I was very excited for, despite all the places I'd been to, I had never been near Disney (there were two Disneys in the US, one in Florida and one in California. I'm talking about the one in Florida). Ryan was grinning like a hyena (he had joined shortly after our discussion, and was a better clarinet player than I had remembered), and Aimee was jumping up and down. We eventually quieted enough to hear the rest of the details.

 "We'll be going towards the end of June," Frank said, "so that gives us nine months to prepare. Another band from close to here is going down at the same time, and we've planned our schedules together. I'm good friends with their director, and we've decided that it would be well to make friends with their band. So, we are going to host a ball for them, and they shall do the same for us later in the school year."

 "Where are they from?" someone asked.

 "Dighton-Rehoboth, Massachusetts. Anyone heard of it?"

 I certainly hadn't, but Aimee raised her hand. "I was born in Rehoboth, but we moved here shortly after. But I do know their school is made up of two towns, Dighton and Rehoboth, and their band has been gaining prestige locally. They've played here in parades before, they've won first place in all three categories in the Taunton Christmas Parade three years in a row-" Everyone knew what parade she was talking about-"and they're a big part of Rick's band, which marches in the Bristol Fourth of July parade every year."

 "Yes, Aimee, thank you. Anyway, our ball will be Halloween-themed, being at the end of October, but that does not mean you may dress in a pumpkin outfit. A ball is formal wear only, or somewhere between semi-formal and formal in this case so every band member will show up. Think of it as an old-fashioned masque, if you know what that is."

 And so the next month and a half were busy with preparations for the ball, the start of football games, and school. I was starting my junior year of high school, which is, by far, the most difficult year. I was swamped with schoolwork, but did manage to find an outfit and a date. I was going with Eric, a saxophonist, and we would be Oberon and Titania, King and Queen of the Fairies, from William Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. There was a dress shop off of the Brick Marketplace that did a splendid job with my outfit (a long, flowing dress of silver threads, elbow-length gloves to match, and beautiful silver glass "slippers" - it looked like something out of Cinderella) and there was only one person at the ball who, in my opinion, outshined me and everyone else.

 The masque was held at a real ballroom on the waterfront (since it's an island, there are a lot of places in Newport that match that description, but this was the most beautiful one), and there was a doorway that led outside to a beach. The inside was marvelous with a dozen chandeliers, and quite spacious. At one end, a band in tuxes played the night's music (different waltzes and such), and couples hesitantly tried to dance to them (Frank had given a few dance lessons during practices but nobody was great at it). In the middle of the room, admist the fumbling dancers, two people twirled around and around, never missing a step. I didn't recognise either of them, so I knew they were from D-R (as the school was called).

 The girl wore a peachy orange gown that trailed behind her, and the bodice was silver with orange straps. A shawl of the same color draped over her shoulders and back, and fastened at the front of her neck. Her skin was ivory white, her curled hair brown with red highlights. She seemed to be leading her partner.

 He wore a traditional tuxedo, but a black cape accompianied it, and on his face was the mask of the Phantom of the Opera. His brown hair was in the Oasis style popular at least five years before, but it made him appear cuter. He was a few inches taller than the girl, standing at about 5'8", and his height only seemed to help him glide along with her. For, although the girl was leading, he didn't miss a single step.

 That was the first glimpse I had of them as I entered, and then Eric asked me to dance. We weren't as marvelous as them, but we weren't horrible either. After a few dances, we went onto the veranda to talk to Aimee. She was talking to the perfect dancers, but she motioned us to go over to them.

 "Lynne, this is Christine Haskell and Ian Somerhalden," she introduced. "This is Lynne Peclen and Eric Bojer," and she said his last name right, the French way. "Christine used to live in Newport."

 "Really?" I asked. "When? For, now that I see you closer, you do look familiar."

 "Oh, I haven't lived here since I was a baby," she replied.

 "Then I don't know why you're familiar...unless you've been on the navy base? That's where I live."

 "Actually, yes. My father was in the navy, and I went there just this past August to get my ID card."

 "Well, there it is. Did you know Aimee once lived in Rehoboth?"

 "Yes, we were talking about that. It appears that she moved right around when I did. Strange how life works, isn't it?"

 "I must agree. Now, tell me, how did you learn to dance like that?" I asked.

 She had finally convinced her mother (whom she called "mum" with a British accent - I soon found out she loved England) to let her take ballroom dancing lessons at the beginning of September, two weeks before the masque was announced, so she had time to learn by going for two hours on Monday and Wednesday nights, and two and a half hours on Saturday nights. ("They're always at night," she said, "because I have riding lessons during the afternoon on those days, and I go riding every afternoon I don't have lessons.") We talked about a lot of other things, and by the time the masque was ended, we had exchanged phone numbers and email addresses, and were friends. The masque was great.

 In November, Christine stopped by. She said she came to Newport a lot, and her mother had to return some papers to the navy. So they found out where my house was (nothing's personal information if you can get on the base) and came to visit. That was when I learned about her father. I just asked why she got an ID card when you usually didn't get one unless you lived on the base or were 18, and she said, "My father's dead. He died almost two years ago." So I told her about Andy, and I said that I felt a little guilty because he had died four years ago, but she had less time, and she didn't go insane over her father, even though he had been very close to her. So she told me her secret.

 "No, I didn't go insane like you did, but maybe your way was better...well, besides the whole suicide thing, but I'd tried suicide plenty of times before my father even got sick [he died of cancer]. But you grieved over Andy. I didn't, really. I've cried harder over characters dying in books. I've cried more over my life than I have over his death. But I'm not sane, I think. I still half-believe that one day, he'll just walk in and say, "That was a long day at work, how was art class today?" [she was also an artist]. I still believe that my dog that ran away in third grade will just come back, although any dog of his breed would be dead by now...basically any dog would be. I truly believe that unicorns really exist. I can accept anyone's death except my father's. But you eventually came to accept Andy's death. I haven't, and I seriously doubt I ever will. I know he died, but I don't think it's real. I'll wake up in the middle of a night and hear his snores in the room next to mine. Although my world has changed so much since he died, I still think he'll suddenly appear and everything will go back to the way it was. You don't have those wild, unattainable dreams flying around inside your head. You have closure. I'd much rather have that, but I don't."

 Then the topic changed. "What were you for the masque?" I asked her. "I know Ian was the Phantom, but I couldn't place you."

 "I was a sorceress. I'd loved that dress since I was little - I had a Barbie with a dress just like it - and I had a dressmaker convert it to real-life size for me, and then I touched it up a bit so it looked more like what a sorceress would war. I even have a silver cloak to match the bodice. It's in my mum's car, though."

 "So you like magic?"

 "Oh, yes, I spent my middle school years - and still now - reading every fantasy book with magic in it I could find. But now, I've started actually learning it. Not wiccan stuff, just regular magic. But I love it." She smiled. "I'm still on the very simple spells, like moving objects - I've always been very good at that - but I someday hope to talk with animals. It is my greatest wish, beside befriending a unicorn."

 "You'll do both of them," I told her. I believed - and still do - that Christine would do anything she desired to. My belief in that has never wavered. Over time, she taught us how to get what we wanted. The only problem was, I never wanted much of anything, so I didn't get much use out of her instructions. But if the truth be told, Christine didn't want much, either: the two aforementioned items, and her own horse. She was a horse freak.

 Eventually, Christine's mother came back and they left, and I walked to band practice (I had gotten my license, but minors are not allowed to drive on military bases).

 At the beginning of December, Ryan asked me out on a date. We had become close friends since our first meeting, but I wasn't certain I wanted to take it to the next level. So I said no, and he didn't talk to me or even come near me for weeks. I'm still glad I said no, though. It wasn't the right time for us. Still, it was rough on him, and I didn't blame him for his reaction.

 But I made it up to him on Christmas Eve. I showed up on his doorstep wearing an outfit like the Snow Queen (for it had been snowing all day) at quarter to midnight. I pulled him outside, where eight reindeer and a sleigh were waiting. We got in without saying a word, and off they went (no, they did not fly if you're familiar with the Christmas tales). We glided out of the base and to a building around the corner of the Brick Marketplace. We were at the only movie theatre in Newport open to the public (there was also on on the base). It usually didn't get a lot of business, since it showed old movies from the 1930's, but tonight people were already lined up (and they were quite shocked at seeing the reindeer) and there was a midnight special: the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

 I knew that it was Ryan's favorite movie, but he had never seen it in the theatres. So that was my Christmas present to him, and he enjoyed it. We became friends again, although I knew he still wanted to date me. I couldn't let him, though.

 In February, I called Christine again, and she came to sleep over for the night. We talked about things that were not very important, but they made us closer friends. She even showed me her spells and demonstrated a few. She told me that, since she had turned seventeen the month before, her powers would be complete in a year. She couldn't wait to see how much power she had, but it was a serious isue. She would have to learn to control it, or she could kill a thousand people without meaning to.

 Then, her voice dropped to an excited whisper. "I saw an undine."

 "A what?"

 "A water sprite," she explained. "It was covered in blue scales, and its hair was blue, and it was no bigger than a barn owl, but it was so much more magnificent. I was walking through the woods across from my house, since I hadn't been in them in so many years, and I came across a pond. It wasn't frozen, sicne it's been like summer weather all winter excepting Christmas, and I sat down near it. I wasn't there five minutes when I saw the undine coming out of the water." There was a look of pure bliss on her face that I've never forgotten. So I let her continue, although I still had no idea what she was talking about.

 Eventually, talk turned to other things. "When's the dance going to be?" I asked.

 "No clue. We're still trying to find a place to have it."

 "Where do you usually have your prom?"

 "Newport."

 "Oh. Then that's a problem. Isn't there anywhere suitable in your towns?"

 "You've never been to D-R, have you? There's nothing. Our best bet would be to build something in one of our numerous cowfields."

 "Then why don't you do that?"

 "Building a place would cost too much money and take too long. I think we should just have a garden part, but nobody will listen to me. I'm not important, even though I should be. Doug even still calls me Christina, although I've been in the band for four years! But I won't go into why I'm mad at Doug." And neither will I because, although it's a matter of great importance to Christine, you probably won't know what it's about.

 We stayed up talking the whole night and most of the early morning. She told me about her favorite bands (all of which are British or Canadian or, in the extreme case they're from the US, they're from Boston and largely unheard of - most of her bands are - or from the 1960's), and she played a few CDs (recorded music) she had brought over. I fell in love with the Candyskins, a group from Oxford, England. The inscription of this diary, "She said life is what's behind you", came from their song So Easy. Another great band she introduced me to was the Canadian band Sloan. There were dozens of others, but these two stood out the most (and Spacehog). Eventually, we fell asleep while listening to Travis (they're Scottish, like Christine, and they and Sloan were her two most favorite bands).

 "Hi." Samantha looked up from the little book, startled. She had been reading in the fourth-floor library, not expecting anyone to come in. But the fosterling who shared her floor was standing in front of her.

 "Oh, hello," she replied.

 "I'm Corey," he said.

 "I'm Samantha."

 "You come in here a lot, I noticed, always with that book."

 "So what if I do?"

 "Nothing, I was just making a comment. What's it about?"

 "It's a diary of the lady who first bought this castle. It's before that, though."

 "That sounds interesting. Where did you get it?"

 "Her bedroom."

 "Which room is that? Is it your room?"

 "No, her room would not be as ordinary as that. It's the cache of the castle."

 "And you found it?"

 "Yes."

 "Where is it?"

 Samantha looked at Corey and decided she could trust him. "Are you afraid of heights?" she asked. "And I don't mean looking out a window and being secure." She quickly decided to make an initiation test of sorts by bringing him through the scariest - and most important - entrance.

 "No, I'm not. I've climbed the outside of the Northwest Tower," he told her.

 "Then follow me," she said, and led him into her room. She stepped out onto the ledge and started inching over to the other window. Colin stuck his head out.

 "You're crazy!" he shouted at her. "You'll kill yourself."

 "Maybe I am crazy," she agreed, "but I'm not going to fall. I've made this journey lots of times since the night I moved in here."

 "And nobody's seen you?" he asked, stepping out of the window.

 "Of course not. This side of the house faces the forest, and nobody goes in there and randomly looks up to the fourth-floor ledge. How else would this window have gone unnoticed?" she asked, climbing through it. She then helped pull Corey in. his bafflement lasted only a few moments, and then it was replaced by excitement.

 "Do you know what all of this is?" he asked.

 "Sure, that's the United States of America flag, I'm pretty sure that's a television, those are CDs..."

 "This room is full of stuff that's considered illegal by the Boyorn Empire, which means it's at least three hundred years old!"

 "I know that. I've been reading the books she put in here, and I got the CD player to work. Listen to this." She put in a CD, Sloan's "Smeared", and pressed play. What resulted was a high screeching sound that anyone from Lynne's time would recognise as being wrong.

 "I don't think that sounds right," Corey said.

 "Of course it doesn't." They turned around and saw a girl of about twenty standing in a corner. She had long, blonde hair and brown eyes, and was of short height. "Congratulations, Samantha. You've figured out how to make it work without true electricity. That's something not even the geniuses of my time could do. But there was one thing they already knew that you did not."

 "And what was that?" she asked.

 The lady walked forward and took the CD out of the stereo. "They knew which way to put it in. Hm, interesting selection."

 "Who are you?" Corey finally managed to croak out.

 "I am Sarah Lynne Peclen, Samantha's grandmother to the eighth degree and the original owner of this house. This was my room."

 "Then you cannot be here, you must be dead!"

 "Samantha, if you will explain?" Lynne asked.

 She nodded and turned to Corey. "Sometimes, spirits come back among the living. Usually it's to guide a beloved family member, but sometimes they just come back for unimportant reasons. And quite often, only the chosen person is able to see the spirit."

 "Quite right," Lynne said, playing the CD in the correct manner. "In my case, it was just to show you how to use this." She smiled. "How are you enjoying my diary, Samantha?"

 "It is very interesting. I hope it will help me."

 "Have you seen Jack since he told you about here?"

 "No, I haven't seen him in a long time. Has he left me? He didn't even say goodbye."

 "Then he will come back. They always say goodbye. I will also come back." She disappeared as suddenly as she had come.

 "What was that about?" Corey asked.

 "My brother comes to visit me sometimes," Samantha explained. "Mainly to keep me from trying to kill myself again. But don't tell anyone, or I'll never be left alone."

 "I won't tell anyone. Now, what do you suppose this is?" he asked, picking up a heavy book. "Well, it says it's a photo album, but what's a photo?"

 "It's like a portrait, but not painted, and it's made in an instant," she told him. "It's not made of an artist's impression and it shows the truth in a person's appearance, unlike most courtly portraits. Open it, I want to see what the photos are of."

 The first pictures they saw were of a brightly lit room with elaborately dressed men and women. It looked very much like the court ball Samantha had attended a few years ago.

 "This must be the masque," she said. "Look, I think that is Christine." She pointed to a girl of about seventeen. Her short hair, worn at the chin in a scandalous fashion of Samantha's time, was slightly curled at the bottom. Her green eyes seemed to dance themselves, and her lips were curved in the prettiest smile the girl had ever seen. "She's beautiful," she breathed.

 "Who is?" Corey asked, peering over her shoulder. "I don't see anything in these photos. Who's Christine?"

 "Lynne's friend. She was a sorceress - or at least training to be."

 "Was?"

 "Well, she was alive over three hundred years ago. Sorceresses are supposed to live long, even longer than males of their practice, but they don't live that long...I think." The truth was, she had never met a true sorceress. There were herb-witches abound in the lands, but none had the talent to become a sorceress. Nobody ever came across them, anyway. Real sorceresses were said to populate the fabled island of England, which was contradictory in itself. And besides, Samantha hadn't the knowledge if Christine had become a true sorceress or not. "If you read the diary, you'd know that."

 "Then may I read it?"

 "It's in English, do you know that?" He shook his head. "Then I shall read it to you, and we'll read the rest together. And I'll teach you English, it's a useful language to know. Or at least, that's what my father says. But at any rate, you should learn all that's within your reach." She flipped through the other pages of the album, but found nothing. So they climbed back through the windows and Samantha started reading from the beginning again.

 It was a month before they caught up to where Samantha had been, and she had been wondering what would happen. She nearly ran to the library they had made their own after dinner and read until her voice was hoarse with exhaustion.

 The D-R gathering turned out to be a rather simple garden party in late April. Christine had done most of the planning, since it was held in her backyard. It was well cared for, since her father had tended the yard every day since they moved there until he had been hospitalized and died.

 The theme was a Victorian Garden Party, and Christine once again outdid herself on the costume. She wore a white silk dress from the fashion of that time. I think she has a private dressmaker, but she also said that she was getting a plain dress and no shoes for the prom due to these expenses. Her mother makes her pay for nearly everything, but Christine says it builds character. Otherwise, she would be extremely irresponsible later in life and would have no funds.

 Her date for this function was a Mister Nolan Spellman, whose father and uncle lived down the other end of Christine's driveway. He was dressed very sharply in a black tuxedo that contrasted marvelously with her white, and he was very polite. Although Christine tended to disagree with everything he said, I could tell they were actually good friends.

 And, although he technically wasn't invited, Ian stopped by, since he had been visiting Christine for the week. He was very charming and swept a few girls off their feet (not literally), but Christine confided in me that she didn't care for him at all like everyone supposed, despite his wealth and status (he was an up-and-coming television star, but had really already made his mark). And Nolan was only a friend, she couldn't love him more than that because she disagreed with every thought of his, even though she had thought she was in love with him four years ago. But she would more than likely be going to the prom with him, since no one else was likely to ask her. I didn't see why, since she was very pretty and intelligent and everyone seemed to like her. She said at school was a different matter, though, and I wasn't as critical as the people there. The vast majority of them thought she was too weird in her interests and style of clothing. I admired her for being so different and having the courage to show it.

 But still, she seemed upset that she had nobody to court her (that's how she put it). Not every woman needs a man, but she was one of those who, along with her dreams of unicorns and magic, longed for true love. She had already been in love twice (although she wouldn't tell me who she was in love with), but she got her heart broken so both times were not true love. She still yearned for it, though. She was a hopeless romantic.

 In May, I had another visit from Andy. I hadn't had one for almost a year and was surprised of his appearance. I didn't tell my parents, though. As long as I was only visited by Andy, there would be no problems, now that I had dealt with my grief.

 We talked for a while, mostly about what had been happening in my life. He was glad that I had found others to confide in besides him. I had to grow apart from him sometime, he said. Although he was my brother, friends can be more important than him, especially when he was dead.

 "But you're not dead!" I screamed at this point (our parents were working). "You're still alive in my heart!"

 "As it should be," he said. "But I shouldn't be here, in the living realm, when you no longer need me. And you don't anymore."

 "I don't want to say goodbye," I said quietly, a tear streaming down my face.

 "You have to. I wrote for you this sugartune," he started singing. It was the song Sugartune by Sloan, off their album "Smeared".

 "To help you through what you've gotta do," I finished.

 "When you're on your own and all alone, remember that you've always got a home," we sang together.

 "Goodbye, Andy," I managed to choke out as he started to disappear.

 "Goodbye, sweet sister. If you ever need me, call for me and I'll come. Otherwise, I'll be waiting for you in the other realm." He wasn't allowed to talk about what that "other realm" was, but I suppose it was a small price to pay for coming to see me. I wasn't curiousm, though. I had been too near it to wonder.

 In June, school finished with a flurry of exams, and then we were boarding a plane a thte T. F. Green airport in Warwick, Rhode Island. The D-R band wasn't there, as they were leaving the next day. I said goodbye to my parents and stepped off for Disney.

 The ride was uneventful, and we arrived just in time to check into the hotel and fall into the beds of our designated rooms. I was with Aimee, Jeanette, and Claudia. Hamilton, Fred, Steve, and Ryan were in the room next door. At night, we could walk out onto the balconies and talk to each other.

 The next day, nearly everyone was wakened by loud talking and banging in the hallways. Sleepily, I opened the door to find a group of large numbers crowding the hallways, and a bellow erupted: "You call yourselves a marching band? Marching bands are supposed to be organized, and I see nothing of the sort!" We had recieved pretty much the same words the night before. Then the man's voice softened: "Oh, good morning, Frank. I trust you slept well?"

 "I did until now," our band director replied. "What's all this yelling about? It's a good thing this floor is only for us, or you'd already be thrown out."

 Suddenly, a bright-eyed face popped up in my doorway. "Hello, Lynne," Christine said. She always smiled when she said my name, since it was also her middle name and the band called her by it.

 "Hello, Lynne," I replied with an equal smile. She looked different from before - she was even more fit, since her "mum" had become a health freak and signed the whole family up for membership at the YMCA. And Christine, of course, took full advantage of that membership. When she wasn't working, in school, riding horses, dancing, or at band (which took up a lot of time), she was always there. She said she couldn't possibly spend more time there, even if they offered fencing lessons. She loved fencing, but didn't know it herself.

 "Hey, I want you to meet my sister, Katie," she said. "She came as a chaperone." A girl behind her nodded. She had the same brown hair as Christine, maybe a shade lighter and definitely a lot longer. The rest of her features resembled their mother's and thus, she didn't look much like Christine, who said she was the only who looked like her father's side of the family. Katie, I knew, had just turned nineteen and finished her first year of college (although her first year had been her sophomore year, due to outstanding grades in Advanced Placement courses in high school). Although they seemed to be completely different, the two sisters also seemed to get along like friends (which hadn't always been the case).

 And then they rushed off to unpack, and I closed the door, for I had just remembered I was in my pyjamas in front of at least a hundred semi-strangers.
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