The Cryptic Diary
By Nancy Malcom

NOTE TO THE READER: I run a thrift shop in Evanston, Illinois. Last summer, like every summer, I hit the yard sales and estate auctions to find some good buys.

Usually, I just throw all this stuff into the garage and sort it out after school starts, and I have a few hours alone each day.

In one of the boxes I found a diary. Nothing too fancy, just an old, leather covered one with tattered edges and lots of dark stains on it.

There weren’t any dates on any of the pages and no way to identify the author. I almost threw it aside when I noticed there were only a few pages with writing on them. Since it still contained several unused sheets, I thought I could just tear out the used pages and keep it around for a notebook.

Luckily, when I tore out the pages, I tore out the next blank page as well. I put the pages in the old desk I keep in the garage and just found them again a couple of months ago.

Here’s what was written in that diary.

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Dear Diary ,

The talk all over the school is about the committee. The Mayor is going to pick the committee sometime this week. I don’t know what everyone’s so excited about—maybe even afraid of. We’ve only been here a few weeks. Isn’t being appointed to a committee a big honor or something? One would think it was the worse thing in the world the way the students talk about it. More like the way they WON’T talk about it! They just look at me like I’m stupid when I ask. This is the oddest town we’ve ever lived in.

Dear Diary ,

Father didn’t eat at supper tonight, and later Mother came into our room and told us he got picked for the committee. Gracie Ruth, who is three years older than me, started to cry. I know nothing about the committee, but I don’t like it if just talking about it makes Gracie Ruth cry. No, I don’t like it at all.

Dear Diary ,

Gracie Ruth told me that her name was on the list to be picked for the committee too. She said she doesn’t know much about the committee, no one will say anything about it, but she thinks it must be just the most horrible thing anyone could have to do. She said she felt awful that Father got picked and she didn’t—she felt really guilty that she was glad it was him not her. I told her she was being silly, and it was nothing to worry about.

Dear Diary ,

Today at school, Fred Smelter asked me to the dance next Saturday! I thought maybe he kind of liked me last week because he looked right at me and smiled after math class. I am so excited!!! I don’t know what I’ll wear, but maybe Mother can sell enough eggs to buy me a new dress. We’d have to go to City though because there’s not enough time to make one. Oh why, why, why? Why do we have to stay in this stupid little town? I’ll have to figure out something because Fred is really, REALLY cute!

Dear Diary ,

Fred asked if he could sit by me at lunch today at school. I could see Sally and Bertha gazing our way. HA!! I don’t think anyone has asked either of them to go to the dance Saturday. And Fred is THE handsomest boy in the whole school!! And he sat by ME for lunch!!!

Dear Diary ,

Mother was packing our clothes today when I got home from school. She said we were leaving town before next week. Next week is when the committee starts meeting, she said and we are NOT going to be here for sure. I don’t know what to think. Isn’t Father on the committee? Isn’t he supposed to be at the committee meetings? What is this committee anyway? We’ve had committees in school. The bake sale committee, the library funds committee—those didn’t amount to anything. I think my parents are dim-witted. I’m not going anywhere until after the dance Saturday!

Dear Diary ,

This is really bad, REALLY BAD!! After Father got home from work yesterday, we all headed out of the house with our totes. The constable came and took Father away. Mother’s all crying and screaming that they’re going to kill him. Sweet Lord! They can’t kill someone for going out of town can they? We’ve gone out of town before to shop and see relatives. Of course, that was before Father was on the committee.

Dear Diary ,

It’s all too horrible! Fred told me today he couldn’t go to the dance with me after all. His parents told him my whole family was shunned. I don’t even know what that means! I don’t understand!! Why is this happening to me? Now I can’t go to the dance, no one at school will talk to me—not even the teachers! Mother just cries all the time and Gracie Ruth won’t come out of the house.

Father is still in jail. Mother said she can’t get him any lawyer in this town, and she can’t get out of town to find any other one. I hate this town, and I hate that stupid committee!!!!

Dear Diary ,

Today was the first day of the committee meetings. Because Father tried to get off the committee by leaving town, he isn’t "suitable" to be committee head the last big night of the ceremonies so the mayor told him. He will be "guide" the next to the last night. Who cares? It sounds like an impossibly boring event to me. Mother said we all have to go to every committee meeting—it’s the town law or something.

Well, it might not be too bad seeing Father lead some committee, even if it is just one night and no one likes him. I hate this town. I hope after this committee thing is over we can leave. I’ll miss Fred, though. I’ll miss him a LOT!!

Dear Diary ,

Now I know why Mother didn’t want Father on the committee. I don’t understand how people can be so stupid and superstitious! It’s like some herd of lemmings or something. The whole town circles around and watches some women dance in costumes that look like big bugs or something. Then the committee leader comes out on this big float. Everyone cheers and the band plays. The committee leader gives a speech about how he loves his family and how doing his duty and serving on the committee lets him sacrifice for the community.

This guy looked pretty awful I thought. All crying and what not. Everyone cheered when he finally shut up. I cheered too. I was so glad he'd stopped talking and sniveling.

He has to sleep out in the park all night by the big cave entrance. Some sacrifice! Such a big crybaby!!

I think I’ll go by there in the morning on my way to school and see him. If that’s all this committee stuff amounts to Father shouldn’t be so worried.

Dear Diary ,

The man wasn’t there this morning. Probably went home for breakfast.

Dear Diary ,

Well another two nights of dancing and band playing and sad faces. How stupid!! What is WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE??

Dear Diary ,

I’m writing this from the park. It’s Father's night to sleep by the cave and I’m in a tree watching out for him. There isn’t any school tomorrow and it’s not like I have to rest up for the dance tomorrow night!

I hope Fred trips over his big feet and bruises that pretty face of his. Well, maybe not. He is swooning cute! For all the good that does me.

Father's not sleeping much. He keeps walking around in circles.

I just noticed Father HAS to walk in a circle! Those stupid people have tied one of his feet to something. This is ridiculous! I don’t know what they think they’re doing, but I’m doing something about it.

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NOTE: This next page was missing from the diary. But I did have the blank page that was under it. I used the old pencil shading trick and made out this last entry...

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Dear Diary ,

You are the only one I can tell the truth to. I think I’m going insane. Mother knows something happened, but she’s stopped asking me about it. Gracie Ruth just cries all the time.

It’s been three months since the night I sat in the tree and wrote to you. Here’s what happened. I think I can tell it all the way through, but I’m not sure.

No one can ever see this—EVER!

I started down the tree to help Father get the rope off his ankle. Before I got halfway down a group of men and some women from the committee and some others came up to where Father was.

I climbed back up the tree higher than before to watch. I thought they were probably done with the game and were going to let him go home.

One of the men held a big gong thing and one of the women came up and just tapped it three times with her fist. Not very hard—I could barely hear it. Then the next person came and did the same thing—three little hits. They all did this, and then they walked back to the edge of the trees.

Father was really upset. He looked really REALLY SCARED!!!

(This part is very hard to write about Diary, but if I don’t tell someone I’ll just die with the knowing of it all alone).

Father started screaming and I started crying because I saw it too.

I yelled for Father and he turned when he heard my voice. He turned away from looking at it. Maybe it wouldn’t have got him if he hadn’t turned away...maybe it was all my fault what happened?

He saw me and he looked right into my eyes. He was crying so much and I was too, and I don’t know how we even could see with our eyes so full.

Then it had him and just closed its mouth on his arm and shoulder and drug him into the cave. I screamed and climbed down from the tree and ran to the cave.

The men all grabbed me. Father was gone. A little bit of the rope was still there. I touched it.

The men said since Father had served on committee after all, me and Mother and Gracie Ruth could just leave town and not have to serve on committee ourselves the next night. I understood what they meant. I stopped screaming. I didn't try to help Father at all anymore.

The mayor said if I said anything about “the proceedings of the committee,” that thing would punish the town, and me and Mother and Gracie Ruth would be hunted down and killed.

I was scared! Just as scared of the committee as I was of the monster. Afraid I didn't do enough, afraid I had done too much. I just wanted to go home.

Even now my hand is shaking to the point I can hardly write. We are here in Chicago, all safe and sound. But I know they are out there...I know I can’t tell anyone but you. Dear Diary, please, don’t ever tell anyone!

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NOTE: That’s all that was in the diary. I’ve sent the story and my address to every magazine I thought would publish it and several have.

I just want to find the person who wrote the diary. I wish I knew her name. I’d like to talk to her...find out why she wrote it. I'd like to know what happened to her.

If you’re out there, please write. I NEED to know if what you wrote about was real—soon.