Julie's Secret

• Ramisa Raya, Grade 8, St Patrick's College
• Short Story
• 2011

Excellence Award in the 'Step Write Up 2011' competition

Julie’s curls tilt her pink bicycle against the gate, her tiny head peering up at the mansion in front.
It reminds her of the haunted houses Vincent discusses, attempting to panic her. But since this is his house, there’s no denying his familiarity with the supernatural. With her chest puffing with newfound confidence, she marches into the house with her tiny feet.
Vincent’s Grandfather lives here. The door is constantly left open. Julie sometimes voices her worries, but Grandfather would laugh, his young blue eyes crinkling before dismissing. It never occurs to him Julie’s awake every night with a torch; gazing across the road to confirm no imposters arrive. She knows that, in many ways, she’s more logical than Grandfather –even at only nine years old.
“Julie!” the surprisingly young voice calls in happiness. Julie grins before sprinting and jumping onto his lap. Even though he’s Vincent’s grandfather, he has become a part of her. “My, you’re growing into quite a woman.”
She giggles as she looks up at him, her eyes shining. “You really think so, Grandfather?” I’ll be just like Mum! Julie thinks happily.
Julie’s mother, Pricilla, is a beautiful. Every spare second of her high-school life was used practicing ballet, developing a perfect figure. Men gather around, mesmerised, but frightened by her fiery personality to confess. But this was before the goofy Albert came around, somehow winning Pricilla’s heart and having the best gift of all –Julie herself.
Vincent’s father is Albert’s brother, making him her cousin and therefore making Grandfather part of the family –part of Julie’s heart.
“I’m sure.” He yawns like always. These days, Grandfather has scarcely any energy left. Back when Julie was younger, Vincent and Grandfather would be inseparable from their continuous games of cricket. Everything seems to be falling apart now. Like the colourful leaves scuttling down the branches in mid-autumn. “Is there any reason you came here, Julie?”
Julie hesitates, biting her slender lips. “Grandfather, can I tell you a secret?”
The wind outside strengthens, pulling more leaves off branches, almost deafening as it rattles against the rusty shed in Vincent’s backyard. They whisper to Julie, as if begging for liberty. Begging for her.
“What is it?”
“Vincent let me borrow his red crayon today,” she whispers, twiddling her fingers uncertainly. “He made me promise not to tell anyone, because he doesn’t want them to think he’s soft. But I can’t keep a secret.” She stares up at Grandfather with her intense brown eyes. “You won’t tell anyone, will you, Grandfather?”
With a slow smile spreading through his face, he nods. Julie stands up and advances out the door, gathering her bicycle and ignoring the calls of freedom from the wind. She cycles until she’s merely a fragment of the distance, her strawberry-blonde hair no longer visible. Internally, she feels light and relieved. She understands Grandfather will keep her secret. He’s superior at keeping secrets.
Why wouldn't he be?
He’s been deceased for seven years.