The abandoned house above Braefinnan had stood empty for thirty years. Nobody knew who built it, nobody knew why it had been abandoned, and nobody could explain why, on the first day of the year lights appeared in the upstairs window. Every single year, for as long as anyone could remember, the eerie glow of lantern light streamed out of the windows, harsh and glaring against the brightly coloured fireworks that normally light the sky on New Years Day. It’s the only place in the world where I feel like me. In it I keep my box, a treasure chest, an old wooden box filled with a photo, a card with my parents signature, and a small wooden chess piece my dad carved. This is all I have of them, the box was with me when I was abandoned. What most people don't know is that this room is my house. I usually sit in one of the old chairs, covered in tasty food and try to imagine the people who live there. The house is supposed to be haunted but I haven’t seen any ghosts. Supposedly the house was originally a bar and was built over a graveyard, and the souls of the house were cursed for touching hallowed ground, no one knows why or what the curse is, the graveyard had been abandoned for years. The ghosts of a murdered man are supposed to stalk the house, carrying a lantern but he didn't die here, far away in London, why does he haunt this house, no one knows. Tonight I am curled up, my feet under me, reading. My glass is shoved up my nose, I am reading the journal of the house, the lost Mehr sehen