The Burned Book
The morning we found the body, as dead as the fallen leaves it had been hastily buried beneath, the fog had been so thick that it was hard to see anything. In fact, had it not been for the burnt light that shone in patches through the thick tangle of Hickory and Ash, we might never have seen the muddy boot that started the other girls screaming for their homes. I wanted to run too, but I stood there staring at him. My mother used to call me Curiosity the Cat because I could “never leave well enough alone”. At this moment, that name was like a premonition. I couldn’t help it, I leaned down to get a closer look. I recognized him right away by his thick, tangled red hair and his patchy beard.
