"I need the book Nineteen Eighty-Four," Anastasia told her reflection in her bureau mirror. "Where am I going to get that?" Her cold blue eyes gave her no answer. "I certainly doubt that Uncle Julian will take me to the – Library, of course, why didn't I think of it before?" She had neatly dismissed the fact there was a library just down the hall from her room.

"Orwell, George, let's see, O'Connor, O'Neil, ah, here it is!"

She pulled the book down from the shelf, but to her surprise, there was another book stuck behind it. Curious, she stood on her tip toes to pull the book out of the shelf to see what it was. However, she found she could not remove the book from the shelf, it merely tipped down so that it was lying on the shelf, binding downward. The greatest surprise was when the bookcase began to creek open at the corner.

"It's a secret door!" Anastasia whispered in awe. A sense of mystery and curiousity filled her heart. She quickly dashed between the opening as it swung shut behind her.

She now stood in a small, bare room. There were no windows, all there was, was a door leading into another room. Her curiosity rising, she walked into the next room, without a thought for whether she belonged in this part of the house or not. The next room was even smaller than the first, it was circular. All that was in the room was a spiral staircase leading both up and down from the floor she was currently on.

"I wonder," Anastasia said aloud. She pounded down the stairs until she was at the bottom where she reached a door. She was about to burst through, when she heard the faint sound of one of Beethoven's piano concertos being played on the other side. Anastasia gasped. This was the forbidden tower.

She tore up the stairs feeling that her uncle might be able to sense her presence through the wall. She ran until there were no more stairs to climb. She bent over, clutching her knees to catch her breath.

Once she had caught her breath, she looked up to see boxes piled in the corner.

"Why bother making this tower forbidden just for a few boxes," Anastasia wondered.

What's in the boxes, the devil on her shoulder tempted her. Her curiosity flared up again.

"It's really none of my business," she told herself. "On the other hand, I am here, I might as well make running up all of these stairs worth my while."

Soon she was digging through boxes. They were mostly filled with clothes from the early seventies. There were girl's clothes, roughly her own size. However she did find a few things that were interesting to her.

The first was a journal. It was a simple neatly bound notebook, everything in perfect order. The first page read:

Penny A. Litchfield

1957 –

Abigail M. Smith LitchfieldJulian L. Litchfield

1940- 19651940 –

"I didn't know Uncle Julian ever had a wife, let alone a daughter." Anastasia thought. He did seem to fit the old bachelor persona. He gave the impression that he avoided other people as much as possible; like he refused to get close to anyone.

The first entry read:

July 17, 1973

Dear Diary

Today is my sixteenth birthday. Father has given me this diary so that I may treasure my youth unlike my mother. I know that he thinks of her much on this day. After all, I am the reason that they couldn't be young sweethearts for very long. I wish I could remember her. I only have faint memories of her singing to me. I know that she was wonderful though. She was loving and absolutely beautiful. I have asked Father about her from time to time, but he isn't very willing to give up information. I think it pains him to talk about her . . .

Anastasia was engrossed now. Nothing could tear her from the journal now. Even if Julian was to tear into the room at that very moment, he would be unable to keep her from reading that diary.

August 7, 1973

Dear Diary,

Today I stumbled upon something I wish I had not. Mrs. Elga sent me to the cellar to get a jar of peaches. I was about to return to the kitchen when I noticed a strange light. I felt as though I was being drawn toward it. I followed it to its source on the back wall. I pushed on it, and it parted, as though it were a double door. I entered the room behind the wall, and what I encountered there will haunt me to the end of my days. It is too horrible to even try to describe. I swear by my mother's grave I will never return there again.

Anastasia frowned at the diary. She thought that Penny was being slightly dramatic.

"She probably saw that the floor was covered in dead spiders, maybe there were a few rats crawling around," she reasoned. Then Anastasia shuddered, trying to block the horrible images that tried to flood her mind. "I've seen worse that that."

August 30, 1973

Dear Diary,

I can't escape. Everywhere I go, everywhere I turn I see him. He is in everyone, but he poses as Father most. This happens so much that I try to avoid him at all costs. Father senses that something is wrong. He has often tried seeking me out. This makes it more difficult to avoid him.

I don't know why he bothers me or what he wants. If I knew, I would gladly give it to him so I could get on my life . . .

September 23, 1973

Dear Diary,

Father has forbid me to go anywhere or do anything with Michael anymore. He says that Michael must be treating me badly, causing my "strange behavior." But Michael has not hurt me in any way. He's a perfect gentleman. The one who haunts me is not Michael, but someone terrible and powerful. I don't know his name, but I wish he would leave me alone.

"Poor Penny and Michael, they couldn't be together just because some stupid fink harassed Penny," Anastasia thought.

The last journal entry read:

October 21, 1973

Dear Diary,

I can't take it anymore. I will not be pushed around by this nameless jerk. Michael and I will be together and no one can stop that. I must stop the haunting once and for all.

Anastasia sat back feeling let down. What happened to Penny? What did she do against the person who was bothering her? Where was Penny? Perhaps she could ask Mrs. Elga someday.

Anastasia hunted through the rest of the boxes. The only thing she found of interest was a tiny sword. It was in a wooden box with an inscription on it that Anastasia was unable to decipher. The sword itself was only a half foot long. The hilt of the sword was gold with green and red jewels embedded into it. The blade was polished so that in shone brightly.

"It's wonderful," Anastasia whispered.

She couldn't describe why she liked it so much. Normally something like this wouldn't interest her, but there was something about it that was appealing, almost familiar.

Anastasia ran her finger along the blade, and to her surprise it drew blood. She stuck her finger in her mouth to get it to stop bleeding. She continued to examine the sword and discovered that despite the cut on her finger, there was no blood on the blade. She carefully placed the sword back into the box. She felt as if somehow compelled to take the sword with her. What could it hurt? And it was such a lovely sword. Who would ever know, the tower was forbidden. Anastasia tucked the box under her sweater and brought it back to her bedroom, tucking it safely underneath the mattress.