Section B: Narrative Text

1

As the car neared the property, Matthew's thoughts drifted to his past visits. Aberdeen was just a two-hour train ride from Glasgow, yet to him, it felt galaxies apart. Such was the effect of being distant from one’s memories – it magnified the separation both in space and time. He hadn't been to the farmhouse since his early teens, though not for a lack of trying. Life always had its way of interrupting plans. “When was the last time you set foot in this place?” Sam questioned, his voice pulling Matthew back to the present, as they approached the moss-covered gate. “It’s been over a decade.”

2

The worn-out wooden frames of the windows stood in contrast to the vibrant purple wisteria that covered a portion of the stone walls. Its cascading flowers would turn a light shade of blue in the spring, and for some reason that Matthew couldn’t articulate, this thought brought him peace. The chirping birds and rustling leaves added a calming background melody, invoking deeper nostalgia. Memories of summer afternoons spent playing in the yard with Sam flooded back.

3

Pushing the entrance door, an unmistakable scent of aged wood and the faintest hint of mildew wafted through. Within, thick curtains blocked the sunlight, save for a beam that streamed through a gap, landing on a dusty marble table. It illuminated an intricately carved wooden box, its details visible despite the years of neglect. It was the sole artifact in the foyer. Peering into the adjacent rooms, Matthew noted their barrenness. Where had all the furniture gone? The ornate vases and china that used to line the shelves? And where were the myriad of framed pictures that used to adorn the walls?

4

Sam’s voice echoed from the first flight of stairs, “You planning to stay at the entrance or join me up here?” Shaking off the initial shock, Matthew followed the voice. “What’s up there?” he asked, genuinely curious, feeling like an outsider in a place once so familiar. Sam didn't respond immediately, instead, he reached for the light switch. The corridor, bathed in a warm glow from an ancient chandelier, revealed numerous closed doors. Without hesitation, Sam moved to the one at the end, facing the rear garden.

5

Stepping inside, Matthew watched as Sam clicked on a lamp. An old chest of drawers caught Matthew's attention. He opened them, revealing stacks of neatly tied bundles. “Look at these,” he exclaimed, realizing they weren’t just bundles of paper but old journals and diaries. As Matthew sifted through, he remarked, “Strange, why aren't there any journals downstairs in the study?” Sam’s eyebrows raised, “Journals?” His curiosity piqued. “Why keep them all secluded in here?” Not waiting for an answer, Matthew handed over a journal to Sam. They sat down, leafing through the handwritten pages. A photograph slipped out, showing four kids playing near a barn, joy evident in their faces. The golden hue of the setting sun painted a beautiful backdrop. Matthew chuckled looking at it. One of them was unmistakably their dad as a young boy.