The mind is an amazing thing, it holds secrets that even eternity cannot reveal. The power contained therein is unknown, and honestly, a little unnerving. At least, it is for Ms. Oleta Lakr. Some told her that her grandmother was crazy, but Oleta knew better. Audie Kiplin, her maternal grandmother, was not insane. She was pushed.

The cliff was beautiful. It always had been. Oleta stood at the edge and peered into the fog that hid the bottom before looking out into the handsome blue water that glistened ever so slightly in the sun as the wind rippled its surface. Her hand was resting lightly on a large marble cross which was put here when Audie died; when the family still had money. The mist that rose from the water striking the sharp rocks below hid the cliff's depth, and made the air feel heavy and wet. The smell was incredible: as if the smell in Blackpool England wasn't fresh enough, the salt in the air gave it a sting of cleanliness.

Oleta held herself as she turned back to the house. A cool breeze came over the ledge, and chilled her flesh. Her home was large, an estate of quiet exquisiteness, but when her grandmother died the fortune ceased. The large house now sagged under the weight of age, the shutters hung limply and the paint flaked off in chips. Oleta was met by the emptiness of large rooms with little furniture when she walked in the back door. She had to sell most of it just to cover repair expenses that seemed to constantly arise, and was left now with only a dining room table and an overstuffed sofa. Luckily, the estate had been paid off well before the death of Audie.

Oleta now lived alone as an aging young woman. It was her thirtieth birthday today, but no one knew it. She planned on spending this day as she did every other, reading and writing in her diary. Those words were precious to her. She wrote every day. Her grandmother had given her first diary when she was eight; the day that her mother died; the day she first came to live with Audie. Write your thoughts and feelings in here and you will always have a place to run to for comfort, she had said. Oleta did, and had never missed a day.

And she loved reading her entries because, as promised, they did bring her comfort. Even now, she pulled her long legs under her, pushed her blond hair from her gray-blue eyes, and picked up two volumes: one that she wrote as a child, and the other the current volume. She slid the older of the two onto her lap, and pulled back the cover. Almost instantly, it fell to a familiar page, one she had read many times before:

April 28, 1985

Grandma died today. Everyone tells me she killed herself, but I don't believe it. I don't know why she would jump. I think she was pushed. Dad came to her funeral. I haven't seen him since he left mom ten years ago. He stayed long enough to tell me grandma was crazy, that she had been for years, and that she jumped. Insanity must run in our family ' dad definitely had it. I think grandma was pushed. Now I'm alone. I'm going to have to work to pay the light and water. I bought grandma a cross and set it on the cliff. I could have paid for a fence, but grandma loved the cliff, and wouldn't have wanted a fence. She never would have jumped. I think she was pushed. I'm twenty today, but no one remembered. I'm alone.

A silver tear slid down Oleta's cheek as she read the passage. She turned away from the journal, and allowed her vision to drift out a large glass window that looked out to the edge of the cliff. She could see the cross staring back at her, the afternoon sun casting its shadow over the edge. She turned back to her writing, opened her new journal, and went to her last entry. A blank page glared at her, waiting, expecting her to write ' but her eyes were heavy, and thinking about the tenth anniversary of her grandmother's death tired her. She closed her eyes, and let the diary fall to the floor.

"Wake up, Oleta," a voice echoed in her head. Her eyes were heavy, so she only stirred slightly. "Come on Oleta, you need to know what happened."

The voice was familiar, and Oleta opened her eyes a little. A large pendulum swung on an exquisite grandfather clock in the corner, and a shadow stretched across its numbered face. Oleta turned, "Grandma?"

"Come, you must see what happened."

Audie turned and walked toward the back door.

"Wait," Oleta cried, rolling off the couch and running after her. The faster she ran, the further away her grandmother seemed to get. Crossing the back yard took an eternity. She could see her grandmother in the distance, balanced on the edge of the cliff. "Don't jump, Grandma," Oleta whimpered, trying to move as fast as she could, trying to catch her, to stop her, to save her grandmother.

Oleta saw her grandmother turn and meet her eyes. Audie was looking right at her now with eyes that were bloodshot and wide, terror streaking her wrinkled face. Finally Oleta caught up to her, out of breath, and tired - but she made it before Audie jumped. She was so happy that she was going to be able to save her grandmother. A wave of relief hit her as she put her hand on her grandmother's shoulder. "It's okay grandma, I have you now."

Audie's face was still twisted in horror.

"Grandma?" Oleta questioned. "Are you okay?"

Suddenly Oleta felt something rise within her; something strange and wild. A feeling of power overwhelmed her. Audie was scared. Oh, how much fun this would be. The cliff! The cliff that she trusted so much! Oh, this would be great.

Oleta pushed.



She woke with a start to the large grandfather clock in the corner striking the hour of eight. The sun was lost to the west, and the moon was peaking over the misty cliff. The night was eerie with mist rising into the yard and creeping toward the house like long fingers stretching to embrace it. Oleta was covered in sweat. Was it her? Could she have pushed her grandmother? She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and sat up, noticing her journal on the floor.

"Oh," she sighed, picking it up, straightening the pages that crumpled from the fall off her lap.

To her horror the pages were no longer blank. Scribbled in red crayon were the words, "I killed Audie. I killed Audie. I KILLED AUDIE."

Oleta gasped, tears coming to her eyes. She covered her mouth, "No. It isn't possible."

There was a knock at the door.

"Who is it?"

Another knock answered; this time it was louder.

Oleta slapped shut the diary, and ran to the heavy wooden front door. She pulled the metal handle, and it swung open with a loud creak. All she could see was a shadow silhouetted against the night. "Oleta? Are you okay? You've been crying!"

"Daddy?" Any anger she felt for him for leaving her as a child now melted away in the relief she felt from her fear.

"Oh baby! What's wrong?"

Oleta opened the door wider, and allowed her father to enter the house. As he did, she threw her arms around him, and choked on her tears. "You haven't changed a bit."

"I'm here for you. I came to wish you a happy birthday. What's wrong, honey?"

Oleta released her hug, and walked around a coffee table to pick up her diary. She turned the pages and opened to the red crayon scribbling. "I killed her dad. I don't remember doing it, but I killed grandma."

Her father took the book, and seemed lost in thought, his lips drawn into tight lines. Finally his face softened, and his lips turned up in a slight grin. "Oleta, this isn't your handwriting."

Oleta took it from him, and studied it carefully.

"Compare it with the entry on the opposite page. See. It doesn't even come close. Someone is messing with you."

She smiled, and chuckled a little to herself. "Oh, you're right. Dad, of course you're right, but who would do such a thing?"

Her father's grin turned to a smile. "You'll be okay Oleta, don't worry about it now."

"But dad, what if they are still here..."

"'¦I also came to bring these flowers to your grandma," he interrupted. "To her cross, I mean. Why don't you come with me."

He put his arm around his daughter, and the two of them walked through the back door into the moonlight. Together, it seemed like a dream; the mist was all around them, reflecting the dim light. It didn't take long before they were by the cross, close to the edge of the cliff.

Oleta's thoughts continued to trouble her. "Dad, who do you think would write those things in my journal? If it wasn't my handwriting, whose was it?"

"Mine, I would venture," he responded nonchalantly, his hand resting on the marble cross.

Oleta's heart jumped.

"And now I've come to kill you."

Oleta cried as he came at her. She tried to run, but he caught up with her quickly. With only a small struggle, he coaxed her over the edge. As she was falling through the mist, his image faded from her mind. By the time the cliff edge became invisible to her, there was no one there.



The house was empty, no furniture except a dining room table and a large, overstuffed sofa. A red crayon lay broken in the middle of an empty floor. One set of footprints lead out the back door, and over the cliff. The right step wore a woman's shoe, the left a man's.

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