The winds were howling the night it happened. The chilled wind that blew through the shattered window shot icicles down my back. There was blood on the carpet.

“Can you please tell me what you saw?” asked a policeman.

All I could do was see it happening all over again. The words were stuck in my mouth, I tried to tell him. The words refused to come out. I couldn’t process the things that just happened, the one act of a person that would scar me for life. . .

“Welcome home Daddy!” I yell as my dad comes home from his boring job at the museum, dragging his same boring suitcase with his same lethargic look.

“Hi Muffin,” he said in a low tone as he does what he does everyday after work, flop down on our old dusty couch and watch a fishing show.

Me, well I was baking my favorite treat, muffins. They never turn out though. In fact, I always end up with chunks of batter in my brown silky hair, but I don’t care. I’m waiting until when I do finally make them perfect and have the feeling of accomplishment. Because I have failed so many times my dad calls me muffin, because that’s all I make.

Suddenly, the phone rang.

“I got it! I got it! Don't pick it up!” Dad yells as he bolts to the phone and picks it up aggressively.

A panicked look spread across his face like soft butter. He grabbed his brown suitcase and ran out the door in ten seconds flat. I shuffle to the window and see him drive away in his old 1970 dark blue mustang. He revved the engine and was gone out of the driveway down the block already. Being the person that I am I went to go check out who called him and why it was so urgent.

I picked up the phone and checked who the last caller was as I was humming the Mission Impossible theme song. I stopped the tune as I read the words Jermey County Museum. There must’ve been an accident because my dad left in a hurry.

When I come to think of it, I’ve never seen my dad at his work. He never talks about it or anything. I glanced at the clock that read 4:30pm. I think I am going to pay my dad a visit at his work.

It was a long three mile walk and I felt like I was going to die. My legs were like noodles, but this shows that when I want to know something, I don’t give up very easily. Dad says that this quality would get me into trouble one day. So, when I got to the museum, there was nothing that seemed very important. No new exhibit, nothing that could cause trouble. Everybody was calm with bright smiles on their faces. So why did Dad run out the door so quickly? I decide to walk up to the front desk.

“Excuse me, are there any important things happening today in the museum?” I ask.

“Not that I know of, but who doesn’t love the museum?” replied the nice, middle aged lady wearing a brown cardigan with a dark brown pencil skirt.

“Oh, okay. Can you please tell my dad that I am here to see him? He works here as assistant manager, his name is Dean Jonathan.” I say

“Uh, we don’t have anyone that works here named Dean Jonathan.” The lady says in confusion.

I look to the floor trying to gather my thoughts of why Dad had lied to me and where he really worked. I said my thank you’s and swung open the big wooden double doors and started my long journey home. The crisp wind was biting my nose and slapping my now rosey red cheeks. Winter is coming, and little did I know what was yet to come.

As soon as I walk through the door I was greeted by a hound dog, or so it sounded like

“Where were you?! I’ve been calling you for hours,” my dad says to me in an angry tone.

“Where did you go, Dad?” I ask.

“I had a work emergency, an artifact fell and I had to go right away. It belonged to the new exhibit we’re getting.” he said with a stressed face.

“I asked you first. Now where did you go?”

“I went for a walk,” and that’s all I said.

I stomped up to my room thinking about how he just lied to me yet again, and this time right to my face. Whenever I don’t stop asking questions, people always tell me to “Stop digging”. Especially Dad. Now that I know what I know, I won’t stop digging until I reach the center of the earth.

It’s sunday so my dad and I go to church and sing hymns and talk about God. It went by in a flash and we were on our way home. This was the perfect opportunity to gather information.

“So Dad, what’s the new exhibit about?” I ask in a sly way.

“It’s a, um, Viking exhibit,” he explains.

“Well, you know how much I love vikings so why don’t you let me come to the museum with you this friday after school so you can show me this exhibit.” I say as I analyze his reaction.

“No, I don’t think that it is such a good idea.” he says starting to look annoyed.

“Well why do you go there every day and I’ve never-”

“I said NO!” he exclaims

I immediately got silent. It was a quiet ride home. When I say quiet, I mean dead silent. When we got home I rushed up to my room before my dad could get a chance to say anything. I whipped out a notebook I kept under my bed for moments when I needed to write something down. Here’s what I wrote: My dad is a liar. He told me he works as an assistant manager at the Jermey County Museum. I went there and asked for them to tell my dad that I was here, and they said he never worked there. So, where could he work? Where does he go every day with his same boring suitcase and same lethargic…

Wait his suitcase! That has to hold something in it that could lead me to where he really works. So I came up with a plan to sneak into his room and get that suitcase. That night I stay up till midnight to make sure he was asleep. I creak the door open ever so slowly and have my phone flashlight on. Everything was as silent as a mouse. I tiptoe down the stairs, though the hallway and take a left to his room. Luckily for me his suitcase always lies right by the entrance of the door.  I ever so gently grab the suitcase and tiptoed back to my room where I could investigate it more. I turned on the light still being cautious of the fact that my dad is a light sleeper and look at the suitcase.

“No, there’s a lock,” I thought to myself

“He would only use something he would remember and never forget.” I think about it for a few more minutes and suddenly, a lightbulb pops up over my head.

I typed in the numbers 5-16-03, and opens. May 16, 2003. My birthday. I go though the fake notes of the museum and dig deeper and find some very surprising things. I found money from all different countries, 10 fake passports and… A GUN!

The thoughts are racing through my head prevent me from sleeping. The most scary thing about my findings are that the gun didn’t have all the ammunition. It had five bullets missing.

“Has he ever shot somebody? Has he ever killed anybody?” I thought to myself.

I thought myself to sleep that night. Then. . . CRASH!!!

The loud and frightening sound causes me to jump up from my bed.I wanted to know what was happening and nothing could stop me now. I hear yet another crash and the sound of my front door opening. I peek around the corner to see three bulky men wearing all black and holding three pistols. I tried to run but I was frozen in fear and I had cut my leg on a piece of glass from the shattered window.

“There’s a girl!” yelled one of the men as they started walking towards me in a quick fashion as if they were going to kidnap me.

Then, as I thought all hope was lost, Dad came down with a different gun that was much bigger and fired a warning shot. The three men ran out of the house in a hurry. Before Dad could see if I was okay, police cars were showing up left and right. Their red and blue lights were blinding me as I hugged my knees and started to cry.

The winds were howling that night.The chilled wind that blew through the shattered window shot icicles down my back. There was blood on the carpet

“Can you please tell me what you saw?” asked a policeman.

I can see the three men come after me in my head, the shattered glass and my cut leg, not being able to move, my dad lying to me, the big hole in the ceiling. All I could do was see it over, and over again. I was not letting fear hold me back again.

“There were three men. All dressed in black. Three guns.” that’s all I said.

The officer said thank you and was on his way. I could hear police officers calling for paramedics. I checked to see if my dad wasn’t hurt, he wasn’t. He was talking to a police officer and we locked eyes. He ditched the officer he was talking to right then and there and rushed over to me.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a worried tone.

“Why did you lie?” I wanted to get answers, now.

“I work for a secret government agency, and that’s all I can tell you right now,” he replied.

Now I understood why he had to lie to me. Why he had to lie to me. It was all for my safety, and others.
“I’m sorry Daddy,” I say bursting into tears.

He leans in to give me a hug an ever so softly says, “I love you, Muffin.”

I didn’t let go of him for the rest of that night. The next morning I did the same thing I always do, go to school, come home and try to make muffins. Now my dad is supposed to walk through the door.

“Hi Muffin,” he says.

“Hi Daddy,” I reply.

I spent my usual hour to try and make my muffins and wait for the oven to explode or get muffin batter in my hair, but none of that happened. I took the brown crispy chocolate chip muffins out of the oven and set them on the cooling tray. They look like the ones I see on TV. So I yell to my dad to come see. His face lit up brighter than the sun. I could see the pleased and proud look on his eyes. So we talked the rest of the afternoon and ate the sweet taste of victory and accomplishment I call muffins.