My name, is Olivia Pamela Moore.

I am nine years old, I am not pretty, I love reading, I have temper, and I live at 313 Secrets Lane, New York, America.

Or at least...I did live there...

My mother died when i was 5 years old, and the only thing i remember is her making me promise to take care of my younger brother, Dylan. Dylan is 2 years younger than me, and he is afraid of me. I can't blame him really, after all, the only me he knows is the me who lives in the attic and is constantly breaking things and screaming.

That's not the person I wanted to be when I was younger, in fact, before Mom died I was known as the most patient and kindest child in the street. Before mom died i was happy, i dressed in pink, I did terrible ballet, I never shouted, I posed for pictures, I sang in a cute little girl voice, I was innocent.

That was before mom died though, as I mentioned. You might be wondering how my beloved mother passed away, and if I tell you you'll probably hate me, everyone else does. My Mom died, becuase of me.

When I was 4, i became ill, the doctors don't know what it was, but it nearly killed me. They assumed it was an illness that only affects children under the age of 5, a bad one, multiple times i felt myself slipping away, and my father told me that it was the quietest i've ever been. I was so quiet that multiple times my parents had to check I was still breathing. The only time i spoke was when i was whispering for my Mom, i begged her to stay with me day after day, so she did.

That was why she died.

About 4 months later, when I was just turned 5 and I had fully recovered, My mother complained that she couldn't get out of bed one morning. My father took her temperature, and apon seeing it was way above normal, I was sent across the road to the doctors.

Once again, they could not tell us what was wrong with us, they simply told us to pray that Mom would recover like i have.

We did, father taught me one hymn which i sang every night before bed, I thought of mom every day during school, and dreamt of her every night. But it was no use. One night, after mother had been ill for 2 months, she called me into her room. When i asked why, she said that since she had stayed with me while i was ill it seemed fitting that I stayed with her until she recovered.

So, I did. My father told the school I was not going in until my mom had recovered, and i spent every day and night sat on her lap whispering that I loved her and it would be alright.

She died 2 months later.

I never stopped mourning her, ever since that day I've worn a black goth dress, I've tried wearing colours…it's just too hard, whenever I wear colourful clothes it reminds me of my mom, her cheery smile even as she was dying, and then I feel guilty.

The day of the funeral, I got home and found my bedroom empty. When I asked Father, he told me that I'd destroyed the family and I'd never be able to make it up to them, so I should spend my life dedicated to trying.

It was then that he lead me up to the attic and told me that I was no longer a part of the family and I was now going to serve them.

I've spent the last four years cleaning, cooking, taking care of my brother, buying alcohol for my father, and eating alone in the attic.

I know it's wrong, but I just can't manage to talk to him. I call him 'Mr Moore' now, and he just calls me 'girl'. My brother doesn't even remember we're related, he just sees me as a scary evil maid who's stuck with them. He's always pulling pranks and causing me to get stressed and lose my temper, he wants me out of his life because he thinks I'm there because of a favour dad owes.

He actually succeeded once.

That was how the accident happened…

And the situation started…