The house was abuzz of activity. Many visitors reported the old man on the stairs, or the growling in the hallways. A very "haunting" painting of a WWII Flying Ace hung above the stairs and watched you as walked to bed. My friend told me stories of how they had attempted to burn it, cut it or just throw it away in the trash, only to have it show up back on the wall. Finally, they just decided to leave it up there.

"Find the diary..." was all I heard. I knocked on every wall, looked on every shelf, but nothing.

Til one day I was in the garage, getting my luggage for a trip back east.

"Find the diary" came the gentle reminder... so I looked up at the top shelf above me. There, under years of dust and cobwebs.

The Diary.

I was an amazing read, written by Mr. Komai, the former owner of the house. Written just four months after the bombing of Pearl Harbor; it spoke about the evacuation of the area, of this house, and how he and his family were being taken to the Japanese Interment Camps. He owned the Japanese newspaper, Rafu Shimpo, and they hid the Japanese letters under the floorboards; only to bring it out after the war and be the only Japanese newspaper in existence at the end of WWII. (read about it)

It all felt in place now; it all made sense. Previously I had found his brothers paintings in my closet... all these wonderful sketches of people from the 1940's... all signed "Komai."

But what to do now, that was the question.