April 5 1845
It is good to be back in the land of my birth. I have long forgotten the rugged
beauty of Transilvania. My wife, Mary, is completely in awe (having never left England
before in her life). I cant help but chuckle at her complete wonder at the world around
her. But , then again, I don't have much room to speak either. Much has changed sense I
have left. The local peasants have changed much showing signs of greater prosperity.
There houses are more complex in design and build, although, still not nearly close to the
estate of my family, they do have charm in there simpleness. But it is good to see that not
everything has changed. The wilderness is still very much how I left it. The emerald grass
is wet and plastered to the ground from the April rains. It covers most of the land, except
for the road where only a few patches grow where cart wheels have not touched, and the
tree line where the light doesn't get down low enough for grass to grow. The trees (Pines)
reach up unto the sky like the masts of the great war ships of the English navy. and in the
sky the yellow sun shines like a golden orb hung up in the heavens.
At the moment Mary sleeps by my side. She is so worn out by the long trek here
that she is not even disturbed by the rocking of the carriage or the clap of the horse
hooves on the road. Hopefully we shall be at my family istate by the hour.
The diary of
April 5 1845
John looks happier then ever to be in Transilvania. He hated the city so much.
The only reason he was ever their was for his schooling. Often he would say that the city
was foul with the stench of urban decay. I cannot blame him, coming from a beautiful
country like this! The land truly is beautiful, But a dark shadow seems to fall over the
aeria of his istate. The trees here seem to be bent and deformed. The branches no longer
reach up to the sky but instead twist in every odd direction. And the sky seems grayer.
However any thoughts about this came to a halt when we finally reached the John's
mansion. It is a great and beautiful house overlooking the side of a cliff (my guess is that
it was built around the time of the great wars going through Hungary in the 1400s, I must
ask John). Aside from the airea overlooking the cliff the other three sides are surrounded
by great ramparts, complete with guard towers. For a house it could very well be a castle.
Below the Cliffside is a great canopy of pines. Not a single stretch of ground is visible for
miles from the house. I think I should stop writing for now. and wonder the house.
The Diary of
April 5 1845
Oh God... Am I going insane. Am I to loose my mind. No... I must collect my
thoughts. It is best to write about what has happened, yes, that should ease my mind.
First of all, upon coming hear I have decided to make it a point to meet all the
hired help. As I was speaking with the gardener something came over me. We were
talking about the state of the farms around the country side and of the gardens in my land
when I saw something rustling in the bushes next to us. It was then that I noticed. Those
exact bushes, those very bushes, they were where I and my brother used to play as small
children. I tried to fight back the rising sob in my throughout as memories of us cascaded
through my mind. As casually as I could I dismissed the gardener. he walked off to his
tool shed to get on with his work. I however stayed where I was at and helplessly stared
at the shrubbery. Memories of the long departed child pounded through my mind. It was
then when it happened. Stephen (my brother) crawled out from the bushes. He was a
dead pale much like the coler of a dirty bed sheet or a fish that has been stranded on land.
His hair was tussled and dirty, it lay in odd tangles that where matted to his sweating
forehead. his face was scrunched and distorted into an odd and evil looking smile. and
his eyes were glazed over with death. On his neck a gapping wound. It bleed profusely
over his heaving chest and tattered clothes. He walked in an awkward and wateling gait
toward me with his arm outstretched pointing to the wood behind me. Not knowing what
to do I turned to see nothing. I had broken into a cold sweet. I turned once again to the
spot where my brother had been standing to find nothing but grass.
What is this vision. I hope to God that it is only a vision. Oh God I hope I'm not
losing my mind. I must rest.
The diary of
April 6 1845
John looks ill. He had been ranting in his sleep, uttering the name of his brother.
This morning as we breakfasted he shook like a leaf. I hope he is all right. Maybe the
long journey and all the memories of this place were to much for him. He has been
known to become quite irrational before. I tried to talk to him but he only told me that it
was nothing. So the most I could do was hold him as closely as I could, but I doubt that
that has done much to help.
The diary of
April 6 1845
I dreamt of Stephen. Him and I were out playing in the bushes (the very same as
earlier). He was very much the happy child. On this day our emaginations took us to war.
we were the top solders of the Hungarian army. we crawled through the bushes on our
stomachs firing pretend muskets. We were about to ambush our pretend foes when there
was a low growl from outside of the shrubbery. That's when it happened. A wolf had
sprained through the shrub knocking me flat on my back. It heavy paws pushed me into
the mud as it brought its muzzle closer to my face. I could feel its hot breath on my neck
when Stephen came flailing a stick through the air and shouting. He brought his stick
down upon the wolf with a low dull thud. Unfortunately his vain blow did nothing to the
wolf. It then pounced upon him and bit down upon his throat. Stephen could only make
low gurgling sounds as a large bubble of his blood made its was through his teeth, over
his lips and trickled down his cheek. Then as sudden as the wolf had came a loud shot
rang through the air. the wolf was thrown off of Stephen but where the wolf went so did
the flesh of Stephen's neck. My father came running through the bushes with his gun in
hand and bent down over his fallen son. I managed to get up and go to where my father
knelt. Stephen's face was a mask of agony as he choked for the air that would never
reach his lungs. His eyes were already half clouded by death. the wolf was lucky, It died
quickly... I awoke. surrounded by the darkness of my room and assured that Mary was
asleep I wept silently.
April 19 1845
What has come over John. His is pale as a bone and refuses to eat. I fear that he is
quite ill. he often shrieks in his sleep. And while we walk the grounds he will stop in mid
pace with the most horrified look wrote on his face. I fear that his is losing his mind.
April 20 1845
Oh my god I see the light. Thank you Stephen. thank you. thank you for showing
me this treasure. Thank you for pointing the way. I remember now. It is all as clear as
crystal. yes I must tell this.
Back when I was young there were mass murders of children in the village. 10
had died. This is cucieal to what I am to tell. ha ha ha... I had seen Stephen's ghost
again. and again he pointed to the forest. This time however instead of the blind horror
that I usually felt I had a growing curiosity. I took my gun and made my way to the forest.
It was a cold and humid day and my coat was covered with drops of moisture. As I
walked on the trees grew closer and closer together. I went on and on. until as I walked
my foot sunk into the ground. It was unusually soft. I got down onto my knees and looked
around. Something, some kind of madness told me to dig. I thrust my hands into the sod
and dug furiously. the mud and earth flew in every possible way. until my cold and
stiffening fingers brushed up agents something hard. I dug the object up as best I could,
reveling a chest. I brushed the dirt of the top of it finding that it was inscribed with my
name. A fear came over me. What was Stephen showing me. I don't know why I went on
but I opened the chest. what was in it will forever be on my mind. Ten tiny sculls, yes,
the sculls. the treasure. It was then that I remembered. then that I knew. I was the one. I
was the killer. I was the sick one that committed those hideous crimes. and now I had
found my treasure... but know what shale I do. And what if Mary tries to take my
treasure. Yes I shall have to make sure she doesn't. Mary will never touch it, its
mine... mine mine mine.