Journal Entry 4
Damn! Oh God no! I almost closed them! I almost lost all that I have done so far, by closing them just for a moment! I found an eye dropper and hoped to moisten them one at a time, just letting the water run off my face. Just one at a time, and I almost blew it! I hope the ink doesn’t run from the splash, but even if it does, I need to keep writing.
Standing at the crest of the hill, I could hear occasional traffic on Paradise Lake Road. Looking out, I once again noted abandoned and broken cars, tucked here and there, among the trees. Since there was no easy way for vehicles to get this far back, and most of these trees were deep rooted and old, some of these cars had been here for a lot longer than Scott’s Anton had been alive. There was even one car where a sapling had taken advantage of a patch of sunlight, provided by way of a rusted-out trunk.
The hill, still part of the cemetery, had three tiers, and sloped away from the crest in stages. The mausoleum was set back, and built into the hillside, and partly underground at the bottommost tier. This allowed those interred, and their families, seclusion and privacy from visitors to other parts of Maltby Cemetery. There were thirteen steps leading down from the top tier, breaking at the sixth step, to turn towards the familial tomb. Whose family? I had asked Rick that very question on the way up here; he said that no one seemed to know, but that locals said it had been here from the beginning, and was why they’d laid the rest of the graves here.
At a distance, I could see that the mausoleum was made of marble and native granite. Deep carvings of rounded abstract designs ran its length. The gate looked to be of wrought iron, and was integral to the whole design. Although neglected and dirty, the mausoleum was a beautiful piece of work. As beautiful as it was, however, something about it left me cold.
Rick didn’t feel that way at all. There was an air of calm, and like me, of anticipation about him. It’s as if the last day or two had been erased, and he walked in an unhurried manner down the path, and then the stairs. He paused only three times on his way to the gate. The first pause was on the last step, the thirteenth step, where he spun around to smile at me slyly. The other two stops were at two of the old wrecks, where he patted the worst of the damage on each, almost fondly. Once at the entrance, he looked back over his shoulder and watched me once again, I swear never blinking.
I wasn’t as easy in my approach. The first few steps on the stairs were easy, but having heard the stories surrounding these stairs for the last few days, my mind, even in the daylight, imbued the stairs with a feeling of evil, and it became more difficult with each successive step. Finally, on the last, my heart beat too fast and my skin felt tight. I was scaring myself, but I couldn’t seem to stop. I glanced up at light applause; I was starting to hate that serene smile on my cousin’s face.
I reached the gates, and was ready to work. The sooner started, the sooner done, and the sooner away into the countryside, and enjoying good music and at least a few beers. I was also going to work on Rick’s problem. He would either bogart what was going on, or I could use the therapeutic route, and pound him til he talked. I hear physical exercise is very therapeutic.
While the rest of the crew worked on outbuildings, fences, and headstones, Rick and I were given a few days to make sure that the crypt, which was the draw for curiosity seekers, and the stuff of campfire legends in three counties, was squared away so that the stories would eventually die down, and fade away. Although this was our first dead house, my cousin and I had worked together often, to make construction difficulties disappear. Rick was the expert, and I was the gifted dilettante, helping out whenever I was not working with my music.
Since no one had keys (or would admit to having them at least) I picked the lock on the gate. Up close, the gate was even more stunning, and its feeling of wrongness even more off-putting. I could barely control the shudders of revulsion, while I raked the antique tumblers. It was a great relief when I heard the tumblers fall. I decided it was time for a break, and stepped back into the weak sunshine and raised my face, trying to warm my inner spirit with solar heat. Just a few feet gave some respite, and even my cousin seemed ready for a few minutes of break time as well, before going past the wrought iron barricade.
Sarajh
Obviously, Grace does not even give me a nod when we pass on the street. Neither does Prudence, nor her sister, Temperance. Bitches! If not for them, I would have an occasional date, never have bought Bitcoin, and been able resist that last round of tequila shots at the club last week, and had to catch a ride home with Justin. At least I didn’t have to meet Grace’s sister Justice.
I continued my slide, clutching the leather-bound book in my hand, raised in the air to avoid the spilt tea. Everything else fell off the table into wickerwork with a crash. The Bed and Breakfast’s owner came out to check the racket, and then brought me another mug of tea.
Three drops of blood don’t sound like much, but maybe the fall worked in my favor as well. By the time I rose from the deck, my blood had loosened up whatever it was in the pocket. I felt it move when I pushed Wolfgang away from the area, worried about the broken bits finding a way into his saucer-sized paws. He was so contrite he sat quickly, freeing me to upend the journal over the freshly cleaned table, and satisfy my curiosity.
I sat back, puzzled. It was nothing more than a thin needle about four inches in length, horribly stained on one end. Whoever had hidden the artifact once again showed good taste, as it too looked like platinum. I tested its sharpness against a sheet of paper. The needle pierced the paper with no noticeable resistance, leaving a perfect, tiny, hole. If I was a wicked fairy and looking for a teenaged princess to curse, this would be the perfect assassination tool. There was something else strange about the needle; it felt warm in the cool air, and the scent of sandalwood clung to it, even though the journal itself smelled of nothing but dust and old ink.
I let it loose quickly enough, pushing it and the rostrum to a place on the table in front of me, close, but not too close since Luck seldom gave me a wave either. Why hide the needle? Why hide the tiny rostrum? If you had to hide them, why not hide them in the same pocket? How were either one of them of use?
Separately, I could examine them and speculate to my heart’s content; put together, they creeped me out. Moments ago, I was comfortable in my jacket and scarf, drinking my hot tea. Now, I felt alone and cold on the lighted deck - alone and watched by something evil in the dark. I knew that feeling. I knew to heed it. It was one of the reasons I survived another day after all. I heard a small whine, and glanced down as Wolfgang sidled up to me, and started nudging me. He was shaking, and staring into the trees near the pasture. He felt something too. Bravery-challenged as he was, he wouldn’t run off without me. I looked towards the trees myself, seeing a bit of movement, but nothing came closer. Whatever it was, it only watched; time to move inside to the warmth and light, and behind secure locks.
A look at the heavy deadbolts on the doors, and double slides on the windows, on my way into the bed and breakfast, reassured me that nothing was getting in without a lot of noise. I made my way to my room, making sure to leave the owner a note about the nocturnal visitor. Who knows? It could be something as mundane as the town being overrun with peeping toms or wild bears. She would know, and call someone if needed. I wasn’t going to waste much more time on worrying about what’s outside when I was inside, except to check out the window every now and then, since I was safely behind bricks and mortar. Besides, I thought as I locked my door and put my bag on the desk, I might get at least a few more hours with the contents of the journal and researching clues, before I was finally tapped out.