Wednesday, September 2, 2015

from the scattered notes of Bertram Harrold part III : extra ellipses edition

[this is a continuation; read the other ones first, if you want]

“…Ms. Bennet first remarked upon the creature thusly:

‘…strange and noisome visitor to my room late last night. At first I thought it father, in one of his moods, but soon the smell of cracklings came on very strongly. Oh diary, it may well have knocked me down were I not already abed. Two tiny flames, like faltering candles, looked at me for a long time. Oh I don’t even know how I knew they were eyes. Have you ever just felt that you were watched?

I pretended to sleep. I didn’t know what else to do. Finally I screwed up enough courage to call out to it. “Go away!” I shouted in a whisper from beneath the linens.

“Sorry, Dolores,” it said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I suppose that if I must have a ghost, I would prefer a polite one.’

Slowly, in the subtext of her rambling conversations with ‘Dear Diary’, it seemed the creature gained the confidence of young Ms. Bennet. “Long conversation with Whispering Embers last night. She is so funny, and she really listens. I think you would like her, diary…” Such sentences and sentiments became increasingly frequent as her diary slowly faded into an occasionally updated journal.

Her final three entries were of particular interest.

The first of them was written in atypically plain script.

‘Hello Diary,
Spoke at length with W. E. last night. I don’t think father is a good person.’

The second looked jagged, abrupt, and peppered with hesitant puddles of ink.
‘The fire came with her. I was not I had no way to be ready. I couldn’t do it. I got too scared and climbed out the window. Whispers looked at me from the window, from up there, wings of of (sic) fire. She smiled at me, but sadly. Father continued to scream.

Aunt Meredith is on her way.’

The Final was written in with a palsied hand, with a different pen and much thicker ink.

‘I saw her at Ryan’s wake, while most of us slept surrounding his empty coffin, W. P. came out from the shadows. She offer her simple sympathy and left me with a rose and the stink of rendering lard.’ ”

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