~𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓵𝔂~

Chapter 2

October 1st, 1952

Wednesday

Dear Diary,

The trees are starting to become brown again, their leaves hued with a mahogany, amber color. There is a certain harsh and chilly quality to the air, birds do not chirp anymore and a veil of clouds glooms over the sun and I find myself with a shawl drawn over my knees. I was perplexed when I first saw this house, I would never have imagined living in such a grand house but John says that it was let quite cheaply. John says that I am not to leave my room, he says that resting would do me good. I hate being trapped in this room, The large sprawling manor feels hollow and my room, oh! It is so terribly lonesome here; I have hours upon hours of leisure and nothing to pass these hours, so I resort to you. Even though John says I am not to write. The cracks and scratches all over the walls make a fascinating pattern, as if woven together intentionally. The wallpaper is a sickly yellow, I despise that paper, its patterns drawn uglily in a distasteful manner, but there is plenty to distract me. I do not know where John is, but he visits every week along with Claire, oh I do love it when she comes. I finally have someone to talk with and she understands me like only a sister could. Whenever I look at her, it is like looking into a mirror. I always tell her how I hate it here; I want to go out and frolic, but she always gives me the same of look of pity which I have grown to hate and says that it is for my own good that I stay indoors. I do not believe it will do me any good, but my arguments are irrelevant, she never gives me any answers. Sarah, the maid, is here so I am not completely alone but she too leaves at night fall, it is then when the mansion transforms into a monstrous, endless black maze never ending almost. The hideous wallpaper becomes even more ugly in the moonlight, its floret designs transforming into horrendous beasts. The roses are slowly starting to wither, and the bushes are climbing up the stone walls of the house. I always feel as if I am being watched, eyes peaking from all corners of the room. But I distract myself from them as much as possible. I have yet to explore the mansion. There is no television here, John says it is not good for me, but I do not feel its absence. I must go now; Claire might be coming in a few hours.

Yours lovingly, 

Margaret