THE DEAD HOUSE

SNEEK PEEK : Chapter 1

Part I

The Self That Isn't Me

1

I curse anyone who reads this book.

If you touch it, hell will be waiting.

Screw you. Happy reading.

Diary of Kaitlyn Johnson

Sunday, 29 August 2004, 12:24 am

Claydon Mental Hospital, Somerset

I am myself again.

Carly has disappeared into the umbra, and I am alone. Ink on my fingers-she's been writing in the Message Book.

Good night, sis! she writes. We'll be back at school soon. I can't wait!

I wouldn't have done this diary thing, except Carly thought it was a good idea too. See, Dr. Lansing thinks that getting my thoughts out of my head and onto paper will allow me to be free of them. She gave us both a journal with lock and key, and the instruction to "be honest and whole." Mine is black (ha ha), and Carly's is green. I'd like to think mine is black because it's Lansing's impression of my nature-solid, unchanging, hidden-but really I think she chose it because black's not a color.

You see, Diary...Dr. Lansing is convinced I'm not really here.

I'm not the diary sort, but if I'm going to record my life, I'm going to do it thoroughly. Honesty, honesty, honesty. Yes? Lansing can't tell me I don't really exist-product of trauma and all that-when my thoughts and feelings are as real as Carly's.

I am real.

I exist.

They won't send me away.

Message Book Entry

Monday, 30 August 2004,

Kaitie, do you realize that we might never be coming back to Claydon Hospital after this year? Our LAST YEAR at school! Do you realize that? So close! We're so close! We just have to keep going. We just have to stick to it. All the lying will end as soon as we're free.

Okay, breakdown in case she tests you tonight:

Breakfast: 2 tablespoons of shredded wheat with skimmed milk

Lunch: Skipped (sorry)

Supper: Tuna sandwich, a bit less than half

I love you, Kaybear. Please let us rest tonight. No breaking the rules. I really need to feel top-notch tomorrow.

xoxoxox

Carly

Diary of Kaitlyn Johnson

Tuesday 31 August 2004, 2:14 am

A crow caws outside my window each night. I can never see him, but I know he sees me.