The Twilight Garden

6

Josephine stood at the door to her father's study, her eyes fixated on the knob—she wanted so badly to leave the spirits behind, to run away from Whitmour Manor, from whatever had happened on the grounds of her family's home. A knot sat in the pit of her stomach and her throat felt as if it were closing as she struggled to take deep breaths. She had agreed, if not in so many words, to helping Minnie and the other children. She knew what she had to do, though it frightened her to no end. She feared what she would find, hidden within her father's journals.

'Please, Josie.' The tiny voice echoed around her. They all wanted her help, and she begged whatever gods may be listening that the truth did, indeed, lie within her father's books and papers. That, perhaps, she could keep whatever was going to happen from coming to pass.

With determination, she turned away from the door and walked to the bookshelf, pulling the first journal that drew her attention from its dusty place. Before she could sit on the couch, where she and Leland had been only moments before, the latch on the study door clicked and it swung open as if someone had pushed it from the other side. She stood back as a cool wind pushed passed her from the hall and settled beside the desk. Had her father come into the room,? Had he been waiting for her to discover the secrets he had kept within, ready to explain himself? The gust of air extinguished the lamps (her father preferred the dancing flame of a candle or kerosene lamp over the harshness of electrical light) and left her darkness.

Josephine stumbled to the nearest lamp to light the wick. The dim light cast eerie shadows over the walls and the desk, leaving so many places shrouded in darkness that she contemplated lighting another before deciding against it. She needn't have too much light, she was able to see clearly enough to read.

'Where to look.' She mused, moving to the far wall. She ran her fingers over the dusty spines of books long left untouched. Her father had been the last person to read these, the last person to touch them and truly feel them. They were mostly written in languages she could not understand, and with diagrams that frightened her—he never would explain them to her, even though she had begged.

Her hand settled over a large tome with gilded lettering on the spine—she pulled it from the shelf and opened the cover to see her father's handwriting scrawled across the first page. She could make out a few of the words in the first paragraph, but the writing was smudged and faded.

'Herein... research... satanic... rituals and sacrifices...' The words frightened her—what had her father been researching before his death? She carried the book to the opposite corner and settled into the chair, drawing her knees up as she had when she was a child.

The were paragraphs of scribbles and crossed out words, pages of lists and bullet notes that she could barely make out. She strained to understand the language, the words, the writing—until she turned a page and saw a list of names.

The Sacrifices

Jessia Vella aged 11

Edyth Boris aged 7

Tora Leonetti aged 16

Delicia Blowers aged 8

Joey Buesing aged 3

Octavia Brisbin aged 5

Janett Kalish aged 9

Antonina Koeller aged 14

Percy Balke aged 4

Bo Steinbach aged 2

Tempie Jaimes aged 7

Lillia Clavette aged 10

Jenifer Voelker aged 8

Porsha Prine aged 9

Josephine read through the list a few more times—she flipped through the rest of the book, finding dozens of similar lists. Lists of names? Lists of sacrifices? What was this? A knock at the study door drew her away from her thoughts and she placed the book on the table beside her.

The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, its light illuminating the world beyond the forest. Time had run away with her, as was often the case when she was in the study, but she hadn't realised she had been reading for such a long while.

'Come in.' She called, standing; Leland peeked his head into the room and offered her a thoughtful glance. She stretched her arms over her head and gestured for him to enter.

'May I have a word with you?'

'Dr Scott, I fear it is I that needs a word with you.' Josephine said, patting the book. He looked at its faded cover, at the dust that betrayed her fingerprints.

'Did you find something?'

'Indeed, and it is concerning, to say the least.' She handed him the book and directed him to the page of names. 'There are many such lists throughout the journal, all with different names. They seem to be primarily female, and their ages have something to do with the rituals written therein.'

Leland skimmed over the pages, reading the words, trying to comprehend the meaning of everything written in the book. Josephine stood still, her hands clasped in front of her, her head bowed. He glanced up every few pages to watch her for a moment before continuing.

'It seems that there are detailed notes on these so-called rituals, performed within the last decade. From the descriptions, I would have to assume that your father was involved with them. As to the sacrifices, I have a friend at the local sheriff's station—I can ask him to pull some files and check the names against the lists, though they could just be fictitious. Would you mind copying them down?'

'I will.' Her voice was so small, quiet, weak—Leland longed to reach out and comfort her, to console her. He knew that she must have seen the lists, heard about what her father had been researching—this was nothing but a part of her delusion, and though she had no memory of it, she must have known about this for some time. Perhaps it would be beneficial, to her treatment, to go along with what she believed. That is until he was able to find the root cause and thus help her back to reality. He placed his hand on her shoulder and tried to give her a comforting smile, but she refused to look at him.

'I will call him and set up a meeting for later this afternoon. I'll send for the lists on my way out, but for now, just rest. Take your time with the names.'

'Of course.'

***

She rested her back against the chair and reached her arms over her head. She had copied down fifty lists from the book, and she couldn't help but wonder how many more lists there were, hidden in the pages of the other journals her father had kept. Some of them only had a few names, others had up to thirty. It was disturbing to think that her father had written them all down, had supplied their ages, and in some cases their manner of death.

'Miss, Dr Scott is leaving for town. He asks if you have the lists ready?' A young girl poked her head in and gave Josephine an odd look.

'Of course, here.' She gathered the papers and walked to the door. 'Please, give Dr Scott my thanks for his assistance. And tell him to call on me the moment he returns.'

'Yes, miss.' The servant nodded and bent her knees in a shallow curtsy. She left Josephine in the doorway, one foot in the room and the other poised to dash away before she was drawn back into the darkness of her father's notes. With a heavy heart, Josephine turned and closed the door to the study and walked away, in search of something a bit brighter.