HAUNTING ANNABELLE: A SOUTHERN GOTHIC HORROR

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: THE JOURNAL OF ANNABELLE LEIGH 23 AUGUST 2016

The rules have now changed.

I spent all of this effort into luring an endless line of stupid men to this plantation hoping to end that evil witch's curse. Like all demons, she was full of lies. Every single death was just another victory for her wicked, twisted soul. Sarah and I were her instruments of death. Each death was another weight on our souls and a gift to that witch's master Lucifer.

But I know the truth now.

She never expected me to seek her corpse. I wanted to find her wretched body and release her by burning her dried husk. Somehow, I hoped that act would cleanse her and free her soul. It was to be my gift to her for her gift to me.

I found her deep within the dead old tree where she lived. There was little left of her but moldy cloth and green-gray bones. With almost reverence, I looked around the wretched place that Missy had called home in her last days.

For a moment, I felt remorse for exiling her to this fate. However, then I saw the patch of hair. It was just barely sticking out of her pocket. At first, I thought it was just some Spanish moss growing in the dark. An itching curiosity made me take a closer look.

Pulling on the dark hair, a stained bundle of cloth came free from her dress. I recognized the faint pattern on the material. It was from one of my favorite dresses that Jeremiah had brought back from Paris when my world was still whole.

What once had brought me so much pleasure had been remade into a thing of pure evil. That witch had made a doll in my likeness. My God, it even had my hair attached to its filthy scalp. How in the world did she ever obtain something so intimate without my knowing of the violation?

I must have lost my sanity for a short time, for I swore that I heard whispers all around me coming from the dancing shadows. Were these the ghosts of all the men lured by Missy's lies? Then, I heard the choked sobbing of my little Sam. It was too much to bear.

In a blind rage, I took the cover from my lamp and dipped the head of the foul doll into the flame. At first, it only smoldered with a sickly sweet smoke. However, I would not be deterred. I held the demonic thing to the flame until it finally started to sputter and catch fire. Once begun, it went up in a queer greenish flash and I dropped it to the ground where it curled into ash.

I cannot describe the feeling that then came over me. For the first time in untold years, I felt a huge weight lift from somewhere deep within my breast. No longer did I hear the pitiful crying of my beloved child.

As I staggered back out into the night, I still heard the whispers. But I drove them from my mind like flies from my face. I refused to listen to their urgent pleas. Breathing deep, my lungs filled with the fresh night air full of freedom. I could not free the souls of the damned. However, I would leave them a care taker.

Missy expected me to lure Mr. Larson to his death like all the others. It was just another evil lie to cement me even further in this crypt where once stood a proud and happy home. Her plan failed. Instead of another victim, she brought me a savior who would be my guide to a strange and beautiful new world. Mr. Larson, Abe,would teach me all about a world that had long ago passed me by.

How thrilling to think of all the new things to experience. I will ride in those carriages of metal that do not need a horse to pull them. Although it scares me near to death, I long to fly in one of the machinesI read about in books and saw in magazines. I wonder if they still use the hot air like the balloons I saw during the war. Often, I have seen the white trails of smoke that they leave across the heavens. They fly so high that they appear like little white birds. The idea is too amazing to contemplate right now.

There is only one problem left.

Sarah must stay. This boy has grown fond of her. I fear that he will not leave without her. So, I must give Sarah over to the hungry whispers that still fly about my ears. They will only be silenced if someone is left hereto keep them company until the trumpets call them home.

I will fetch Jeremiah's gift from its velvet box and force Abe to go with me. He will resist. However, Sarah will insist that he give in when I point the pistol at his pretty little head. The secret of the doll will keep her from following us.

Abe will hate me at first. However, he will grow to love me like I grew to love Jeremiah. He will see that sacrifices must be made to secure true happiness. We will be happy. At least, we will be happy until he grows old. Then, I will send him back to live out his last days with Sarah. That will be my final gift for her.

For me, life will go on forever. I have lived almost two hundred years on this earth. What will the next one hundred years bring? It will be thrillingto find out. How many husbands shall I outlive?

One day, I will have to publish this journal as a record of my triumph over death. It will have to be published as fiction for nobody would ever believe it to be the truth. Although, I could publish it with no classification. As a tribute to my dead friend Edgar, let us just call it a Southern Gothic tale.