Dear Diary.

Wednesday, August 31st 1952, Jupiter County Hospital. Chapter 2

Dear Diary,

I was having the most terrible dream this morning; Dot had hired some woodcutter with a big old rusty axe to cut my head off so she could get rid of me. In this dream he broke into our room and put a pillow case over my head, I couldn't see a thing, just darkness. I could hear Dot and the woodcutter laughing and her encouraging him to "chop it off".

I felt so helpless. I tried so hard to fight back but our body wouldn't budge, Dot was holding me back. The last thing I remember about it was the swish of the axe by my ear, then I woke up. Even writing about it is making me uneasy. To top it off the detectives from the police department are coming in to get our story today. I don't think I'll be able to lie my way through it, I think I'll crack. I'm still shaken up about the whole thing.

Before they arrive, Dot thought it'd be a good idea to go through our story, so that it is proper and believable. She wanted to tell them that a burglar broke in and killed mother, then attacked us while we were sleeping, apparently thats why I have a stab injury. But I got a little carried away with it all and suggested we make it more exciting. That was a bad idea, looking back on it now... Dots gone into one of her huffs again, she said "I've had enough of your shit, Bette", then stopped talking to me. She's so mean. I'm nervous, Diary. I should let her do the talking.

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Dot is furious with me. I can feel the anger inside her. Elsa came in earlier to see how we were fairing. She asked us to tell her about what happened last Sunday. Dot had our story all planned and perfected, but I was a little hazy about it. Halfway through it I slipped back into that bad habit of mine of getting a little caught up in the moment.

I may have accidentally claimed that mother was attacked similarly to the way that Alice Alquist was in Gaslight... Elsa caught on to that quickly. I should've known, after all she was as big a fan of the movies as me. My fingernails are down to the nub because of me biting them so much out of anticipation.

~Bette Tattler.

Dear Diary,

I was having the most beautiful dream this morning; I was living on a quaint little farm in Alabama, with a gorgeous husband and a couple kids running around. It was so peaceful, and best of all I had my own body, I didn't have to share it with anyone. But then of course that was all wiped away when Bette woke me up to go to the restroom.

The smile on my face faded as the harsh fluorescent lights hanging from the pasty white ceiling came into focus. I'm still at the hospital, if you couldn't tell. The detectives are said to arrive here at two instead of the before stated noon. I'm worried, I tried to go over our story with Bette, but I couldn't get her to agree; she wanted it to be like something from the silver screen.

What does she think this is? Some sort of joke? She the one that got us into this whole mess and she's acting like its a goddamn game. My God. I tell you this diary; the day I am freed from these shackles, the day i never have to lay eyes on her again will be the best day of my life.
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Elsa made a return today, although this time she didn't get on my nerves as much, Bette did that all by herself, mind you. She came in rambling about what would happen to us if the police saw through our lies; the endless court hearings, prison confinement for the rest of our lives, or worse, the chair.

I had read about the chair numerous times in the papers, but I had never thought the path we were on would lead us there down the road. I didn't want Bette to have to hear about that though, she is too weak and fragile as it is. I just want to get out of this hospital, being treated like a lab rat all day is frustratingly degrading.

Anyway, despite the fact that the chair is an option if we are caught, I don't think we will be, as I have perfected our alibi; It was a moonless night, Bette and I were sound asleep, mother was in the sitting room doing needle point when she heard a crashing sound coming from the kitchen. She went in to investigate and was attacked by the intruder. He came into our room while we were in bed and stabbed Bette, but I grabbed the scissors at my night stand and got him good. He was injured badly, so he left. Me and Bette were to weak to leave the house to get help, so we didn't. When the milkman came in we thought the intruder had came in to finish us off, so we hid in the closet out of sight. And that's our alibi.

Well, it will be if Bette doesn't screw up like she did with Elsa. She can be such a train wreck at times it astounds me. Elsa had asked about that night and the details of the break in, and I started telling her our story, but Bette being Bette just had to interrupt me and start bullshitting about a man in a black fedora attacking mother. Elsa knew instantly she was telling lies. Who wouldn't? She's a terrible liar.

My stomach is turning, not just from the lack of fresh air but from the nervousness I feel about our interrogation today. I think the best thing to do now is to run away while nobody's watching. Maybe back to Alabama. I always loved it when we were kids.

~Dot Tattler.