Monday 25th October
From the kitchen window, I watched progress begin on the boat. Anais was a dab hand, running from port to starboard with roughly drawn plans that risked being whisked away by the wind. Darren and David were doing their best to keep up with him, and I wished I could be out there. Maybe a bit of physical labour would take my mind off things.
Lottie handed me another soft onion.
'Cheer up,' she said. 'Nothing's ever completely hopeless.'
'Hmm?'
I dropped the knife—would I kill with a knife again?—and glanced at Lottie. She had a kind smile on her face.
'You look like someone's died.' She pauses. 'Well, suppose they have.'
'Sorry,' I say. 'I'm just rattled.'
Lottie's focus turns back to chopping. Earlier, she volunteered me to help her cook a big roast dinner.
'We need something to liven us up,' she'd said, and no one had thought to protest.
Despite the murder and the missing people, the other guests were coping well, and as we worked, Caleb ran between the planks of wood outside, stopping only to hide behind his Dad when anyone so much as glanced at him.
'Do you have family?' Lottie asked out of the blue as she took a carrot in hand.
I took a moment to think. 'Just my brother,' I said.
The others died a long time ago.
'That's nice,' she said. 'Are you close?'
'Yeah, see him every weekend.'
Lottie's smile widened upon hearing my lie because, to be blunt, Eric and I never get along—he's impatient, rude, and annoyingly, always the better twin.
Somewhere out there, maybe he's wondering where I am, and how I became what I did. I would have brought him to The Lodge, but he would only have gotten in the way—Eric had always been the sanctimonious type.
'The others will be waiting for you on the other side.' Lottie placed her hand on mine. 'All our families are.'
Did she really believe that?
***
Lottie stayed in fine form throughout dinner as we gathered around the table and scooped steaming piles of food onto our plates.
'So, what do you think?' she asked.
I didn't like it: the meat was dry, the veg was slimy, and the potatoes were soft.
'It's great,' David lied, and Lottie's face lit up.
From the corner of my eye, I caught a smirk from Abe as the rest of us joined him in our compliments.
'My girlfriend would love this—she's a chef, you know,' said David, who was sitting next to Lottie, and a lot more amiable than he had been on our walk. As he said this, Lily tensed next to me.
Had David told her something? Or was there something between them?
'Oh, well, I'll have to meet her,' Lottie cooed obliviously as the friction washed over the table.
David began telling a story, and as we wolfed down the questionable meal, my right ear began to buzz. I felt my ear, but there was nothing, no bug, no bee, no Old Man. Yet the buzzing didn't stop.
Gingerly, and slowly enough so the others didn't notice, I turned my head in the direction of the noise, which led me to the dark, oak bookcase squashed in the corner of the room. Something was leading me there, but I couldn't check yet.
We finished eating quickly, and with dark rings growing under our eyes, everyone filed back to their rooms as Darren and Anais left to clear up.
I went to stand, and Abe put a firm hand on my wrist.
'We need to talk,' he whispered, and I sat back down. The buzzing was still there.
No one but Lily noticed, and she shot me a questioning look.
I shrugged.
She nodded slowly before slipping out of the room, leaving Abe and me alone in the candlelight.
'What's this about?' I asked once the footsteps had receded.
'I think she knows.'
Abe's blue eyes were creepier in the light, the red of the flames flickering in the colour. Regardless, I sighed and sat back, listening to the buzz. At least he hadn't kept me for anything serious.
'This is important!' He whispered harshly, almost spitting in my ear. 'If she finds out before I'm ready, then...'
'I thought you were going to tell her anyway?'
'It's not the right time.'
I worked Abe out by then: he was a coward.
His knee bounced under the table as there was a sudden bang from the kitchen. We glanced at each other. What were they up to in there?
'Anyway,' I continued, 'she probably doesn't know.'
Abe shook his head. 'She's suspicious. She keeps hinting at something.'
'Like what?'
'Like...' He gathered his thoughts. 'Like this morning, just before we left, she turned to me and said, "Let's find out what Harriet was hiding." And then she looked at me like... like—' he stuttered like a child.
'You're reading too much into this.'
'You really think she doesn't know?'
I nodded. 'How could she?'
Abe ran his thumbs along the edge of the table.
'Just get some sleep,' I said. 'You'll feel better in the morning.'
'Okay.' The chair scraped as he got onto his old feet. 'You're not coming up?'
'I'll be a minute.'
I smiled, trying not to seem suspicious, but Abe eyed me anyway as he left. As soon as he was gone, I bolted from my chair and faced the bookcase. It was thin and tall and full of old, flaking books.
The sound was right in front of me now, earthquaking through my entire head. I held out my hand, feeling over the books for... something.
I found it.
As my fingers hovered over the centre of the middle shelf, right in front of an A4, red, leather-bound book, the noise reached its height. It was almost unbearable, the bones in my skull shaking as my fingertips neared.
Then they touched it, and the sound was gone.
I nestled it from the shelf and dropped it on the table with a bang as my aching arms couldn't hold it. Fingers finding the cover, I peeled back the first page. I had to be quick—Darren and Anais were probably seconds away.
'You found it, then,' said The Old Man.
My soul jumped from my chest as he appeared in front of me, guarding the door to the kitchen.
I nodded, trying to stay calm even as my stomach wanted to rip itself open.
'Go on, open it.'
I turned the cover, revealing a yellowing, blank page—how old was this thing? I turned the next and the next and the next. All blank.
Why give me an empty book?
'Because I want you to fill it.' That same, debonair grin returned to his face, but he winced as he sat down, knees as bad as Abe's.
That day, he was still wearing a white tunic, but it seemed crisper, better made somehow, and the lines around his face, while still deeper than the grand canyon, were less.
'I want you to write in it,' he explained. 'Describe everything that's happening here.'
'Why?' I finally found words.
'Let's call it an account of sorts—a historical one. After all, people will want to know, won't they?'
My stomach dropped.
'I thought this was meant to be a secret.'
'Oh, it is. The book will never make it into the wrong hands, I assure you.'
I still didn't get it. 'Why?' I tried again.
'Just write.' he said sharply. 'It will become clear in time.'
He was just about to go.
'Wait!'
Those frozen eyes looked at me.
'I'm not sure about this, not anymore.' I swallowed, thinking of Lily. 'Some of them are good people.'
This made him chuckle. 'Oh, but that's where you're wrong.' He turned to open the kitchen door. 'These people are not "good" at all.'
The Old Man turned the handle and, instead of stepping into the kitchen, walked into an inky darkness, letting the door slam behind him.
I wasn't brave enough to try the door for myself and instead staggered up the stairs with a head like a fish bowl. When I woke in the morning, the book was still there, watching me from my desk. Huge and blank.
Giving in, I crawled out of bed and cracked it open before grabbing a biro and beginning to think. Then I flicked my mind back to that very first coach ride in the pouring rain—the first time this nightmare felt real—wiggled my fingers, and began to write.