Famous Last Words

It was weird. We ate breakfast like we didn’t ever want it to end, slowly chewing each mouthful and each of us drinking more coffee than Gerard would normally drink in a week. As much as we wanted to get to the bottom of what was happening I think, the truth was we didn’t want to start looking into it. I think that was because of my revelation that the pockmarked man had threatened me with the same fate as the woman if I didn’t just leave things as they were. In one sense I wondered if he had already tried to make good on that threat by sending me into the pool during my sleepwalking. We couldn’t deny the possibility and it scared us all. And as much as we had vowed to be strong for each other, we still weren’t fully opening up about how we felt. I know I wasn’t, and neither was Gerard. Again, it’s probably that brother thing – we know each other’s mannerisms so well; I knew it was dwelling on his thoughts. I didn’t know what to do, I literally had no words of comfort for him because I was scared stiff myself. It seemed reasonable that Frank, Ray and Bob were feeling it too, but because we said nothing, neither did they. They, no, we were being strong in our own ways, but it didn’t help that we were having trouble sharing our feelings. It was Frank who finally broke the silence.

“Okay, so, the library?” he asked; his tone was forced, but tried to sound upbeat and I think we all appreciated the effort.
“Yeah,” Gerard agreed standing up. “We can get one of the laptops from the studio in there too. Trawl around on Google; there’s bound to be something on the house, it’s pretty old.”

Almost as soon as I stepped through the door, I relaxed and felt ready for anything. I wished I could sleep in that room, I had never felt anything threatening in there and it was the only room, including the studio, that I felt comfortable in.

Pulling down books from the shelves, everyone settled themselves into a comfortable chair or sofa with Gerard taking the desk and setting up the laptop in front of him.

Ray had a book on the family history, Frank had a local history book, Bob had pulled a short volume on the actual building and behind them all, covered in dust lay a small leatherbound and somewhat tatty book, tied with a black satin ribbon. I was immediately drawn to it. I had taken some of the books from the shelves before now and never noticed it, but I couldn’t honestly say if I had taken those specific books. From the thick layer f dust, I'd say that it appeared to have fallen behind them many years earlier and on opening it, from the colour of the pages, I revised my estimate to some decades earlier. They were brown and the edges were – it brought a brief smile to my face – torn and frayed. A little like my nerves. I settled down to read it, realising almost immediately that it was a diary.

At first, I felt as though I shouldn’t look at it – it was a diary after all, a very personal thing – but something told me not to be so stupid, the person would be long dead by now, surely. How right I was!

It didn’t take long for us to find out more about the history of the house and its inhabitants. Built in 1923 it was variously named The Paramour Mansion or The Crestmount but originally and officially The Canfield-Moreno Estate. Your typical residence of a film star and heiress. Lavish parties would be held for the high-society of the 1920s and 30s but it ended abruptly with a horrific car crash in 1933 when Daisy Canfield plunged off a cliff on Mulholland Drive whilst returning from a party.

We sat and discussed this tragic event for maybe another hour or so before finally giving up on that line. As terrible as that was, we couldn’t squeeze a connection between the crash and the more terrifying aspects of the hauntings. The only glimmer that something was amiss was the suggestion in one of the books that perhaps her car had been tampered with. Daisy Canfield knew the road well and there was no reason to suspect that she might career off the edge of a cliff if nothing was wrong. But then, there was the party – in those days driving after drinking wasn’t illegal, it wasn’t even considered a problem. She could have been drunk. It didn’t say in the report and we had hit a dead end… except, of course for the diary.

I started reading. It began, as most diaries do, in January and it was fairly uneventful, but as I approached the end of February, my blood ran cold.

“Listen,” my voice was barely above a whisper and I had to cough to find my normal volume. Reading to Gerard and the guys, I began to think I’d found something to explain what was happening, or at least something that related to it. “This is the diary of Lucy Morgan for 1933. She was Daisy Canfield’s best friend.”

Wednesday, 22 February
Arrived at the estate in plenty of time for the ball on Saturday. Daisy can’t wait. She’s in the party spirit already, already trying to talk me into going to yet another party tomorrow. To get me 'in the mood' she says. I’m tired, it’s been a long journey, but she’s insisting. I feel terrible not wanting to go, she seems so keen to get out of the house for some reason. She is very edgy. Perhaps it’s nerves for Saturday? Senator Williams will be here, but she’s entertained on a grand scale before. Whatever it is, she won’t tell me.

Thursday, 23 February
Daisy’s off to the party, but I have the most awful migraine coming on. Early night and a couple of sleeping tablets for me.

Friday, 24 February
Awoke to the worst news ever. Daisy is dead. She crashed her car. They think she lost control on Mulholland Drive and went off the cliff. I can’t believe it, I just can’t. But for a migraine, I would have been in that car too.

Saturday, 25 February
Wandering around in a daze. Everything is so quiet, but for the sound of Frederick chopping in the pantry, he hasn’t stopped since yesterday. Maybe he’s upset too? I think he had something of a crush on Daisy. Who could blame him? She is... was, so beautiful and I doubt she even gave him a second look, poor man. Aside from Daisy being married, of course, she would never cheat on Antonio. Frederick seems to have suffered from smallpox at some point. His face is ravaged and pitted. He seems sullen and almost aggressive. I suppose it hits us all in different ways.
It would have been the ball tonight, but it’s silent now.

Sunday, 26 February
I still can’t believe she’s gone. It’s been three days now and her funeral is looming. Preparations, plans… it’s all happening like they’re organising a military exercise or some great party, which of course, to some of them, it is. Hardly surprisingly, Antonio has been hit very hard and he barely comes out of his room.

Monday, 27 February
He’s there, everywhere I go. I never noticed before, but wherever I turn, there he is. It’s really starting to annoy me.

Tuesday, 28 February
It’s not annoying any more. I’m certain he’s following me. I have to stay for the funeral, but he’s scaring me. All I want to do is leave.
Paid my last respects to Daisy. She’s dressed in blue, her favourite colour, she matches the room she's been laid out in. Her face is covered. I suppose the crash… I’ll remember her the way she used to look.

Wednesday, 1 March
Just one more day and night and I can leave. I feel so guilty for thinking like this, but now I’m certain. Last night I heard someone outside my door. I didn’t look, I was too scared it would be him. I keep the door locked tight. I’m probably paranoid, but I’m really starting to have my doubts about Daisy’s accident.

Thursday, 2 March
The funeral. I should have been paying my respects, I should have been concentrating on the ceremony, the family, but he was there again. Just far away enough not to be noticed except by me. He was smiling, right at me. Now I’m certain, absolutely certain.
I’m leaving tomorrow; I’m so relieved. I can’t stay another night in this house. As soon as I’m home, I’m going to the police.

All eyes were wide as I finished reading. They had noticed some of the details I had, I was sure, but I had to check I wasn’t reading more into it than was really there.

“This Frederick guy…” I began, hardly knowing how to phrase it.
Ray nodded grimly. “Smallpox! It’s him, the pockmarked man. It has to be.”
“What’s next?” Gerard asked pointing to the diary, still open in my hands.
“There is no next, that’s the last entry.”
“She never went to the police?” Frank asked with a worried frown.
“Frank, this diary was hidden at the back of the books. I don’t think she ever left.”

I couldn’t believe I was saying the words, but even as I did a strange tremor ran through the room. At first it was like a faint vibration, like a train passing by. I didn’t know what to think, but as the rumbling steadily grew, we looked at each other nervously. Was it an earthquake? A low flying plane? What?

Dust began to fall from the shelves on which the books had stood and ornaments were visibly shaking. I jumped up. The library was my haven, my safe place in this whole terrifying building. I wasn’t about to let it start scaring me now too. I had to get out. The guys were on their feet too and as Gerard moved towards the door it slammed shut in front of him. Pulling hard on the handle, I could see the effort in his face as the door refused to budge. Ray, Bob and Frank all moved closer to help, but there was only room for two. I watched, rigid, rooted to the spot as both Bob and Gerard pulled frantically on the handle. Ringing in my ears above the ever-increasing rumbling I was sure I heard a whisper of laughter. Looking around frantically I couldn’t see anything, but something, someone was there, I was certain.

As suddenly as it started, it stopped. Everything fell silent and the door simply clicked open. We all stood, very still, very quiet, trying to reconcile in our minds what had just happened. We needed… I needed something real, something solid to hang on to. By this point, it was all I could do not to crack.

It had to be an earthquake; I wouldn’t let myself believe anything else.

Notes