====== Diary of Elisabeth Hastings (1910 - ======

=== 21st December 1910 ===

It is the longest night of the year and my heart is heavy with every loss I have suffered. I have lost my home, but worse than that, I have lost the home I found in my sister, my sweet Rosalie. My very soul wails at her loss but my eyes have shed no more tears. I cannot, not when I am so closely watched by the London society I have retreated to. There are too many unanswerable questions already forming on their lips that I must not give them an opportunity to voice them. I am both bound by, and shielded by the rules of etiquette. If I am to survive, I must follow the path dictated before me with all the airs and graces befitting my station. I must pretend that I do not wake in the night, feeling once again the multitude of hands that dragged me from my bed, that the mouths that spat on and cursed me are merely echoes of memory, that I cannot still hear the rasping blood choked breaths of poor Gunther before he died. Perhaps one day I will find some peace if I can push this Sisyphean weight to the top of the hill but I strongly believe that some ghosts can never be banished.

=== 3rd March 1911 ===

Today I have met an interesting man, an artist by the name of William Thackery. A most agreeable man, witty and sensitive. Perhaps I should allow him to pursue me. A marriage would be most advantageous, and better yet, to a man whose conversation is rather enjoyable. His work would bid him to follow his muses, wherever they may be, and I would have the rank of a married woman, allowed to follow my own interests without drawing the eye of society, my only duty to bear children and keep a household. Once, I had thought to do that for Giles, despite his clear adoration of Rosalie. I did not blame him. She was so easy to love, like a sunflower in a world of weeds. I wonder if her ghost haunts him too.

=== 29th June 1912 ===

I know I am pregnant. I hadn’t been sure before, as my courses had not been the same since that time, but now I know for certain. Rosalie came to me in my dreams last night. I could see her beautiful shining face, and could once again hear the sweetness of her voice. She showed me what my little daughter will look like. It filled me with joy that I could see Rosalie in my daughter’s face, her cheeks pink and healthy, her hair like pale sunlight. She looked so happy, playing in the green grass outside my old home. However, Rosalie came to me with a warning: that my child would be as I am. That if left unchecked, it could lead my daughter into the same horrors as I have faced. Evil wears many faces and one day, it could come for her. She said that my daughter could be protected, that if it were not passed on, her daughter and every daughter after would be protected also. I told her I would gladly walk through the gates of Hell itself with open arms to protect my child from harm, to allow her to be free and happy, playing on the lawns of Hastings Manor. I can protect generations of Hastings women, given to be by the one person I couldn’t protect. I know, as I am writing this, that my dream was not very rational. Dreams have a tendency to be that way. I know my dead sister did not come visit me during the night. I have not felt her presence since I saw her lying there in the bed at the Lodge, unresponsive. Yet, I cannot stop thinking about it. The rosy cheeked child playing at my ancestral home, Rosalie’s warning of dangers in the world. The stone walls of the manor are still intact. Perhaps it could be rebuilt, reshaped by a mother’s hand. It is said that a man’s home is his castle, a sentiment expressed so that no one may enter without permission, but what happens when they do? I must consider this further.

=== 18th August 1914 ===

I felt the babe move today. At the very least, William can feel the movement before he will leave for the Front. I couldn’t have asked for a better father for Rosie and little Gunther. I hope he will not be gone long, for their sake. I still have not seen my sister again. I suppose it was foolish of me to hope that she would return to my dreams when I became pregnant again. I did not see or feel her when I carried Gunther and I have not seen her as I carry this babe. Even after the builders finally discovered her body in the Pookhowe woods and I finally laid her bones to rest, I have not felt her. I dread the day when I cannot recall her face.

=== 14th September 1917 ===

I received word that William is dead. How am I to explain to the children that their father won’t be returning? A doting father and a good husband. I shall raise my glass to him tonight, my remarkable companion. I shall miss him dearly.

=== 1st May 1920 ===

Ten years to the day and now I finally stand once again on the grounds of my home, rebuilt and renewed. My new haven, built from the ashes of the past. May those ghosts finally find rest in this tranquillity. The boys are set to begin at Windlesham at the start of the academic year and the interviews for Rosalie’s governess went well. I feel particularly swayed by Miss Sarah Russell. She has a wonderful intelligence behind those dark eyes and lines on her face that shows she smiles often, her manner is direct yet appealing. A very interesting soul, indeed. I believe she would make a very good teacher and companion for Rosie. I would speak with her further.

The following pages were discovered in a hiding hole in Flo's room

=== 16th July 1922 ===

Miss Russell is turning out to be a wonderful companion for Rosie, and dare I say, myself. The joy they have found in one another brings a light that has pierced me places I thought forever shadowed. I often find myself taken to watching them together. Miss Russell has a remarkable ability to know when to dote upon and when to discipline, though it’s needed less and less as Rosie comes to admire her too. She goes above and beyond her dictated role as tutor, showing the passion she has for the children she cares for. Her company is so sorely missed in the evenings that I have decided I shall invite her to dine with us every evening. Perhaps there shall be some disapproval but I find myself uncaring of the rules of others. I would always rather be happy than dignified.

=== Continuing ===

The journal pages continue, detailing Elizabeth and Sarah’s budding relationship, born of mutual respect, over the course of the next ten years. They seemed very happy and delighted in spending time together, discussing pastimes and interests, including a shared love of the Jane Eyre novel. Reading between the lines, it seems obvious that the children were aware of their mother’s relationship. It details Gunther’s early marriage, Rosie’s interest in teaching (inspired by Sarah) and William’s wild child behaviours whilst attending university in Brighton, although it seems to stop after he drops out for reasons he refused to explain. In fact, afterwards, he seemed to avoid Brighton altogether.\\
At one point in the diary, Elizabeth mentions finally receiving the finished locks from its creator. While she doesn’t mention any names in regards to its creator, nor how she came into contact with them, she does mention its expensiveness, considering its components were supposedly ‘gathered from a market’. With the locks in place, she set about preparing the panic rooms. She mentions finding it odd that one of the dust curtains was still up in the basement from the builders and notes to take it down but there are no further entries mentioning it.

=== the end ===

A few months before Elizabeth’s murder, the journal pages begin to detail events that start happening in the house, including strange knocking, objects disappearing and reappearing elsewhere, cold spots and moving shadows. It is around this time that Elizabeth writes that Sarah has begun to act strangely, becoming withdrawn and sickly. She explains that Sarah has been having nightmares and not sleeping well and has taken to drawing what she sees so ‘they won’t scare her as much’. When she does manage to sleep, Elizabeth often finds Sarah sleepwalking. Sometimes she would find her with objects in hand, like paperweights, letter openers and even knives. Elizabeth worried that Sarah may hurt herself and anonymously sought advice from doctors, causing her to travel to London relatively often, under the guise of visiting Rosie. Sarah would remember nothing but would often ask Elizabeth if she loved her, would she leave her behind, is she planning to leave her and similar questions. Elizabeth would always reassure her but began to worry, especially when she would turn around and find Sarah standing there, silent and staring at her.

=== the last dream ===

The last entry is on the morning of her death, where Elizabeth recounts having terrible nightmares during the night. TRIGGER WARNING FOR BODY HORROR.\\
The nightmare begins in a meadow of flowers. The air is sweet, the breeze gentle. The flowers are pinkish white things, with five swirling petals and a small inner ring of petals surrounding its yellow centre. Elizabeth brushed her hand through the feather shaped leaves of one of the bushels. Turning, she saw a high throne of woven flowers, complete with steps. A woman sat regally on the throne, bearing a great crown of twigs, moss and dead flowers. Although she wore Rosalie’s face, golden hair burning in the sun, Elizabeth knew it was not. There was no kindness to be found in her eyes, as there had been in Rosalie’s. They were black like a void, hollow and empty. A queen of nothing, yet Elizabeth felt small under her idle gaze, like an ant thoughtlessly crushed underfoot on the path ahead. A chain of red metal extended from the woman’s hand, leading into Elizabeth’s chest. After noticing it, she could feel the heavy weight and cold metal tethered somewhere inside of her. A small hand slipped into hers and before she could stop it, the chain snaked out from her and wound around the tiny wrist. Rosie looked up at her blankly as the chain sought its place inside her too. As she aged before Elizabeth’s eyes, another small girl stepped out of the world and when she slipped her hand into Rosie’s, the chain found its place there too. Elizabeth knew then, everything had its price.\\
Possessed by a mother’s protectiveness, Elizabeth turned to run, pulling the girls with her. Every step she took, the sky darkened into night and she could make no progress, as though she were running in place. Small fires sprang to life around her, and as they came closer, she saw people bearing torches. They were screaming unintelligibly at her. She tried to stop them as they grabbed for the child beside her. Her son was pulled from her hands and dragged away to where a great stone plate lay in the ground. Elizabeth fought wildly but it made no difference as the mob pinned Gunther to the ground and placed a wooden board across his chest. He screamed, ‘Mutter! Mutter! Hilf mir!’ as the faceless crowd began piling stones upon the board. He coughed as he tried to breathe, blood and phlegm flecking his lips. The choking sounds were deep and wet, like his lungs had filled with liquid. Elizabeth begged for them to not hurt him, he had nothing to do with this but her cries fell on deaf ears as they had before. She knew how this would end. She wailed into her hands, great sobs wrenching from her until the world quieted.\\
As she opened her eyes once more, she was standing on a battlefield, surrounded by the dead as far as the eye could see. Soldiers and warriors from different eras lie bloating under a gloaming sky. Morning stars lie discarded beside artillery guns on flame scorched earth. Tattered flags whip about and the sounds of distant battles are carried with the rumbling thunder on rising winds as a great storm brews in the sky. There is an overwhelming stench of decay and cold blood-streaked mud mixed with voided bowels squished between her toes and soaked into her nightdress. Black carrion birds peck at the exposed flesh of the corpses around her, squawking with delight at the feast. A figure moves in the distance, dressed in shredded black rags, a noose swinging about its throat like a necklace. It walks barefoot through the bodies, as a horde of black birds circle above. Elizabeth knew its name, as one might know Death upon its pale horse. She tried to call out in warning but found she could not speak. The voice was not hers to use. It belonged to another. Still, she must try.\\
She took a step, her foot landing on something soft that collapsed under the weight. She looked down. Her foot had entered the stomach cavity of a corpse. She heard the disturbed flies swarm around her leg and felt maggots move over her foot, bathed in rotten fluids. She screamed and fell backwards, landing against another corpse. The wings of birds, disturbed from their meal, batted loudly as they flew upwards and Elizabeth looked upon the face of the remains. The crows had made quick work of the eyes and lips but she still knew it to be that of her son, William. Horror stricken, Elizabeth dared not look at the face of the body she landed on, and yet still recognised the hand, remembering a time when they were paint-streaked, roaming furiously over a canvas. The glint of a wedding ring was just visible under the coating of mud. Father and son, together again in death.\\
Grief tore at her insides, yet she must get to the figure, who walks further with every moment. She tried to get to her feet when a gentle hand landed on her shoulder. She turned and realised she was in her bed, having just rolled over to face the person standing beside her. Sarah’s gentle face looked down on her as she opened her mouth, teeth glinting, to say ‘it’s time.’\\
Time?, Elizabeth had thought. Sarah’s image flickered, her brown hair oscillating between brown and grey. A smell like honey and flowers filled the air.\\
‘Yes, it’s time. After so long, I thought you might have forgotten all about me.’ Her accent lilted between educated and rural as she spoke. Wrinkles appeared and disappeared from her face as Sarah brushed Elizabeth’s hair back from her face. Her fingers trailed down the side of Elizabeth’s face, to her throat. A lover’s touch perhaps, had Sarah’s image not wavered so.\\
‘Because I have not forgotten about you. This was to be my house, after all’. And as the fingers tightened around her neck, Elizabeth looked into eyes that were not Sarah’s and knew them.