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June 10, 1815
We messed everything up. Every last thing. Nothing will be the same after this. I’ve contemplated writing this entry, wondering how the best way to word it would be because nothing that has occurred seems logical to any of us.
First, an elderly couple wearing rags for clothes came to our camp, screaming about how we were trespassing on their land. This was impossible because we scouted the area to make sure we weren’t stepping on any toes. They demanded that we vacate at once. We were willing to negotiate to keep the peace, but they wouldn’t hear any of it. We offered them food and to share our shelter, but still, they declined vehemently. The man pushed my wife when Aileen tried to offer him a fresh cup of water, and that’s when my patience flew away with the wind. I told them to leave immediately, and if they ever returned, they’d be shot on sight. I grew up dealing with threats, and I won’t be nice about it now. However, the couple was angered and swore vengeance before they left. My only concern was that my wife was so rattled by that man putting his hands on her when she was just trying to be kind. Our group discussed how to deal with the volatile couple, but we were split down the middle. The men wanted to keep with what I threatened, but the women felt we should still try to reason with them. It was better than fighting and bloodshed, they said.
It didn’t matter what we decided because the very next night, the woman returned without her husband and sat at the tree line, waiting for us to approach her, and as I’ve been through our entire journey, I made a move first. I’d rather be injured by her or her companion than anyone else.
She told me we had three days to vacate the premises, or a curse would befall us. One that would strip away at least one parent from each of our children. Every child from this generation and on would grow up without the love of both of their parents. Then, the woman proceeded to slit her own throat in front of me and bled out on the grass.
I figured it was the ramblings of a deranged woman at the end of her rope, but I was wrong. Exactly three days after that, Aileen fell ill, and we couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Ten days later, I became a widow and lost my sweet, dear wife, leaving our son without a mother, just like the crazy woman said.
Everyone is terrified about this supposed curse, and Aichear’s wife is now expecting. Children were never meant to feel like a death sentence, but now our whole world has been shaken to its core. Still, we will protect our home, for our families need something to fall back on during this difficult time. All we can hope is that Aileen’s passing was nothing more than a deadly coincidence.
Pray for us,
Séamus O’Reilly