Diary Entry June 14, 1926—Night
Time seems to have speeded up on the island.
I can’t quite put my finger on why or how, but this evening has been a half-forgotten blur.
I suppose worry is the cause. The same fraught anxiousness that now keeps me awake, terrified that if I sleep, there’ll be another nightmare—and that this time, Mrs. Semple will be claimed by the Darkness.
For now, though, she remains on the island. I know because I’ve moved into the house, too scared to be all alone in the cottages. I can hear her down the hallway, bustling about in her room. I so admire her bravery. She doesn’t seem scared at all, although I’m certain she is.
Earlier tonight, she had come to my door, finding me on the floor weeping uncontrollably. As expected, we saw nothing during our search of the island, and it left me so grief-stricken that I had to let it out.
“My dear girl,” Mrs. Semple said as she swept me into her arms. “Weeping will solve nothing.”
“I don’t know what else to do,” I sobbed. “I feel so sad and guilty. Because this is all my fault.”
I know in my heart that it is. It must be. During that first, wretched séance, the Darkness addressed me and no one else. It begged me to let it out of wherever it was trapped and—somehow, quite unintentionally—I did. Now Katrina, Jonquil, and Mrs. Minafer are gone because of it. Because of me.
“I wish I knew why this was happening.”
“We could always ask,” Mrs. Semple suggested.
I knew she meant another séance. This time, I refused to entertain the idea, for only bad things happened during them.
It’s how I had set the Darkness free in the first place.
And then, during the last séance, I didn’t even know what was taking place.
I had fainted while the Darkness spoke of someone else disappearing and, sure enough, it happened.
Twice, in fact. Now Mrs. Semple was suggesting not just a séance, but one in which we purposefully reached out to the Darkness.
“No,” I said. “I don’t want to. Please don’t make me.”
“It might be the only way to understand what’s been happening, my child. Don’t you want that?”
Yes. I want that very much. Which is why I grudgingly agreed to one last séance that will take place tomorrow night. I still loathe the idea, but, like Mrs. Semple, I fear it might be the only way to make sense of what the Darkness wants—and my role in all of it.
Now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
Even more, I pray there’ll be no more nightmares—and that I shall not die before I wake.