Missing

4th Oct At school.

It’s gone!

I don’t know how or where it has disappeared to but it gone. Vanished!

Running down the stairs, I saw the devastation HE had left the lounge. Leaving my bag in the hall and JT’s locket on the table, I removed all the bottles HE had created and prayed the bin men would arrive before Mrs M did so the extent of his downfall could be hidden for another week. When I came back in, it was gone. I looked all over but it was nowhere to be seen. Not on the floor, in my bag or even my room.

Now I am left wondering whether it was ever really there in my pocket, my hand or is my mind conjuring more dreams. Dreams so realistic I believe them to be true.  It’s crazy. I am drifting into crazy but at least it solves a problem. I can’t return something I haven’t got.

Love Amber x

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Mathilde’s Book of Shadows: The Wrong Choice

Found on a loose leaf of damaged parchment browned with age and stained with blots of ink.

(illegible writing water damage) 1752

What have I done? I knew I was dealing with powerful magic, a raw, wild energy; the howling wind and churned sea warned me but now I see the consequences I am aware of my naivety and foolishness of meddling with fate because of my deep, overwhelming love for him. 

Snuggled against Eldrid’s chest, I could hear his heart beat in time with mine. strong and steady. Relaxed and at peace while he holds my hand tight connecting him to me. It is at odds with the man I saw earlier when sweat gathered on his forehead and his heart was frantic while his muscular limbs thrashed until I woke him. When his eyes finally focused on mine I was struck by the fear they held. When I demanded he tell me what was wrong, my heart chilled and tightened as he confirmed my worst fear. There is evil in Ellfaen; it is gathering and refuses to let him go. Waiting in the shadows, it pounces when he falls asleep  The evil, he describes as The Dark, has followed him home.

Has he been given the gift of life in exchange for the curse of daily nightmares and terror? I created this situation; it is my responsibility to correct my interference but how? 

What to do apart from scream.

4th Oct 

Dear Diary,

I don’t want to go. Really don’t want to go.  Feel sick, sweaty and terrible with my stomach churning over and over. After a long night of watching the clock tediously click from a minute to another, time has speeded up forcing me to make a decision.  Being awake all night threading this blasted chain and locket  through my fingers  in the vain hope of answers has failed but at least it meant I didn’t dream. One advantage I guess. 

How to deal with this? 

  •  I could leave it here in my room. Forget about it. Pretend I don’t know where it is but I know the guilt will show. My cheeks will blaze and reveal a lie even if I didn’t take it. Whoever planted it will know I have it, a poisoned secret ready to be released to bring more trouble to my door. Did Jack do this? Of all of the suspects, I don’t want it to be him. I don’t want the small piece of kindness someone has shown to be tainted with cruelty.
  • Return it but how without getting caught
  •  Just confess and accept the consequences to stop things now. 

What if I did take it? And all this pointing the finger at others is completely wrong. I am such a mess I can’t trust myself. I find myself losing track of time, looking down at work to find the lesson is over. Things move around in my room  and I see things out of the corner of my eye that I know are not there. These dreams and lack of sleep are screwing up my mind.  Anything is possible. It could be me but I would know wouldn’t I? These continual loops of suspicion and are not helping come up with a plan. 

Decision made – it needs to go back. 

I wish my Mum was here, Mum’s always know what to do or Mrs M. She would give me a hug and advise but how could I admit the flounderings in my head as I am sure I am teetering on the edge of madness.
Love Amber x

P.S If this becomes my last entry,  JT has killed me or pushed me over the edge. If so, I want to be buried at sea so my soul can be free to swim with the whales. Anything but be consumed by fire or eaten by worms. 

The Phantom Sock Thief

4pm Tues 3rd Oct

Dear Diary,

 
Things have always had a habit of getting mislaid at school but lately things have gone missing on a regular basis especially socks. Yes socks! It began as the odd sock here and there, meaning someone had to suffer the agonising pain of blisters for day but now every time we leave our clothes for PE something goes missing. Most of us bring  in spare socks now. The Phantom Sock Thief has an unquenchable fetish for smelly teenage feet. Just why? At first we thought it was girls changing room issue but the phantom visits the boys too. Who in their right mind would steal boys socks – gross.

 
The phantom became more adventurous; a trainer lost only to be found under bench nowhere near its partner. Some shoes were lost all together. It’s not just during PE either. Favourite pens, keys, lipstick and all things annoying to lose have disappeared. Nothing major until now. Today it went too far. Today it stole JT’s necklace. A small, delicate silver locket, not a chunky and hideous thing like mine. The Phantom can have this one with pleasure (I lie. As horrid as it is, it the only link I have to Mum apart from no.49 and I will not give it up even for an easy life). Her necklace is nowhere. It’s gone and somehow accusatory eyes have fallen on me.

 
Why would I do it? I spend all my time fantasising about hiding under HP’s cloak of invisibility and try not flaunt my existence under her nose. I have been stared, glared and whispered about all day. It accelerated to her grabbing my bag, tipping it upside down sending everything everywhere. Everything! Books, sketchbook – ripped, damaged and laughed at with the sketches of my dreams there for everyone to see until it was flung in my face with the familiar label “Freak!” Worse came when tampons flew across the desk. Boys laughed and jostled while JT sneered in delight at my flaming red cheeks and stuttering objections.

“I know it’s you. You stinking, ginger freak.” she jabbed. “I will get it back and I promise I will make your life hell.” she said before flouncing off with her ever faithful following her. As if my life isn’t already in the depths of Hell. Everyone sauntered off once they knew the show was over. Tears streaked down my face and snot threatening to follow. I sniffed and when I looked up Jack (yes JACK MONROE) was still there, watching. Without a word, he collected stuff strewn on the floor including, much to my main cringe worthy embarrassment, a rogue tampon. He handed things over, constantly watching my face as if he wanted to tell me something. And then he was gone.

 
Was it pity or was he wanting to spurt more taunts? Who knows, it didn’t feel like that. As I sit here at the base of no.49 tree, I can’t help seeing his face and feeling a fluttery feeling. A nice feeling like a tiny bubble of something good. I keep imagining a ream of what ifs, despite my logical mind screaming it will be part of a joke, a dare, a new plan to crush me some more.
What if he can see behind my freak and sees me, likes me; that really would cause JT’s anger to flare after all her hair flicking and eye fluttering she does in his presence. It would be worth seeing. But if I start believing it is a possibility, I really am mad.

Love Amber x

 

 

Updated: Project Nightmare

Monday 2nd Oct

Dear Diary,

After the room incidence and just having the unpleasant experience of digging  out a humongous splinter from my thumb (yes, I know it could have  been from my tree climbing but …) Project Nightmare has become Project Stay Awake.

I have a stash of bottles of coke, coffee and even a pack of caffine tablets. Reading all the warnings I am scared to take them – have you seen the side effects of these things? I don’t want anymore dreams no more rats, locked rooms or fire and screams. I just want them to stop!

Later:

feel sick and jittery but still awake – just.

Love Amber x

 

 

The Lure of no.49

 

Sunday 1st Oct

Dear Diary,

After last night’s tormented dreams spending the day cooped up in the suffocating atmosphere of home was unbearable. HE will be looming somewhere either nursing a hangover until the hair of the dog kicks in or watching the sport channel gulping down tins of whatever with his rowdy mates. After all, Sunday is the day of rest and he deserves to relax – not that he needs an excuse to ‘relax’

I caught snatches of sleep when my determination to stay awake faltered, luckily, my mind was kind for once and did not send me back into jail but by 6am I had had enough of tossing, turning and thinking.

My fingers still bore the marks of the dream and while getting dressed I noticed my bin on its side with litter strewn everywhere. Either the rat followed me back or I have been sleep walking. I will go with the latter theory. The thought of the long tailed creature invading my room sends shiver up my spine. Eew!

Even Google says there are logical reasons you wake up bruised. None of the dreams are real! I still can’t shake off the fear and the panic that follows me. The what ifs?

The house was relatively tidy,  enough not to cause agro. Why it matters that the place is clean when his ‘friends’ come over, I am not sure as they just add to the detritus he makes but I can do without his rage today.

I grabbed my sketch book and supplies that would do for breakfast/lunch and I was out of there to my place. My sanctuary. My secret bolt hole – no.49 Willow Crescent.

I first stumbled across it in the summer when I retreated from a run in with JT and her gang. I can’t remember the taunts they spouted but I do remember the stinging eyes, ripped bag and the feeling of burning humiliated. Blind with tears I ran away, down streets I don’t normally go until I stopped at no.49. The familiarity of the green door made me stop. Neglected and peeling, it looked a sorry state compared to the fresh painted door of my childhood memories; jumping down the step in my stripey wellies while holding on to my mum’s hand. We were laughing as she locked up. Laughing seems so alien to me now. I can’t recall the last time I laughed or even grinned. How bad is that? The overgrown garden with the buzzing insects and riot of colour from the mass of flowers and highly floral smell of the purple lavender lured me in. I snuck around the back of the empty house to discover my oasis.

Many of the flowers have died with only faded lavender and stubborn blooms clinging on now we are in October. The overgrown shrubs still shield me from spying neighbours as I creep in. Soon I will not be able to hide here and gather my thoughts. I don’t know what I will do then. Probably go back to my previous place of calm the local library. JT would never dream of going there. Climbing up the large twisted oak, after nabbing a couple of apples off one of the fruit trees, I hid among the changing leaves and relaxed.

From my viewpoint I can survey the garden and house (I never look at the  top left window), see the outlines of previous borders meld into to each other as plants battle their space with choking weeds, sketch/read until my bum gets numb and most of all, feel close to my Mum. This was her domain and I gather up the snatches of vague memories that come; hold them tight and remember once upon a time life was happy and I was loved.

Love Amber x