Joey Cifelli ’23
March 6, 2023
In my spare time, of which I have plenty these days, I have taken to wandering about the grounds of my late Grandfather’s estate. I suppose it is my estate now, myself being the only relation named in his will at the time of his passing. The boundaries of the property extend farther than I’ve been able to walk in a single day, so they may as well continue into oblivion. Coniferous forestry flows along most of the property, which I deemed unnecessary upon my arrival, and now deem malicious. They gather together after dusk, and morph and wraith their limbs until they stand over the house as I might a worm. I swear on my Grandfather’s grave I feel a presence emanating from them. A terrible presence. So, I make it a habit of mine to never be caught outside after dusk, lest the malevolence of the conifers sees it fit to put me in some hellish state. 8.1/10
March 7, 2023, Part 1
Of course, my estate is more than a simple forested area. There is a house, which I mentioned, though calling it a monolith would be more fitting. It is almost indescribable, this house. I am certain the architect had some fracture in his mind, so that his sense of order and pleasantness was horribly corrupt. When I first came upon the structure several years ago, the sheer imposition of its frame froze my blood into a smooth glass, and only after much concentration could I shatter it and move onward.
The inner structure, in seeming defiance of the faceless exterior, has been constructed like a labyrinth. Corridors appear to stretch out into the abyss, and stairs go up and up without any indication of purpose. The design must have been governed by a council of argumentative psychopaths, whose only purpose was to make the heart cringe as one moves from chamber to chamber. 8.2/10
March 7, 2023, Part 2
What else could justify a cellar hastily cobbled together with brick and mortar, which through a simple plank door opens into a vast marble ballroom anchored by magnificent Corinthian columns? Something about this house possesses my being, some feeling that I need to be here. I tell myself that I am the master of this house, but this brings me no reassurance. My Grandfather was master here as well.
After living in this wretch for a considerable amount of time, I find it remarkable that my Grandfather did not die much sooner. Even the most trivial of actions, living, is exhaustive here. Many times have I come close to death on these grounds, by trip or fall or spear or solitude. Grandfather must have been a careful man, no doubt. For my part, nervousness has beset me. Perhaps it is a worthy companion. I trust in its ability to keep me aware, to keep me awake. I have great difficulty sleeping now. It is not normal sleeplessness, no. It is a crude, black, sinister insomnia. 8.3/10
March 9, 2023
I can tell something is watching me.
At first I believed it to be the conifers. Oh, if only that could be the case! No, it is nearer, inside the house, living with me in these manic corridors. If I but knew what it was, I could arm myself appropriately. And yet, I know myself, and I know that I am not one to take arms regardless of the terror. I believe the word is coward. To distract my splintering mind I have resolved to learn of the mysteries held within this house. I believe this will frighten away the watcher. I see I have become a liar, too. 8.4/10
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