Suddenly, my ears began to ring painfully. A voice, cold and distorted, whispered through the high-pitched whine: "You came..."
It was as if it had been waiting for me. Charlie murmured a slogan under his breath, then dropped to one knee. He gathered the ritual items one by one—thirteen in total. Using the coal tongs, he snatched up the book.
Charlie handed me the book as he burned the ritual items one by one. "You may find your answers in there," he said.
I looked down at the pages; the off-white paper confirmed it was from the twenties. I opened the first sheet and saw letters slanted to the right with elegant, decorative loops on the capital letters.
One-fourth of the book consisted of daily entries about what she ate and what she did. One's personal diary reveals a lot about a person—not just through their words, but through their handwriting, which shifts with their emotions.
These early pages painted a picture of a cheerful girl who was well-loved by the orphanage. By the entry for October 2nd, her script was bouncy and light; she was ecstatic to have landed a job at Nightfall Manor. On October 3rd, she mentioned a man she had met previously—the heir to the manor.
But by October 10th, the tone shattered. The handwriting was frantic and the ink smeared, as if she had been writing in a hurry.
Carla's Point of View
Today, I finally applied for the position at Nightfall Manor. My heart is quite restless; I truly don't know if they will have me. Sister Mary has been urging me to leave the orphanage for some time now. I know I am old enough to be on my own, yet I would much rather stay here with the children than live with my distant relatives.
Later, I walked to the cliffs to find some peace. I sat upon a large rock to admire the view—it was truly breathtaking and so very silent. I began to sing softly to myself, but the sound of heavy footsteps startled me.
I hurried back toward the orphanage, but on the path, I bumped right into a young man. I offered my apologies, but he simply stood there in a daze. He did not say a word. I do not know if he is quite right in the head; he is a very strange fellow indeed.
Sister Mary summoned me. My heart sank when she delivered the news—I did not get the position at Nightfall Manor. She told me I must work harder and not idle my time away. I felt utterly dejected. To clear my mind, I spent the afternoon assisting Sister Julie with the infirmary patients.
I began searching for work nearby and secured a place as an embroidery worker. While I have a talent for the needle, the thought of spending every day bent over knitting and sewing made my spirit weary. Midway through the day, I could bear the monotony no longer; I left the workshop and sought the solitude of the cliffs.
However, a miracle occurred this evening! A new offer arrived from Nightfall Manor—they are seeking a Typist. I hurried to the interview, and to my absolute joy, I was selected! I am to begin tomorrow. The position includes both board and silver, which has made everyone at the orphanage, including myself, immensely happy. Sister Mary even gave me a fresh white blouse to wear.
I packed my things and waited for tomorrow, eventually falling into a restless sleep. I woke far too early, driven by sheer excitement. I dressed in the white blouse Sister Mary had given me, paired with my heavy wool skirt and my cloche hat. After bidding a fond farewell to everyone at the orphanage, I set out for the manor.
I have passed by the manor many times, but today it felt different; I felt so very small compared to the world I was about to enter. As a worker, I had to enter through the small side gate, where I showed my appointment papers to gain entry.
I walked past the beautiful, fresh flower gardens, but as I looked up, I saw a shadow flicker behind a second-floor window. The air inside the manor smelled of beeswax and coal smoke. I climbed the grand staircase, my skirt brushing against my ankles with every step.
When I reached the door, I could hear the rhythmic echo of typing from within. I was met by the Head Maid, who reviewed my papers before signaling for me to follow. She led me to the top floor, knocked three times, and waited. A voice—muffled by the heavy wood but perfectly clear—replied, "Yes, come in."