Page 18 of Possessed Silverfox
When I return, Joseph and Evan are studying the diary intently.
“This changes everything,” Joseph says.
Evan shoots him a sly grin and places a hand on his hip. “Now I’ve seen everything! Joseph Idylewylde believes in his family’s curse.”
Joseph puts a hand up to stop him. “Oh, I don’t believe in the curse. I simply believe that Beatrix was a real person rather than a fictional scapegoat. I don’t think she haunts my house.”
Evan thumbs through the diary. “It’s amazing that this held up for so long.”
“The space between my closet and the wall was cool and dry. It wasn’t nearly as musty as the attic. So that helped preserve the paper.”
“Who knew closets could be archival quality?” Evan jokes.
We laugh uproariously as Joseph looks puzzled.
“Well, I should get going. I have a feeling the two of you have your work cut out for you. I’ll leave you to it.”
I wave as he exits. “See you at home,” I call.
Joseph can annoy the living shit out of me sometimes, but I’ve grown to appreciate his presence at Idylewylde Hall to anticipate his nightly scotch in the library where he sometimes joins me to see what I’ve discovered that day.
Evan and I busy ourselves for the next several hours. I started to compare the paper quality and the handwriting in the diary to other documents at the time. I looked up leather tanning techniques from the 1800s to see if any of the articles matched the feeling of the cover.
Evan calls the local historical society, and we stop each other from alerting the Weatherby Gazette.
Sometime around seven, we finally wrap our work up for the day.
I shrug my pea coat on and join Evan in the doorway. For a moment, we stare at the diary as if we’re scared it will grow wings and fly away.
“Would you laugh if I told you I’m a little frightened of it?” Evan asks.
“Nah, I think it escaped my box and wound up back in my suitcase. I’m more than a little freaked out by its powers of transportation. Or I don’t even know what you would call it. There’s a long history of spirits being attached to specific objects. You see it with dolls and paintings. Spirits need a vessel, which sounds out there within itself but I’m curious to see if Beatrix is attached to the diary somehow?” I finish.
Evan nods. “Where else would she go? If you think about it, the diary was the one place where she could be honest about her affair with Martin. It would be a place where she feels safe.”
“But if she’s attached to Idylewylde Hall, wouldn’t she stay there? It’s not like she has free reign of the island.”
“That we know of,” Evan adds. “Think about it. People have seen her on the beach by the ferry. That’s five miles away from Idylewylde. Who knows how far her reach extends?”
“Are we talking about a queen or a ghost?” I joke.
“I don’t know. All I know is that you’ve made my job very interesting. Right now, I think all we can do is wait and see and hope that this diary is still here tomorrow morning.”
“If all else fails, I’ll check my suitcase again,” I joke, but Evan doesn’t laugh.
When I get back to Idylewylde Hall, the darkening sky finally breaks. I pull my hood over my head and dash inside, depositing my damp shoes in the foyer.
“Joseph? Iphigenia?” I call as I turn the light on. The rain makes Idylewylde Hall infinitely creepier. The lighting isn’t great to begin with. Add a dark and stormy night, and it’s practically the opening chapter to a Bram Stoker novel.
“My mother’s at Bridge. It’s just us tonight,” Joseph says as he flicks on the light in the hallway.
“Have you eaten anything?” he asks.
“I didn’t have the time. What about you?”
“I got caught up in a meeting for three hours after our little library lunch break. I haven’t even had time to think since then. I’m not much of a cook, but there’s a frozen pizza in the freezer if that sounds alright,” Joseph suggests.
“Well, if you can put up with peasant food like frozen pizza then I suppose I can make do,” I joke.