The Journal

The cover was worn, and the leather cracked from age, though from what she could see inside the cover, the pages were intact, yellowed but legible. Delicate and looping, her grandmother's handwriting sprawled across the first page. Lilly's heart pounded in her chest as she began to flip through the entries dated from the late 1960s. The first few pages ranged on the very mundane: the weather, different family gatherings, and mentions of people Lilly did not know. But further in, and flipping onward, something caught her eye.

One entry was particularly telling, dated November 1968: "West Wood Cemetery."

Journal Entry - November 10, 1968

These dreams started a week ago, and I had hoped that with time they would dissipate, but they only appear to be getting stronger. It is always the same thing: some dark figure standing at the edge of the cemetery, watching me. I can feel his eyes but am unable to make out his face. He's waiting for something, but I don't know what.

This morning, I went into the cemetery, just to clear my head, to see maybe between all those gravestones I could understand. I haven't gone in there in years, not since I was a girl. But from the second I stepped through the gates, I knew it was there — that smothering weight in the air, heavy as liquid. The spirits are uneasy there.

I saw the shadows dance across between the trees, and I could nearly swear I heard my name whispered amongst that passing wind. But it wasn't the wind. I thought nothing of it, but then I saw the man from my dreams. He was standing beside the gravestone, his eyes watching me as they do in the dreams. His clothes were old-fashioned, out of another era. And his face was so familiar. There was a sadness there, nothing more, it seemed, behind his eyes.

I didn't approach him, and he didn't move. He just watched. And in the same swift manner that he appeared, he was gone. Yet, it was the feeling that lingered on, that tight, heavy sensation clinging to me long after I had left the cemetery.

I should not go there anymore. West Wood is not a place where the dead stay at ease.

Lilly's hands had shaken as she'd read the entry. Her grandmother had seen something — no, someone — at West Wood Cemetery. The man she described in old-fashioned clothes, with a sad expression, had sounded too familiar. It had to be Silas. The realization hit Lilly like a gut punch. Her grandmother had seen him, just like she had.

She flipped through several more pages, desperate for more information. Her grandmother continued to mention the cemetery, but there was nothing quite as detailed as that first entry. What was clear all along was that her grandmother had been disturbed by whatever happened at West Wood and that it wasn't just some passing incident.

The journal made several mentions of strange visions, moving shadows as if of their own accord, and whispers that followed her even after she had left the cemetery. Larger and darker forces were hinted at, but her grandmother never wrote about what they could be.

Lilly could feel the fear in her words, in the way her handwriting shook in certain entries, the way she cut some thoughts off mid-sentence as if she could not bring herself to write down what she was truly thinking.

However, the most astounding revelation came with an entry six months from the first that showed she was severely disturbed over something that happened involving the Grey family.

Journal Entry - May 2, 1969

I saw them again today, the Greys. Henry Grey was there, along with the others. They didn't see me, but I saw them. They met in the cemetery, out by the old mausoleum. Again, I don't know what they were doing, but it felt wrong. There was something dark in the air, something unnatural.

Henry looked different. He has been acting strange of late, always nervous, always looking over his shoulder, expecting some kind of persecution. I have often overheard shopkeepers in town talk of their financial troubles, but I think there is more to it than that. The Greys have always had their hands in something darker, something they have kept hidden for many years. Whispers — I've heard whispers, things I shouldn't have. There are rumors of sacrifices, of deals made in the dark. They say this family of Greys has been performing various rituals for generations, rituals that give them power, so one could cheat death. I don't know whether it's true, but if so, I need to stay away from them. I need to stay away from West Wood.

Lilly's breath caught as she read the entry. Her grandmother had known. She had known about the involvement of the Grey family in something dark, something associated with the cemetery, and maybe even the death of Silas. The journal danced around rituals, sacrifices, and a power that was beyond her wildest imagination. With shaking hands, she closed the journal, her mind reeling. This was so much bigger than anything she could have ever fathomed. Silas hadn't been the victim of a sad death; he'd been embroiled in something so much more — something which the Greys had kept hidden for hundreds of years. But why hadn't her grandmother ever said anything? Why had she kept all that to herself? As this slowly dawned on Lilly, her pulse began to race with the full implication of it: her family was somehow linked with what happened at West Wood. Her grandmother had been involved in what happened there; now, so was Lilly. She needed answers. And she knew exactly where to get them.