Jesus Christ, what a day! I was woken up this morning at six to the sound of someone banging on the door to the house. It was a uniformed policeman and, when he spotted me peering at him through the window, he demanded that I let him in. I explained that I was a friend of William Madison’s and that he had given me permission to stay in the house for the week. The policeman seemed suspicious at first, but, after I’d shown him the pictures of me on the hallway walls, he eventually bought my story. He said that there had been reports of strange noises coming from the house over the last few weeks and also that several pets in the neighbourhood had gone missing. I offered to let him have a look around the house but he declined – I guess just opening the house up to police inspection was enough.
Once he had left, I returned downstairs to check in and, after reading ArthurMan’s latest message, I quickly retrieved the key to the safe and headed out into the garden. But I didn’t make it to the shed.
There was a girl standing at the bottom of the garden, thin and pasty, using an umbrella to shade herself from the sun. The moment she spotted me, she immediately turned on her heels and leaped over the back fence.
Instinctively, I chased her. I chased her through two fields and across a camping site until we arrived back on the main road, at which point, she jumped over the gate of an extremely private looking Chalet.
It was only when I spotted the name on the wall, “Chalet Patou”, that I realised where I was. I was standing in the middle of Route de La Madrague – the road Harrison’s father’s beach house was on. I was standing directly in front of Harrison’s father’s beach house! The mysterious girl, who had apparently been spying on me, had jumped over the gate and ran into Harrison’s father’s beach house! That couldn’t have been a coincidence.
I hopped over the gate and found the front door to be wide open. I entered the house slowly. It was empty. No furniture, nothing. The only thing I found, in the master bedroom, was a filthy mattress, two dead cats and a pile of books. I had just picked up one of the books, which turned out, as it happens, to be another of Harrison’s father’s diaries, when the door behind me was slammed shut and locked from the outside. At first, I assumed that the mysterious girl from the garden had got the drop on me and locked me in the room so that she could make her escape. That was, until she leaped out of the walk-in wardrobe and attacked me!
I can honestly tell you, I’ve never been more terrified in my life. The girl pinned me to the floor and clawed at my face and arms. Then, the fucking bitch tried to bite me! I managed to fend her off, smacking her in the side of the head with one of the books and, when I got to my feet, ready to kill her if I had to, she suddenly crawled into the corner of the room and started to weep.
It was then that I realised who she was. I had thought that she looked familiar when I’d seen her in the garden, but then, locked in that room with her, it suddenly came back to me. I knew where I’d seen her face before. I’d seen her in the polaroid pictures taped to the guest bedroom at Emily’s house. It was Molly!
I tried to talk to her, tried to ask her how she’d gotten to France, how she was alive, what she knew…but she just hissed and growled at. I scooped up the books and kicked the hell out of the door to the room.
Molly made one more attempt to kill me before I left the house, just as I was about to leave. But, the moment I stepped outside, she shied away once more, sobbing.
Molly made one more attempt to kill me before I left the house, just as I was about to leave. But, the moment I stepped outside, she shied away once more, sobbing.
When I returned to William’s father’s house, it was ablaze and I realised instantly that I had been lured to Harrison’s father’s house by Molly for that very reason. As I watched the flames dance, a startling truth came to me. Though I had lost the DPIR back in Calais, the Nightmare People were still following me. And, when I noticed that the safe had been taken from the shed, I realised that they knew about this online journal.
I’m beginning to suspect that the “others” Emily spoke of are, in fact, those same people that started hunting us before the DPIR did. And, like Harrison, they have no intention of sitting back and letting me lead you, Jennings, to Emily and Harrison.
Obviously, I have to get the hell out of Geins. The police are going to assume that I burned down William’s fathers house and, I have no doubt, their investigation into the matter will uncover the graves hidden at the back of the garden.
All of the things I brought with me to France - my laptop, my clothes - were in that house. Luckily, Sarah’s father’s debit card was in my pocket, so I still have money. I’m writing this now (2.06am GMT) from the lobby of the hotel on Rue Claude Debussy. I’m going to check myself out, once I’ve posted this , and head north towards the German border. I have no idea when I’ll next be able to give you a journal update. To be honest, I’m glad to be getting out of this place. Staying at William’s father’s house was like living in a haunted house - just the thought of what might have happened there before I arrived sends chills down my spine. My only regret is not getting to know what was in the safe in the shed.
I have no idea where I’m going. Perhaps Harrison’s father’s old diaries might hold some clues?
Jennings, if you have an compassion in you at all, you’ll let Sarah go. She’s not part of this! I’m trying my best to find Emily, honestly I am, but how am I supposed to cope? I’m not a secret agent, I’m just an ordinary guy.
