Why won’t you let me sleep?
Two weeks have passed since I began writing this diary. It feels like ages. I can’t think straight. Outside, in the living room, I can hear Jo playing “Moonlight Sonata” for the hundredth time, and all I can imagine are her repulsive white fingers cheating the piano keys. I ran to my room straight after dinner. And I don’t want to go down. I don’t want to disappear.
Uproar and disrepair wouldn’t begin to describe what is happening inside this house. It is quiet. ‘The end of song is raving madness’. It’s that kind of quiet.
But let me start from the very beginning. Let me start from last night. I woke up at 3am because of the violent scream coming from somewhere outside. For a minute or two I kept trying to convince myself it was all just a part of my dream/nightmare/insomnia. Then I heard some movement in the hall, got up and opened the door. “Emma’s room”, they were saying. Everyone looking so vulnerable and disoriented. “Emma’s room”.
When I finally found my way to Emma’s room, everyone was already there. My aunt was lying face down on the floor. I noticed a thin streak of blood running away from her head and heard my mom say something about Emma’s episodes. Peter examined the body. Lethal thud. Unintentional suicide. Everyone looked stunned. I looked at them, trying to figure them out. Then I noticed Hilda. She was standing among them and appeared to be the most natural continuation of this night, scene, house. No one else noticed her presence.
Hilda is back.
Emma’s son came in the evening and said he would deal with the body. The sensible woman that Emma was, she saved a large sum of money for the funeral. That done, we can all be thinking about Christmas again. Do Christmas shopping, rethink Christmas menu, overdo Christmas decorations.
Also, Eric finally cornered me and said he loved me. Oh Eric. Like a good girl Marie is, she told him never to say things he would later regret. Eric said he would never regret. I said he would. In the end, one of those tedious conversations you wish to avoid. Instead, I told Eric about the knife. He seemed unimpressed.
It was quite surreal having dinner tonight. With Hilda sitting to the left of me. With everyone trying to be sad (poor Emma) but failing miserably. But when they are not sad – they are not happy. They are evil. Jo hates me. I hate Jo. Hilda hates Tom. Tom hates Hilda. Etc. etc. How can you tell who it’s going to be on Christmas eve?..
- there was a small patch of blood on the white tiles in the bathroom.
- someone was in my room, again.
- my dad was kissing Emily in the hall when my mom and Peter were downstairs.
P.S. At the end of the day: Ten Little Niggers scenario is off. Emma aside, we are all here. Just one murder, as promised on the 7th of December. So, so long ago.