History of the House: Act 1

Chapter 2

1668, Ezekiel Gravenhurst

My memoirs have proven to be a most unexpected boon. They have provided me clarity to that which I most assuredly would have fallen victim otherwise. I have perused my prior entries numerous times. I have gone over older passages only to discover attempts to alter or deface them. I have no recollection of these sabotages but the handwriting is unmistakably my own. The effect is unnerving. But it also proved to be the key.

Perhaps those of duller mind would have not pieced together these disparate elements. I can already imagine how the prior owners of this home were little more than mewling babes abandoned in the woods awaiting the wolves. But I am not one to be so easily defeated. 

While some of the passages were defaced beyond legibility, I was able to still use them to decode the pattern. The changes fell upon entries which aligned with the passage of the moon. Consulting the old farmer’s almanac, I was able to notice my sleep most disturbed upon certain phases of that heavenly body. I know those of simpler intellect would think this witchcraft. But mine is far more sharply honed. It was during this period that my sleep and, consequently, my thoughts were most disturbed. This was not the first stages of madness: this was some otherly force bent on my ruination. 

It is clear to me that I must learn more. Something wishes me ill. My prior knowledge and understanding of the world is incomplete. In order to guard myself, I have to uncover the roots of this malignant power. Even now, recognizing when I am most vulnerable, bolsters both my spirit and my resolve.

Whosoever chose to entangle themselves with Ezekiel Gravenhurst will soon discover the great folly of their hubris!

1668, Ezekiel Gravenhurst

Through careful experimentation, I have localized the source of the problem on the house itself. Awaiting the arrival of the full moon each month, I endeavoured to spend my evenings in different locals then examine the effect it had upon my slumber and my diary. The effect was most pronounced during twilights spent at the estate. I believe it drew weaker if I were to camp in the woods. It still touched me in the village. But I can only describe its influence as negligible the farther I get from Silvercreek. 

This has not been my only avenue of research, however. I have felt a growing curiosity towards the prior inhabitants. There is scant details on the Williams. The locals are most reluctant to speak of them as though they had hoped my occupation would expunge the family from their recollection. But while these simpletons may offer tight lips, the village records at least provided some small measure of illumination. I am unconvinced of the argument that they built the homestead. I believe they came into possession of it much like I had. They were strangers to the area as well and there appears to be a similar reluctance of these villagers’ ancestors towards the estate as the current generation hold. 

This superstition has, peculiarly, worked to my advantage. There was some concern over the disappearance of a pastor Jebediah Harrows and Miss Lilias Lammermora. I had but only a brief conversation with the reeve, asking if I had known this pair. I queried whether they were married and the answer was a most assured denial. Thus it was with a clear conscience that I said I had never seen them. That seemed to resolve the matter and while there was consternation in the village that still lingers, none truly have an explanation worth persisting. 

I feared to press the matter too deeply but I think I have come to identify them as the intruders whom I spied upon my arrival. While I am certain it would bring some measure of peace to their families for them to learn their true fate, I find myself unable to educate them on the means of their passing. Suspicion has already been cast between the two families and I have no desire to make things more tense by informing them that the man and woman were the cause of each other’s demise. 

Best to let sleeping dogs lie, as they say. 

1676, Ezekiel Gravenhurst

There is no wholesome end to this, I fear. 

Ten years have passed since I have come into possession of this house. Ten years I have carried this burden with me. My efforts move at an agonizing pace. My enemy’s, however, are unperturbed by the passage of time. There are more nights I feel no closer to an answer than the day I first arrived compared to the brief breakthroughs that inevitably lead to more questions. 

I am hampered by my own reason. Of that, I am certain. I keep looking for a rational explanation to this damnable vexation which works upon my mind every day. I used to find relief far from Silvercreek’s perimeters. But I am starting to sense it reaching beyond now. I think… I believe I carry a piece of it. Somehow. Like a rotted seed has been planted in my heart and begins its slow germination. 

I have begun to cast my net wider, so to speak. 

I now feel the presence of others in the home. I thought, perhaps, this was conjurations of my own guilt. I entertained the notion that the locals’ own superstitions were chipping away at my rationality. I have begun to remold the house into my image, believing I can banish the remembrances through turning each room wholly into my own. By taking true ownership of this place I hope to purge these ephemeral hauntings that so plague my unwaking hours. 

I have considered leaving this place. 

Truth be told, this route has always been on my mind. My diary confirms as such. From the very first night, flight seemed the most reasonable direction. But anytime the notion takes firm grip, I awake the next day rejuvenated. I discover the homestead more agreeable and so I push my former misgivings away. I let down my guard and it creeps in ever slowly once more. 

Now? I am convinced I am forever bound to this place until some dreadful recourse occurs. 

In part, I recognize I am nothing without this home. It has provided for me far more than I could have ever hoped. The grounds are surprisingly fertile. More fertile than any earth in my inexperienced hands should be. There have been numerous treasures as well that have helped build a fortune I could scarcely imagine as I pawn the trappings of former generations to foolish peddlers lacking in proper sense. 

Such fortune could have been used to secure a sanctuary far from here. Instead, I have poured those sums into exposing its secrets. 

It started with consulting the locals. Silvercreek is hardly a repository of knowledge and wisdom. But through the years, I have gained a sense for the community’s heartbeat. The faithful scorn the less pious, believing them to be in league with the devil. What foolishness. I have listened to members of the Harrows preach in the rectory of passages of uncertain origin. They are surely not of the King’s bible. 

I have also endeavoured to entreat the Lammermora ladies with fine dinners and pleasant company. They are a most reserved bunch. But wine works on the fairer sex just as well as it does on the other. My greatest tool, however, is the grounds themselves. These women are near mesmerized by the woods and fields. I have found them skulking about the lands on far too many eves. At first, I resented the intrusion, chasing them away for concern over what they may discover. 

But I have come around now to their evening gatherings. With my permission, they have less need to lurk in the dark. Curiously, their interests peak in accordance with the phases of the moon. I have found some comfort in their torches outside my windows on those nights I cannot arrange distant lodgings. The presence of others soothes me. For my kindness and confidence, they have shared some of their beliefs. 

Both of these houses have opened my mind to possibilities previously ignored. I now seek tomes of unspoken origins. Texts of which few willingly speak. My answers await on moldy shelves, in locked cabinets and secured behind unwavering vows. And as the shadow follows me in my journeys, I know the answer isn’t merely to save this inhospitable spit of land: it is to save my very soul.