Those combating fear will eventually find solace in the idea that inevitability is an automated response to the façade that is courage. Find comfort in the fact that the mind has limits, for without fear we would know not what to be afraid of.. eventually leading to our own painfully obvious demise. It's the response itself that guides our own concept of self preservation, a primal blueprint necessary for the use of survival. Fight or flight... So they say at least. But..
What if you were so afraid that you couldn't even fathom the idea of fleeing? Even worse...
What if you couldn't fathom the idea of fighting as well?
If you are reading this note then it is my assumption you have found it nearly impossible to purge yourself of the incessant curiosity overwhelming your mind. You've found my diary, you snoop. It's an understandable fault given the circumstances. Here you are, inside a house you've never been in before, ecstatic about the new sights. A luxurious countryside house with an absolutely astounding view. You are no doubt happy, as you should be, and you'll no doubt find it to be well within your interest. There is, however.. as I'm sure you are well aware, every home comes with its stories and history. This is not to say that the home you are in is in no way worth your time, rather I am merely trying to convey a simple... condition that I found to be quite disquieting.
I will admit upon purchasing the house I myself was founded with a sense of wonder and bewilderment. The chandelier in the dining room is quite a spectacle in low light, offering the room a glow intent on warning the heart of its tenant. Amidst the country architecture, I found myself captured by the atmosphere surrounding the property; even the lights from the city could not penetrate this realm of humanless nirvana. Behind the house, a lake is overlooked by the patio bearing itself upon an incline, whereby the viewer shall gaze at the unending array of trees.
Lovely... Truly.
In truth, this property was to be left to me by my grandfather, who was at the time a banker brought up in a family of wealthy businessmen and nurses. A strange copulation, but as you can see it had worked its magic. I grew up with a ladder of wealth, although to tell you the truth I had little to no interest in the material world as strange a thought as that might be. But oh if only you could've seen the parties thrown! That man was by no means estranged to the taste of finely aged Champagne!
Those days have long passed...and so did my grandfather, who as he grew older had, for no apparent reason made the decision to leave behind the social world. I suppose his age finally caught up to him. He retired, and in a swift and sudden move vanished into the forest in search of a new home. It was told to me that he had taken to studying wildlife in his later years, with a cabin being built somewhere along the property. Something about migratory birds having a strange problem finding direction around the area.. though none of it has been proven, indeed he had changed ever since his wife had passed but... Well I'd like to think he'd retain some sanity. I jest, of course.
Let me end this by saying that every home has its secrets. Some of which are better off remaining just that...a secret.
Harvey Blackburn.
August 19, 1922.
