11th October, 1843, Kent
Dear Diary,
I can't stop. Not for one second. I have to run. I have to get away.
I knew the rumours. I heard the whispers that rippled around the manor. I knew it all. And yet, he didn't seem to notice. He just kept on doing the same thing over and over again. Locking himself in his room, bringing bowls and a shard of broken glass with him. I'd see them being carried away by servants and they were stained with red. Blood. I had no idea what he'd done. I didn't want to know either. All I knew was that my husband was no longer with me. It had started as something small, something insignificant, but now... now it was becoming out of hand.
I would fall asleep right next to him, and wake up in the middle of the night to find that he was gone, a trail of blood leading from our room to the window. It was terrifying. Where was the man that I had known, the one that I had loved so dearly? I remember that in my last year with him, our butler discovered what he was doing. The next day, he was found dead, heart and lungs both torn out from his body. Other servants were discovered with exactly the same injuries, always in the same place. I would lay awake in my now empty bed, listening to horrified screams and sickening laughs before my husband would return to our room, hands and face coated in blood. It was then that I realised that I no longer knew who I had been sleeping next to all these years. It was then that I knew that I had to leave.
It wasn't easy. Sometimes, he would go back to his normal self for a long time, and I'd think it was all over. Once, it was six months before anything began to happen. I began to believe again, started thinking that whatever had happened to my husband had been nothing to worry about. We spent so much time together, I had a sense of belonging when I was around him. I loved him again. He wasn't a monster. We spoke about what had happened to him, and he explained that he'd gone to see a doctor. Apparently, he was lonely, so lonely that it was driving him insane. Insane seemed to be a fitting word to describe his behaviour, and I believed him. I told him that if he was lonely, why not bring someone new into his life? He agreed, and soon enough, I became pregnant.
Then those six months ended. I was in pain, not only because of the child growing inside me, but also because a sudden rush of joy had once more been replaced with fear. The stench of blood soon filled the air once more and I'd lay in bed listening to screaming and demented noises that echoes through the night. I wanted it to stop, Diary. I wanted him to stop. But, no. With every month it became worse and worse, every day becoming more and more unbearable.
Finally, that night came. That faithful night that alerted me, told me to run. The night my child was born.
My husband stood by me throughout labour and when the child was born, he gave her to me to hold. "She's beautiful..." I had whispered, looking up at my husband, hoping he'd say the same thing. He didn't. He just stood there, shaking his head, muttering to himself. I tried to ask what was wrong but he didn't listen. Instead, he screamed in anger and snatched my daughter from me. I screamed, but I had been in so much pain while giving birth, my limbs refused to co-operate. "What are you doing?" I had cried, tears streaming down my face. How could he? He looked at me, smiling as our child cried, screaming and wailing with all of its might. Then, my husband did something, something that broke my heart, shattered my soul in only a few moments. He dropped our child.
I screamed as my daughter screeched one last time, before a horrifying crack of bones was heard. Then, there was silence. The pool of blood around my daughter's head grew as we both stared at her lifeless body. My husband grinned. "If you tell anyone, I'll slit your throat." he said, showing no remorse for the life that he'd just taken. He then picked up the tiny dead body and took it away with him, a demented smile growing on his face.
While he was away, I called a servant into my room to clear up the mess and help my into my travelling clothes. Then, we made our way as quietly as possible out of the house and away from the monster that lived inside it. We've been walking for several months now, only ever stopping to eat and sleep. Even though we are now far from my husband, I know that he will hunt us down until our dying day.
And I can't help but fear that our dying day will be sooner than we think.
ns 15.158.61.17da2
