THE DIARY
THE DIARY
The diary of Edward Jason is, indeed, a peculiar one to note. In fact my peers cocky as they are, no longer speak to me for the account which i have made concerning its contents. The man known as Edward Jason seemed to be no more or less than any other man we might know in our day to day lives. he was a man of seemingly elegant principle, though never attending the local churches, it was speculated that he was an agnostic from his most noted letters to the paper in bricksville. Though even as fastidious as he was, the man was truly bizarre in his chosen style of literature. it was well known of the shipments which met him on the fourth peer every 6 months, containing those most potent and revolting odors that he stored away deep in his fine Victorian home, where he lived alone. It is also well known, so by the post, that the man was delivered an absurdly massive amount of mail from abroad, most notably of these being from a one "C.B. Conahan ". It is unknown, the contents of those numerous letters, but no one truly wished to give a close eye to the matter of such personal things as the mans own business, though it was, ofcourse, speculated that he may be up to no good.
When i heard the news that there was commotion on the other side of bridgewood creek, where the renowned home of jason stood, i admit that i was taken by boyish curiosity. I followed the masses of people who flocked from the their homes on that crisp summer evening, as i did the same, wrapped in a coat over my still worn day clothes. i followed the commotion at the end of potters street, which meets the potters junction to Hawthorn bridge. I was bumped by a man who was running opposite of the scene, and asked him what was all the commotion. He simply replied, "Thars’ nothing in thar’!"and ran off. When i came to end of the potters junction, i could make out Hawthorn bridge in the dim moonlight and could see the lamp lights of the towns people shimmering something hidious in the placid waters of bridgewood creek. i tried to pay little concern for this, and made it over the bridge to wind around Hawthorn road, coming, at last, to the scene of commotion. As i approached, the moonlight seemed to dim, until, though it is said to have been just a phantom cloud, it was blotted out all together. From the group stretched the rest of Hawthorn road, around maple hill, to the home of the Edward Jason. I remember stumbling about on an undone shoelace, than making my way down the road and around the bend. And there, i stopped. Above, there were no stars, nor moon. The sky lay in menacing pitch. And before me set nothing. The house, which had stood sense the town’s birth, was gone. Though, such a move may seem impossible, and a move, it is supported, was to blame for the disappearance of the Jason house, there was no sign of trucks or disturbance in the earth that such a massive operation would most certainly procure. It also was unnoticed to anyone in the town before that night, making it impossible, being that the only road from the plot leads to Hawthorn Bridge.
There is still nothing there, yet the trees about the place and the soil have begun to darken. and the sky always seems to haze about that place, and there is a very rank smell about it, though not at all a physical scent. the diary, which was submitted 2 days before the Edwards disappearance, was found in the his stoarge house. it was cast away as foder by the authorities, though i salvaged it, and studied it very closely. It was very plain and almost empty, save for these words, scrolled with obvious desperation. "I MUST ESCAPE!!!".
Woodruff Laputka
The diary of Edward Jason is, indeed, a peculiar one to note. In fact my peers cocky as they are, no longer speak to me for the account which i have made concerning its contents. The man known as Edward Jason seemed to be no more or less than any other man we might know in our day to day lives. he was a man of seemingly elegant principle, though never attending the local churches, it was speculated that he was an agnostic from his most noted letters to the paper in bricksville. Though even as fastidious as he was, the man was truly bizarre in his chosen style of literature. it was well known of the shipments which met him on the fourth peer every 6 months, containing those most potent and revolting odors that he stored away deep in his fine Victorian home, where he lived alone. It is also well known, so by the post, that the man was delivered an absurdly massive amount of mail from abroad, most notably of these being from a one "C.B. Conahan ". It is unknown, the contents of those numerous letters, but no one truly wished to give a close eye to the matter of such personal things as the mans own business, though it was, ofcourse, speculated that he may be up to no good.
When i heard the news that there was commotion on the other side of bridgewood creek, where the renowned home of jason stood, i admit that i was taken by boyish curiosity. I followed the masses of people who flocked from the their homes on that crisp summer evening, as i did the same, wrapped in a coat over my still worn day clothes. i followed the commotion at the end of potters street, which meets the potters junction to Hawthorn bridge. I was bumped by a man who was running opposite of the scene, and asked him what was all the commotion. He simply replied, "Thars’ nothing in thar’!"and ran off. When i came to end of the potters junction, i could make out Hawthorn bridge in the dim moonlight and could see the lamp lights of the towns people shimmering something hidious in the placid waters of bridgewood creek. i tried to pay little concern for this, and made it over the bridge to wind around Hawthorn road, coming, at last, to the scene of commotion. As i approached, the moonlight seemed to dim, until, though it is said to have been just a phantom cloud, it was blotted out all together. From the group stretched the rest of Hawthorn road, around maple hill, to the home of the Edward Jason. I remember stumbling about on an undone shoelace, than making my way down the road and around the bend. And there, i stopped. Above, there were no stars, nor moon. The sky lay in menacing pitch. And before me set nothing. The house, which had stood sense the town’s birth, was gone. Though, such a move may seem impossible, and a move, it is supported, was to blame for the disappearance of the Jason house, there was no sign of trucks or disturbance in the earth that such a massive operation would most certainly procure. It also was unnoticed to anyone in the town before that night, making it impossible, being that the only road from the plot leads to Hawthorn Bridge.
There is still nothing there, yet the trees about the place and the soil have begun to darken. and the sky always seems to haze about that place, and there is a very rank smell about it, though not at all a physical scent. the diary, which was submitted 2 days before the Edwards disappearance, was found in the his stoarge house. it was cast away as foder by the authorities, though i salvaged it, and studied it very closely. It was very plain and almost empty, save for these words, scrolled with obvious desperation. "I MUST ESCAPE!!!".
Woodruff Laputka