Doppelgänger by Sean Munger Page A

squeaky screeching, right in my ear, right next to me all the time ~ some times I think I have seen it, the German silver trumpet with the red ribbon ~ squeaking tooting screeching tooting squealing ~ and the music.
    I AM LOSING MY MIND. These things cannot be real ~ there is a boy here ~ a little boy ~ the spirit of a boy who loves music ~ I believe he is dead ~ must be dead ~ dead like my little girl Alice ~ dead for many years ~ dead here ~ dead in that upstairs room ~ those were his toys I saw ~ the harpsichord ~ the pattern in the corridor ~ bear monkey giraffe bear monkey giraffe bear monkey giraffe ~ a dead boy ~ a dead child ~ and I will soon be a dead man.
    The next page:
    THIS IS THE ONLY WAY!
    The one after that was the most terrifying.
    To anyone who may be reading ~ .
    Thirteen years ago, on the day after Christmas, 1867 I murdered my daughter Alice. She was six years old. It was not intentional. We were playing. The game we played ~ the awful game we played ~ I cannot set down into words ~ but I hurt her without meaning to ~ the monster inside me, the devil who did this thing, who hurt this child, I can no longer live with. Here in this house I understood this ~ there can be no happiness, must be no happiness for me so long as I live and Alice is dead ~ I loved her ~ I told my wife she fell from a tree ~ and she still believes this to this day ~ she never knew what happened to Alice ~ but she will know through my deed that I reject all happiness, that I can have no happiness, that no one shall have happiness, especially not in this place. I will soon be with Alice. Forgive me.
    Erskine Darnell Bradbury
    Wednesday 4th of June, 1880
    When she closed the book Anine felt physically ill. She lurched out of the settee, reaching for the bell cord, and felt hot acrid vomit propelling itself up her throat. She retched and closed her mouth but a jet of it spurted from her lips, splattering the tea set and the silver tray. She felt woozy. Shocked by the caustic smell she staggered and finally rang the bell cord. It seemed to take forever for Miss Wicks to arrive, and during those awful moments her heart was pounding, her head spinning and her stomach doing cartwheels.
    â€œI’m—I’m sorry,” Anine gasped when Miss Wicks opened the pocket door. “I’ve been taken ill.”
    Wicks said nothing but the way she swung into action impressed Anine. She escorted her upstairs, helped her change into a dressing gown, tucked her into bed and returned less than twenty minutes later with a mysterious fizzing substance in a ceramic carafe.
    â€œDrink this, ma’am,” said Wicks, pouring the froth into a cup. “It’ll settle your stomach.” Indeed it did. Wicks next appeared with a bowl of chicken soup and some biscuits, freshly made by Mrs. Hennessey. She then set about tidying up the room. A chamber pot, folded towels and a fresh bowl and pitcher were at the ready but Anine had no need of them. By the end of the day she felt much better—except for the gnawing terror that had clawed its way out of Bradbury’s diary and into her head.
    â€œMiss Wicks,” said Anine, as the hour approached for Julian to return home, “I was reading Mr. Bradbury’s book when I took ill. I’d appreciate if you tidy up the Green Parlor and put the book somewhere it won’t be discovered by accident. And I’d like to rely on your discretion.” She didn’t know why, but she had a curious irrational fear of someone else knowing about the diary; now that she knew its contents this fear was even stronger.
    â€œI’ve already taken care of it, ma’am. And don’t worry about me saying nothing. I wouldn’t have been serving ladies as long as I have without knowing when to keep my mouth shut.” Wicks stepped over to the wardrobe. “Will you be dressing for dinner, ma’am? Mr. Julian will be home soon and if you’re not dressed he may be asking