in what they were doing. When they looked at her, Dana saw some measure of relief in their eyes, as if they each had found their tasks challenging and draining and were glad to be distracted. “Guys, listen to this,” she said. The others came and stood around her, and then it was just Dana and the book.
She had opened the diary at random, and the words sprang out at her and clasped hold, taking her away from her own time and back to when they were written. Above her the cabin was different, and if she hadn’t had her friends around her she wasn’t sure she could have held on.
She took a deep breath and started reading.
“‘Today we felled the old birch tree out back. I was sorrowed to see it go, as Judah and I had sat up in its branches so many summers...’”
“What is that?” Jules asked.
Dana paged back to the inside front cover. She’d already read the inscription there, but she didn’t want to get any of it wrong.
“It’s the Diary of Anna Patience Buckner, 1903.” “Wow,” Curt muttered.“That’s the original owners, right?” Jules asked. “That creepy old fuck called this the Buckner place.” No one commented, no one questioned.
Dana continued reading from where she’d left off. “‘Father was cross with me and said I lacked the true faith. I wish I could prove my devotion, as Judah and Matthew proved on those travelers...’”
“Uh, that makes what kind of sense?” Marty asked. “You know,” Holden said, “it’s uncommon that a girl out here was reading and writing in that era.” “‘Mama screamed most of the night,’” Dana continued. “‘I prayed that she might find faith, but she only stopped when papa cut her belly and stuffed the coals in.’” She stopped, breath held, and looked up at the others. No one said a word. The silence was heavy and loaded, and she wanted to read on. She looked back down. “‘Judah told me in my dream that Matthew took him to the Black Room so I know he is killed. Matthew’s faith is too great; even Father does not cross him or speak of Judah. I want to understand the glory of the pain like Matthew, but cutting the flesh makes him have a husband’s bulge and I do not get like that.’” “Jesus,” Marty gasped, “can we not—”
“Go on,” Curt said.
“Why?” Marty asked.
“Suck it up or bail, pothead! I wanna know.”
Dana looked around—at Curt, her friend who still seemed to have become a dick, and the others—and finally at Holden. He gave her a small nod.
We should have closed the hatch and nailed it back down , she thought, and then she flipped forward a few pages and continued reading.
“‘I have found it. In the oldest books: the way of saving our family. I can hear Matthew in the Black Room, working upon father’s jaw. My good arm is hacked up and et so I hope this will be readable, that a believer will come and speak this to our spirits. Then we will be restored and the Great Pain will return.’” She looked up, breathing a sigh of relief because she was almost at the end. “And then there’s something in Latin,” she said.
“Okay, “ Marty said, “I am drawing a line in the fucking sand here—do not read the Latin.” He frowned, looking around as if a bee had buzzed his ear. “The fuck...?” he said, waving one arm around his head. Marty started across the room toward Dana, face set, hand coming up to snatch the book from her hand.
Curt stepped forward, planted a hand on Marty’s chest and shoved him back. He went sprawling, crashing into a bookshelf and covering his head as books fell on him in a shower of dust and dead, curled-up spiders.
“Fucking baby!” Curt shouted.
“Curt...” Jules said.
“It’s a diary!” he shouted, louder. “Just a diary!”
“It doesn’t even mean anything,” Dana said, desperate to defuse the situation. Marty looked scared, and Curt looked... he looked mean. Tall, angry, and mean. “Look,” she continued.
“Dana...” Marty said, voice
She had opened the diary at random, and the words sprang out at her and clasped hold, taking her away from her own time and back to when they were written. Above her the cabin was different, and if she hadn’t had her friends around her she wasn’t sure she could have held on.
She took a deep breath and started reading.
“‘Today we felled the old birch tree out back. I was sorrowed to see it go, as Judah and I had sat up in its branches so many summers...’”
“What is that?” Jules asked.
Dana paged back to the inside front cover. She’d already read the inscription there, but she didn’t want to get any of it wrong.
“It’s the Diary of Anna Patience Buckner, 1903.” “Wow,” Curt muttered.“That’s the original owners, right?” Jules asked. “That creepy old fuck called this the Buckner place.” No one commented, no one questioned.
Dana continued reading from where she’d left off. “‘Father was cross with me and said I lacked the true faith. I wish I could prove my devotion, as Judah and Matthew proved on those travelers...’”
“Uh, that makes what kind of sense?” Marty asked. “You know,” Holden said, “it’s uncommon that a girl out here was reading and writing in that era.” “‘Mama screamed most of the night,’” Dana continued. “‘I prayed that she might find faith, but she only stopped when papa cut her belly and stuffed the coals in.’” She stopped, breath held, and looked up at the others. No one said a word. The silence was heavy and loaded, and she wanted to read on. She looked back down. “‘Judah told me in my dream that Matthew took him to the Black Room so I know he is killed. Matthew’s faith is too great; even Father does not cross him or speak of Judah. I want to understand the glory of the pain like Matthew, but cutting the flesh makes him have a husband’s bulge and I do not get like that.’” “Jesus,” Marty gasped, “can we not—”
“Go on,” Curt said.
“Why?” Marty asked.
“Suck it up or bail, pothead! I wanna know.”
Dana looked around—at Curt, her friend who still seemed to have become a dick, and the others—and finally at Holden. He gave her a small nod.
We should have closed the hatch and nailed it back down , she thought, and then she flipped forward a few pages and continued reading.
“‘I have found it. In the oldest books: the way of saving our family. I can hear Matthew in the Black Room, working upon father’s jaw. My good arm is hacked up and et so I hope this will be readable, that a believer will come and speak this to our spirits. Then we will be restored and the Great Pain will return.’” She looked up, breathing a sigh of relief because she was almost at the end. “And then there’s something in Latin,” she said.
“Okay, “ Marty said, “I am drawing a line in the fucking sand here—do not read the Latin.” He frowned, looking around as if a bee had buzzed his ear. “The fuck...?” he said, waving one arm around his head. Marty started across the room toward Dana, face set, hand coming up to snatch the book from her hand.
Curt stepped forward, planted a hand on Marty’s chest and shoved him back. He went sprawling, crashing into a bookshelf and covering his head as books fell on him in a shower of dust and dead, curled-up spiders.
“Fucking baby!” Curt shouted.
“Curt...” Jules said.
“It’s a diary!” he shouted, louder. “Just a diary!”
“It doesn’t even mean anything,” Dana said, desperate to defuse the situation. Marty looked scared, and Curt looked... he looked mean. Tall, angry, and mean. “Look,” she continued.
“Dana...” Marty said, voice
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