Full Moon Fiancé

The Diary

Diana was once again left with more questions than answers. In her mind, she replayed her every move in the library.

How could they have known I was there? She asked herself that question over and over, as though by asking it again she could somehow conjure an answer. She could practically still see the out of place rug under her feet, feel the wood of the desk against her hand. But she couldn’t, no matter how hard she tried, understand what would have given away clues to her presence there.

She felt her eyes growing heavy with exhaustion, even though she had done hardly anything at all since being brought to the Westerly mansion. Her mind was exhausted from the constancy of the questions which never got answered. She felt she would rather run a marathon.

She yawned, stood, and stretched her limbs as far as they could extend. Joshua had said there were answers. She was going to find them.

It had seemed peculiar to her that the Westerlys had left the attic’s trapdoor unlocked. She wondered if, perhaps, they’d simply forgotten that it was there. It wasn’t as if she’d ever seen or heard of them using that attic storage. Joshua and Diana only ever used it to sneak out of their rooms as children, when she had stayed over and they had wanted to play games or watch tv late into the night. Joshua had referred to the things stored up there as ‘old junk’ once, when she had asked what filled the many boxes and containers that were covered in dust and seemed to be wasting away in the dim half light of the attic.

Joshua knew, she was sure. But he had not told his parents. If they had known she had a potential method of escape in the closet of her adoptive room, they’d have sealed it.

So why had Joshua allowed it to remain open? The question lingered in her mind. The book in the library had been old, nearly ancient looking. Even Joshua had referred to it as an old book. Would other antiques hold answers?

Diana had never explored the attic much at all. Old trophies and clothes held no fascination for her. And the Westerly estate was filled with so many interesting things to do that sifting through boxes of dead Westerly ancestors had never been high on her priority list.

She crept toward the closet. Part of her still felt like a young child trying to avoid a scolding. Though she didn’t know who was outside her door, she was certain someone was, and she remembered Joshua’s warning not to get anyone else involved as she tried to be as quiet as possible.

She tilted her head when she entered the closet. Clothes still hung on the racks, left their years ago by Diana when she spent most holidays and college breaks with the Westerlys. It surprised her, for some reason, that no one had cleared them away.

They served as a strange and sad reminder of how efficiently the Westerlys had cleared her from their hearts and home in all other ways.

Diana shook her head. It isn’t the time for sentimentality, she chided herself as she pulled the ladder down and climbed it, paying no further attention to the remnants of her past.

This time, the attic was flooded with light by comparison, the sun at just the right angle to fill the singular window that peeked into the unfinished space, lighting up the bare boards of the walls and illuminating cobwebs by the dozen.

Diana cast her eye over the contents of the room disdainfully. She ignored the large armoire in one corner. It was filled with moth eaten clothing and hats, she remembered. It was one of the few things that had caught her interest as a kid, and she, James, and Joshua had spent one long and giggle filled afternoon trying on clothing and having a mock fashion show.

Next to it, if she remembered, the large boxes stacked tall against the walls were all books. She approached and flipped open a random box, but found only children’s books.

Next, a little chest in one corner of the attic caught her eye. It looked old, made of a light colored wood that stood out in the dimness of the space. As she got closer, she saw that it was elaborately engraved with symbols she didn’t understand. The same ones from the book.

Her hands shook slightly as she extended them toward the chest. She’d never even noticed it before, never spared it so much as a single glance. She couldn’t say why, now.

Had it always been there? She wondered, because now she couldn’t take her eyes off of it. It drew her in, attracting her the way that still water courted rays of the sun. She couldn’t remember ever seeing it before, couldn’t imagine overlooking it. She let her fingers trace gentle lines on the carvings of the strange symbols for a long minute, almost tenderly, before she moved to open the latch which kept the lid closed.

When she finally looked at it, it was ornate too. There was no lock on it, but the latch itself was in the shape of a ferocious beast, snarling angrily at her. She was almost afraid to touch it, as though the sharp teeth would snap closed around her fingers. It was a dog, or wolf, or perhaps a bear of some kind. The metal was slightly faded, but the fangs that were bared were cold and stark against her skin.

She threw the lid open, all at once, needing the swift motion to carry through and give her bravery. She had no idea why she was so afraid of the little chest, which was barely as tall as her waist, but it seemed to have some power.

Inside, she was almost surprised to find more books. But like the one she had found in the office, they were old, bound in leather. Ornate.

Diana picked one up, the spine cold. “The Origins of Our Kind,” she murmured, reading the embossed title.

Leafing through, she was upset to find that it was encoded, the same as the last one, in that strange language she still didn’t understand.

She put the book aside and picked up another one, older still, and stiffer, as if it had not been opened in many lifetimes. There was no name on the front, no engraving whatsoever.

Inside, she found nothing but a list of names. Annotations next to the names were written in characters of the English language, but they meant nothing to her. She put that book aside as well.

The next book contained drawings of plants that seemed instructive, though she could not understand it at all. After that, a book handwritten in ink so faded she did not think anyone could read it.

Just as Diana was growing frustrated, and her hands scraped the bottom of the chest, unfinished wood rubbing her skin, she felt a tiny book. Unlike the others, it was not leatherbound, but linen, and newer looking.

“Diary,” was all that was written on the front, in tiny golden letters. She opened it curiously.

She recognized Anna’s handwriting immediately.

My dear Joshua, it read, I bought you this book that you might keep your secrets in it. I will never read it. Only the Goddess will ever see the thoughts you choose to write here. It is time you learned to trust Her with all you have in your heart.

Under stars, under sky, under Her gentle eye,

Your Mother.

Diana flipped to the next page. The handwriting was Joshua’s. It was slightly shaky, slightly broken, as if written by a young boy, but unmistakably his.

Mother says that the Goddess will read my words. I’m not sure if I like that. But, I guess that shouldn’t surprise Her. Right? Doesn’t she know everything about me? Mother says I should be able to hear Her. I never have. Why not?

Underneath these words, a childish drawing of a moon, smudged with age and indecision, decorated the page.

Diana snapped the book shut, slipping it into her pocket. She returned the other books to the chest, no longer so mysterious, once again merely a construction of wood that could be easily ignored, and flipped the lid shut.

As she made her way back to her room, her fingers continuously brushed the tiny book. Perhaps, she hoped, it would have the answers she was seeking.