Journal Entry , Oct. 27^th

~ Events here at Persephone Manor have taken a disturbing turn. Jonathon and Melissa have vanished. I warned them not to get lost in the hedges, but they were determined to find Pierre, whose terrified screams we could hear echoing through the garden all of last hideous night. Even now, I hear his stark shrieking chalkboard wail sobbing.

 Moreover, the orb has not yet been found. I never should have revealed to the others that I had it , that I had brought it here because of the advice of my metaphysics professor, Dr. Paradox. Maybe it didn’t matter, once the grisly specters that permeate this abode discovered the danger they were in.

 I’ve heard some of the history of Persephone Manor from Wattuu, whose family goes back hundreds of years in this area. The Cherokees, like tribes before them, avoided this land. They said it was one of the ‘tween bridges’ - a path that brought one in contact with sinister beings, shades of fear’s confusion. Yet settlers finally lodged here, though not very many and not for very long. It was not until the boon times of the early twenties when Jebediah Hacksaw tried to open a mineral spa on what would eventually become the Manor. The failure of the spa drove Hacksaw, crazy with vengeful pride, into turning the spa and gardens into a showcase home. Every experience with decorating publications, every lunch for every social group he brought in to display the house for, went ghastly awry. The injuries, mainly psychological, and ensuing lawsuits drove Hacksaw to curmudgeonly hermitage. He has not left, you see. He is determined to mistreat and trick any guest into fits of madness and confusion.

 That was how I came here. Not alone; there were five of us: Professor Reardon, who had recruited us from a psychics private newsgroup, Jonathon and Melissa, the two eager mundanes who were looking for, as they put it: "scrapbook memories". Wattuu was a shaman, an accomplished flautist, and a highly developed medium, whose specialty is automatic writing. Pierre was the most experienced of us, a man who had survived some of the most dangerous haunted houses in the world, and had endured.

 We entered thinking we knew full well what awaited us. We entered thinking: "It’s only brick and mortar. We can control this." Now we may all pay or it with not just our lives, but the very memories of our existences. There is one hope however. If the orb can be inserted in the right place in the house, it wil- I hear something pounding the walls . . . . . I don’t have much time . . . can’t escape - - - use it!!!

Use th---