The Diary of Jane
Author's Note: This was inspired by the song and music video "The Diary of Jane" by Breaking Benjamin.
Graham stood over the grave of his former lover, Jane. She had been a beautiful of young woman of nineteen. She had thick, wavy chestnut hair that bounced off her shoulders whenever she walked. Her gentle brown eyes reminded him of a little, lost puppy dog. Her skin was not the snow white of most girls, but a light brown that shone whenever she wore a white dress. She always wore a golden heart shaped locket. He had once asked her where it had come from. She told him that the locket had belonged to her great-grandmother and her great-grandmother had given to Jane on her death bed.
Graham reached out and touched the cold marble of the tombstone. Gray was such a depressing colour. Why couldn't the tombstone be something a little more happier? Gray did not represent Jane at all. She was pure, as pure as a white dove. He decided that her final resting place should have been marked with white. He did not understand how she could be gone. Nineteen was far too young.
With one final touch, he turned back toward Jane's home. She had lived alone in a huge, white, crumbling mansion since she turned sixteen. Her family had died that year from illness. Jane was very lucky and escaped it. She had missed the big wave of the illness because she had been on holiday in France. It had been such a relief to him then, but now he was not so sure. She had not escaped death at a young age. Death had left her to suffer. He had tried to comfort her, but he always knew that he would never be enough.
He walked through the covered bridge that was created by trees. The ground underneath was so hard that it could have been wood. The leaves on the trees were closed and the branches were dead. The hard ground did not show any signs of life. It was just dead, like everything else was around him.
Graham walked past the empty, stone swimming pool. The stone pool resembled that of the ancient Roman's bathing pools. Jane's family had been very wealthy, but the money was gone. It appeared that Jane's father had not paid his taxes for many years and the money assets had gone to pay them after his death. Jane got lucky and had been able to keep the house and lands.
He walked up the white, stone steps into the house. Jane had left in her will that he was to be the head of the estate in case of death. She must had known that this was going to happen. Huh, things like this always made him wonder. He shook his head. He needed to focus on the task at hand. Someone had to clean this old mansion out. It was filled with hundreds of years with of things. Hundreds of years of things than had to be sorted through.
And he was the lucky man to do so.
He entered the mansion. Just like the outside, the inside was just as broken. The furniture had seen its better days. Mothballs and holes marked the soft fabric. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust. Papers and books were stacked in each corner; it also was covered in dust. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and grand walls. The wallpaper was in desperate need of replacing. Most of it had fallen down, exposing the bare wooden walls. What was left of the flower paper was so filthy that one could not fully tell what it was. The house looked like it had been empty for years, instead of a matter of days.
Graham took a deep breath and inhaled nothing but dust. Jane had lived here. She had also died here.
If he could, he would join her in her soft grave, but he knew that he could not. That would be crossing the fine line. No, he would not go there.
He climbed up the grand staircase. Each step creaked as he applied weight to it. It was nothing strange. The old mansion made strange noises all the time. The only thing that was different was the fact that Jane was not running out of room, down the hallway, and looking over the banister to see who it was. She would never do that again for she was buried eight feet under.
"Jane, Jane I miss you," Graham whispered to the shadows once he reached the top of the staircase. He paused. For one second, he thought that Jane would pop out and say that this was all a test for his love. However, he knew that would not happen. He needed to stop this. Jane was dead and that was that.
He turned left. Soon, he was not in sight of the grand entrance, but in a closed hallway. The hallway was covered in the same ugly wallpaper as the downstairs was. Only this wallpaper was not as visible. The walls were covered in paintings of Jane's ancestors. As many times as he had walked this hallway, he never noticed that Jane was not painted as the rest of her family had been. This was rather odd. Why wasn't she up there? Now that he thought of it, Jane never did like people to take images of her at all. Until now, he never wondered why. It was too late to ask her.
He walked down the hallway with his head full of questions that had no answers. Soon he was outside of Jane's room. The wooden door was closed just as if it had always been. It was as if Jane was still there waiting for him on the other side of the door. It was as if Jane had planned on coming back, but never would. Ha, was not trying to say that she met to die. That would just be downright crazy!
The door opened with a creak. Inside the room just looked like it had for years. The dresser was placed neatly in the corner with porcelain dolls in their fancy dresses placed carefully in their stands. The vanity with all of her make-up scattered about with a mirror framed in silver and the chair pushed out slightly was on the south wall. Next to, a wooden box held all of Jane's childhood toys. On the west wall there was a grand fireplace that had not been used in years. A few pieces of wood were stacked next to it and matches were on the mantle. In the centre of the room, there was a white, canopy bed. The bed's pink quilt was pulled up to the headboard; on top of the quilt, there was a huge mass of soft pillows. Graham knew that if were to pick the pillows up, he would smell the strawberry perfume that she always wore. On either side of the bed, there was a nightstand. The left one held Jane's hairbrush and a blue ribbon; the right one held a median size leather book and a pencil.
The leather book caught Graham's attention. He walked over the right side of the bed and looked at the book. He thought that he had seen everything in this room, but not this. The book was worn, so it was not new. He picked it up and looked at it. When he had first seen it, he thought that it had been paperback. Now, once he was looking at it, he knew that it was hardcover. Something was written on the cover in fading lettering. He pulled it closer to his face and read The Diary of Jane. He looked around. Would it be wrong to read his dead lover's diary? He wanted to see what she had written about him.
Okay, he was curious! Did that make him a bad person as well? Maybe it would have important papers and information about the estate. As head of the estate, he had the right to know such things. He did, didn't he? He looked at the diary, then looked away, and then back at the diary. Decisions, decisions...Some many questions with no answers. Maybe this could provide him with the necessary answers he needed.
Graham took a deep breath and opened the diary. The diary began on June eighteenth, the date that they shared their first kiss. It looked promising, very promising in fact.
Today something completely unnatural happened to me. I am not sure how to describe it. It was so unreal. I do not even know if I can write it down here out of fear that this would fall into the wrong hands. However, I feel that if I do not write it down, it will haunt me for forever.
I was in the bathtub enjoying a nice hot bath when suddenly a strange feeling came over me. It was like a rush of wind, but, yet, it was not wind. It was something very strange indeed. I cannot find the words to even describe it. It was something that I did not understand. I probably never will understand.
Maybe it was...
Oh, darn, someone is coming. I must remember to finish this entry later.
Graham stared back at Jane's soft print handwriting. He knew that she was not talking about the kiss they had shared, but something different. In fact, there was no mention of the kiss. A girl like Jane was supposed to go on and on about a lover's kiss. Maybe she did not want to write him down that early in the relationship in case things did not work out. Yes, that had to be the reason.
He flipped to another entry.
Today while I was putting on my makeup, I looked into the mirror. I looked into the mirror and could not see my reflection. I laughed it off. This house is covered in dust. My mirror must have been so dusty that I could not see myself. Of course, I did not bother to wipe it off. The dust would just fly around the room and make me sneeze. I just thought I would tell you about that little funny thing.
He looked up from the book. It was another entry that did not contain anything about him. This was the fifth entry he had read and not one had any mention of him. It was as if he was a ghost here. It was as if he did not matter to Jane. It was as if he was not important enough to make it into the diary of Jane. He turned to another entry. Maybe, just maybe he was in this one.
Today I went downstairs for breakfast as unusual. In the dining room there is a fireplace that has not been used in years. Above the fireplace there is a flat spot on the wall. On that flat spot a painting of my great-great-great grandmother was always hung. I looked up there today for some reason and saw that it was gone. Someone has taken the painting! However, I have not looked up there in years, so my parents could have taken down before their death.
Strange things have been happening over the past few months and I am not sure what it is. I do not know if these things are good or if they are bad. That fact remains to be undecided. I do have a feeling that these strange events are not good, but something evil.
If this keeps up I may be writing about Devil sighting and recording six-six-six. Ha, like that would ever happen. The Devil will not get my soul.
The house creaked all around Graham. Outside a branch knocked against Jane's window. He looked outside. The gray sky had turned to black. Huh, that probably explained why it was getting rather difficult to read. He walked across the room over to the fireplace, threw the wood in, and stuck a match. Soon the fire was blazing and created just enough light to read by. It also took away from the dampness that had unknowingly settled among the house.
He sat down in front of the fireplace and opened the diary once again. A few pages fell out onto the floor. Curious, Graham picked them up and looked at them. One was a shopping list from a few weeks back. It was nothing to important. He crumpled it up and threw it into the fireplace. He turned to another piece, it was just a bunch on numbers. He looked at it closer; there was no meaning in it. He threw it into the fireplace as well. He had hoped that these pages contained something about him, but they were just nothing.
He wanted to know what Jane had thought of him. He wanted to know if their love was just an act. He wanted to know, he had to know. He had to know what was going on the mind of Jane. He was just downright desperate!
Graham turned to another entry. The first few lines of the entry looked promising, almost too promising.
I have the most prefect man! Today he brought me flowers! It was roses, not the cheap kind either. He is just such a gentleman. I could never image being with anyone, but him.
Unlike most of the man around here, he is always clean shaven and dressed in Sunday clothes. He never comes around dirty and sweaty. He never comes around with dirty hands or a dirty face. His hair is always neat and proper. He is just everything that a young woman could want in a man.
Of course, they do not know about each other...
He froze. He could not read any more. A hollow, empty feeling filled him. It make him sore and sick. It felt as if his insides had been ripped out and feed to the dogs. Worse, it felt as if she stabbed him multiple times, then left him to die a slow, painful death in the blazing sun with vultures circling above him. The line between love and hate was thin; however, he did not mind. After this new discovery, Graham wanted to know what made Jane tick. Even though she was dead, he would have to have something to torment her with in the after-life.
In anger, he ripped the page of the diary and threw into the fireplace. He sat back on his heels, sick. He could feel the vile building up in the back of his throat. His love was no love. Now, he wondered if there had ever been a love. Not moving, he watched as the flames licked up the words from the diary of Jane. The page slowly turned to ashes and ceased to exist.
A few hours ago, he had been willing to put himself beside of Jane. He had been willing to die for someone who had in turn betrayed him. What had he become? He was about ready to stand up and leave, when the diary filled open to another entry.
Blood is necessary for life. It is something that helps keep living, breathing things alive. It keeps us awake. It keeps us bound to this earth.
Blood. Ah, sweet blood.
It runs through our veins. It pumps our hearts. It makes who we are possible. It is what adds colour to our world. It is what makes us unique. Like DNA, no two people's blood is the same. Each of us has a different, a unique flavor. The sweeter the blood the better.
For me, blood is how I live. Sure, I can go without it, but the longer I go the more dangerous I become. The longer I go, the more feisty I become. The longer I go, the more die.
Graham stepped back from the diary. Blood? Why was Jane writing about blood? He read over the entry again. It seemed like she was craving the taste of blood. He was breathing deep. Why, why, why?
Everything was coming into place. Shortly before Jane's death, all of the mirrors had been removed from the house or covered up. He had just thought that it was because Jane's skin was breaking out or something to that nature if though it was not. Her never being painted; the painter always took a photograph of the person about to be painted so he could work on it at his home. The only person to be painted sitting down had been Jane's great-great-great-grandmother. Jane never came inside a house unless she was invited, she never crossed moving water, never went to church or entered holey ground, nor did she ever go out into the sunlight. Her funeral had been closed coffin for some odd reason...
Graham jumped and swore. Jane's family did not die from illness. His heart was racing. This was truly mad and impossible. Jane's family was a family of vampires. They had been killed by vampire slayers.
Quickly Graham scoped out the diary and a lone rose. He rushed out of the house and down to Jane's grave side. He sat the diary done on the tombstone. "You monster," he said to the tombstone. "You belong to the Devil." He was still breathing hard.
The grounds around him were silent. The monsters that had lived here were gone. Dead and left to be forgotten in the minds and hearts of everyone. He opened the diary and placed the single rose inside of it. With one final glance at it, he slammed the diary shut and walked away. He walked away from what he thought had been the love of his life and walked away from all of the madness.
No longer did he wish to find his place in the diary of Jane.