Dear Diary

March 26

9am

Dear Diary,

It rained all day yesterday, so today is the day. I didn’t sleep at all last night, or the previous night for that matter. It definitely showed in my reflection, my face was drained of color; I looked like a vampire from Twilight. My hazel eyes were blood shot, complete with dark circles under them. The straight brown hair that usually sits nicely layered on my shoulder now looked like a bird’s nest, as my mother used to say.

I also had another dream, it was during the only hour of sleep that I actually had. It was about the garden of course, I had been standing by a round stone monument. On top of the monument was a giant beige flower pot, and inside a tall black rose. A shadow in the bushes startled me. As I looked closer the shadow stepped out into the open, it seemed to be a person wearing a long black hooded cloak.

In this dream the garden was already fully bloomed, and of course like last time it was breath taking. That all changed when the cloaked figure stepped forward closer to the monument, the flowers along its path and the grass at its feet slowly died. It was almost as if he were the grim reaper.

“Who are you, and what do you want from me?” I yelled. It came closer and closer finally standing only inches from me.

“I am here for your magic, none of you Gavin’s deserve it, and it was ours before you came along.” The voice behind the figure was definitely male.

“But I am not a Gavin, my last name is Rhodes. That was my mother’s maiden name; I have nothing to do with this, “I screamed back.

 His hand reached out to touch me; he was so close that I could feel the presence of it lingering in front of me. That’s when I woke up screaming. My sheets were soaked from my sweat and tears quickly ran down my face. The nightmare was so real, and it has me thinking maybe it wasn’t just a nightmare, maybe it was a vision.

Time to get myself ready for what today is going to bring, once I get to the gate I will write again. I want to document everything that happens.

Dear Diary

In my hand is a necklace. The chain is so old it feels weak. The pendant on the chain was a gold oval, with a picture of a black rose against a white background. A fancy design covered the outer edge. Against the right side I could feel a clasp. I have been staring at it and procrastinating opening it since I got home, that was five hours ago.

I can still see the confused look on Cliff’s face when I quickly excused myself. The moment I read that part of the article, somehow deep inside I knew.

I remember when I had gotten it. My dad had given it to me for my thirteenth birthday. His exact words were, in a not so nice tone; “This is from your mother.” The small green jewelry bag landed on the coffee table with a thud. Inside the bag was a note along with this necklace.

  

In my left hand I hold the necklace, in my right this pen. I am rubbing the clasp with my thumb-click-my heart is racing and my hands are shaking. As I flip open the pendant I notice a small key inside. It’s so tiny, not even the size of my pinky.

Tomorrow is the day…

*Madison Rhodes*

Dear Diary

March 24

7pm

Dear Diary,

I went back to the library today; James took me again after school. Mr. Burke had noticed my lack of concentration and ended schooling early.

I am going to write off topic for a minute, but I can’t help it I am a girl and I have the right to gush in my diary about… boys.

When I got to the library Mrs. Rush was helping someone, I looked behind the check-out counter only to find a boy who couldn’t be a day over eighteen. His face was young, but he had a bit of stubble growing along his cheeks and chin. He was medium built, taller than I was-but who wasn’t I am only 5’1. His hair was almost like a crew cut, just slightly longer on the sides and top-and his eyes-oh-his eyes. They were the greenest eyes that I have ever seen.

I was a little nervous at first; I never really had that many guy friends. He smiled at me as I walked over, and dimples formed on both cheeks. He introduced himself to me as Cliff.

On our way over to the archive machine he began to strike up a random conversation with me. I was nervous, my palms were sweaty, and so I pulled my sleeves down over my hands to wipe them off. The first thing he mentioned was that I was an unfamiliar face; he wanted to know where I had come from, and what brought me here. I even told him exactly what I was researching. This is when things went from blah to OMG-amazing.

He pulled a wooden chair up next to me and began typing away. He knew exactly the right phrases to type into the search engine, and I watched in awe as he did so. Here is the part that makes me squeal like a little girl, every time that he would lean over to reach for the mouse his arm would brush up against mine and he’d apologize.

Can’t you just feel those butterflies?

Anyways, back on track he had discovered another article; it was dated November 1^st, 1991…. 

Dear Diary

March 23

9pm

Dear Diary,

I tried to call my father today, but his secretary said he was out of town. Thanks for the heads up DAD!!!

So, day number one of research … I feel like I am on the right track to finding out information about the garden. Or maybe just the right track to uncover the dirt on mom’s family.

This house has been in her family since just before the civil war in 1860. Of course it’s been upgraded and remodeled a few times, but it’s always been here. The weirdest part was the garden had been here well before the property was built. The property had been built around it, almost as if it was built to protect the garden. The home had been built by a Maurice Gavin. Maybe he was the one trying to protect it?  

I found several articles on the superstitions surrounding the garden, from it being haunted, to the owners themselves being involved with witchcraft. Then I found an interesting article a little more recent, it’s about my mom and grandpops. The article was dated October 28, 1991, a few days before my mother’s birthday, November 1^st. 

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Dear Diary

Dear Diary,                                                                                                              March 23
                                                                                                                                 11am


No one had given me a direct answer last night, so I decided to do some detective work myself.

It’s another rainy day; I am heading into town with James. I told him I needed to go to the library to do some homework. He didn’t argue, so here I am in his black town car heading to town. It’s at least a twenty-minute drive, and the bridge to get there was so old you had to drive cautiously across it.

James told me that he would drop me off at the library while he ran his errands. I only had till one to look through the archives for any information regarding the property.

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11:45am
The library smelt of mold and dust, and my nose won’t stop itching. The head librarian, who introduced herself as Mrs. Rush showed me how to use the archive machine. I think it was probably the most expensive thing in this town.

I just entered the property name into the computer, its odd living on a piece of land that has its own name: The Gavin Estate. I typed it in a few minutes ago; this thing is taking forever to load. Finally-I am actually nervous. My grandpops! OMG!!!! Gavin is my mom’s maiden name, how could I be so stupid? I probably didn’t remember because I was only five when she died. It had only been a few times that her maiden name had come up. Her only family had been my grandma and grandpop, but they both died before I truly remember them.

It’s definitely time do buckle down and do some research, I will make sure to record my findings later.

*Madison Rhodes* 

Dear Diary ...

Dear Diary,                                                                                                          March 22
                                                                                                                              1:30pm



Here I am finally standing at the gate to the garden. It’s a bit colder today than I had expected. At least my black and pink winter pea-coat is keeping me warm. Also instead of my normal old pair of converses, I have decided to wear my black doc martin boots.

As I stand here looking at the gate, I can feel an energy emerging from beyond the white concrete walls. Only there was one problem, the gate had been locked. I tried jiggling it a bit, keeping my fingers crossed that the gate was so old it would break under pressure. When that didn’t work, I tired a series of other methods.

Here’s a list of the other things that I have tried…

-The ladder in the broken down old wooden shed. (Too small)
-Took a walk around, maybe find a back entrance? (Not even a dent in the wall)
-Climb the vines that have grown to the wall. (Fell on my ass)
-Tore apart the shed looking for the key. (All I got was dirty hands)

I guess some research is in order before I can find my way in. Maybe someone can give me some further information at dinner tonight. It doesn’t hurt to ask, most of the workers he hired had worked here before, and maybe someone has an idea. Anything I find out I will be sure to jot down in the diary. 

*Madison Rhodes*

Dear Diary

Dear Diary,                                                                                                                     March 22

It rained all night, and everything was still wet in the morning light. It’s a Tuesday morning so I am in the study with Mr. Burke, the tutor that my father hired.

They set the room up as if it was a classroom, and I sat in an old wooden school desk, and in front of me was a portable chalk board.  Mr. Burke was young, early twenties maybe. He was attractive, and tall, and wore thick black framed glasses that hid his green almond shaped eyes. At the moment he was talking about grammar, yawn.

Last night I had a dream about the garden. It was strange-as I entered the garden all of the flowers began to bloom. One by one each was unique and different; not only in color but in shape too. Everything about the place seemed so magical; I could only hope the real thing could feel like that. In all my fifteen years of life, I had never experienced something so beautiful.

After lunch I hope to get outside to finally see the garden up close. The sun is finally breaking through the dark clouds. I’ll make sure I bring a blanket to sit on mainly because I think the garden would be an amazing place to write.

I should really pay attention to Mr. Burke; he just asked me a question… what’s an adjective again?

To answer last nights question I looked up the meaning of having a Green Thumb… it means having the ability to grow plants well. Hmm… that is definitely something to think about.

*Madison Rhodes*