LogFAQs > #901567924

This is part of the first chapter of one of my novellas. It's a horror story sort of influenced by Edgar Allan Poe and H.P. Lovecraft:

Nervous. So terribly nervous I have been these past few days, you, my closest friend. And yet, how can I be blamed? I would give the world for a pittance if I could but steady my hand and see the thing through. Oh, I know it all sounds so awful and quite dreary, and for that I do apologize. I neednt involve you in such personal matters, I suppose, and yet, to keep the truth locked inside simply will not do. No, not at all. And so I come to the matter of contention with which I find myself so vexed, my ever faithful companion: I killed her.

I burned the body afterwards so as to leave no trace of my misdeeds, if misdeeds they shall turn out to be. I scattered the ashes on a southerly breeze and there felt my soul in solid relief. Do not be so hasty in your judgement of my character just yet though, for I tell you in earnest and with nothing but the truth on my tongue that the horror she would have wrought was grave and not to be abided. Most grave indeed. Please, permit me to explain myself further, and perhaps I may yet be exonerated in your eyes.

The first of many oddities began in the dulcet and sweltering Georgian summertime, when the whippoorwills punctuated the cool, silent breeze and Johnson and Stern were at the height of their influence. Surely you must recall the day the gaudy dining room table and rickety chairs were brought into the manor, on the fifteenth of June. I say you must remember because the uproar among the household that day was quite severe. Charlotte always was a rather peculiar woman, you see, and the help certainly made their disdain known to all that would listen. Oh, she meant well, my friend. You know how things are, though. The exorbitant will always scoff at the underwhelming. Social castes exist for a reason, I suppose, although you and I both know these arbitrary dividers are not always correctly placed. I know for a fact that the elder Thomas sister had her way with the bellhop down on Clarence Drive, and Mr. Treadway, well, I neednt remind you of Mr. Treadways nasty little habit of chewing tobacco and strong whiskey.
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Now playing: God of War
Reading: Swann's Way by Marcel Proust