Mazehouse

Hello there. I think I’ve worked it out. It’s all in there, its just the wrong way round: everything is the wrong way round. It’s not what I said, not the past haunting the present, not at all. Its both past and present being haunted. Its the house, or something older, the place. Its all in the posts – all of them – it is him: he’s trying to tell me something. I’ve been rereading them all day over and over – didn’t want to talk to anyone else. He needed to tell the story, all the stories, he needed to warn us. It happened to him, I know it did. Once upon a time. It always happens. Every story down the years, what he says: the same story – three people – the vicar, the knight, the king. Me, Jon, Jo. Always the same story with the same ending, its in all of them: murder, death, blood. It happens every time. Its happening now, right here in the house, his clockwork he talks about, pushing us on. Pushing me on. It can only end one way. Murder, death and blood. We’re caught up in the machine, the awful workings. I can’t push against it. I can feel it beating in my brain. I must push against it. It will eat us alive. The house. It will destroy us or drive us mad. Drive me mad. Someone has to stop it. Someone has to stop.

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