Journal of Benjamin Farrow
I need to take a break and eat something. But not in the house.
Mark was right about one thing. This is where I should be right now. We only have two weeks to do this. A week and a half, now.
I am. So scared. Almost don’t want to write this down. If Mark or Quinn get wind of it I’ll almost definitely be down for some kind of evaluation. But journaling is how I sort out my thoughts.
I was going to go to the doctor this morning. I was up all night puking again. My fever was getting higher and I could barely move, I was so dizzy and weak. I found an urgent care center a little ways from town and I was halfway there when I started to feel better.
By the time I parked, I wasn’t queasy anymore. I went in anyway, but I didn’t even have a fever when they took my temperature. They just told me to drink water and get some sleep. I haven’t slept in about 24 hours.
I was going to just head back to the motel when I pulled out my map and realized how close I was to the estate grounds. Call it intuition. Or suspicion. A totally crazy hunch I had to act on just to make sure it wasn’t true. I turned out of the urgent care center and started on the road to the estate.
And the closer I got, the better I felt. By the time I reached the gates I didn’t feel sick at all. I’m pretty sure my fever was gone. And I was already here, so I kept going, right up to the front doors, and got all my notebooks and stuff from the trunk.
I really don’t know what to think. Is it just a coincidence that whatever stomach flu I have spontaneously clears up whenever I get within a mile of the Madigan estate? As much as I’d like to go off on a tangent about logic and reason and how I don’t believe at all in supernatural things - I can’t. I’m not, like, the kind of person who gets jittery at the thought of a Oujia board. I think ghost-hunting tours are bullshit.
But I’m also not an idiot. I’m going to try to go home again tonight, and if I get sick again, I’m going to take that as provisional evidence that something really strange is going on. I took the box I found in the second-floor bedroom and I’m going through it now, because Hazel Lawley’s case seems at least similar to what’s going on with me.
This time, when I got here, I searched the house top to bottom, as far as I could given the collapsed walls and blocked doors, and I’m pretty confident that there’s no one else here. Honestly, I’m not so worried about that in light of this sickness thing.
For now, I’m going to keep going with my search of the house. I want answers just as bad as Quinn or Mark.
Actually, I think I want them worse.