Notes on the Madigan Estate
I feel like I should tell someone about this. You call the police when you find a corpse, right? Or a mortician or something.
Jesus, though, what if they think I killed him?
That’s stupid. He’s been dead more than a hundred years.
I mean. Probably. Maybe I’m assuming too much here. Who knows how long it took him to die after he bricked himself up in here. When I found him, he was holding the trowel, and there are bricks and old dry mortar scattered around, but what if he wasn’t sealing himself in? What if he was trying to get back out? And no one heard him, because everyone was already dead, and by the time the lumber company arrived in April it was too late for him, too …
I can’t just leave him here. I feel like I should bury him. Or is this a crime scene? Should I call someone? Quinn. I should tell Quinn. But what the fuck can she do? She’s on the other side of the country. Jane Madigan, maybe. Let her know her great-uncle is definitely, definitely dead.
Like she thought he was maybe alive in here or something.
Wish I had internet out here. I could google “what to do when you find a body.” Call the police, probably. But I really don’t want to do that. I just. I just.
I just feel like this is between me and the house. It made me sick. It messed with me. It tried to hide all this from me - the documents in the walls, the servants’ corridors, Castile’s body. It tried to convince me I was crazy for thinking there was something hidden here.
oh jesus christ i am fighting with a goddamn house
is it the house? Or is it Castile himself? I think it’s pretty clear at this point something supernatural is going on, so I don’t think a ghost, a real ghost, is out of the question here.
Here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m going back into town. Getting a camera. I’m gonna take some pictures.
Alright, well, ok, so
The camera burst into flames as soon as I pushed the button. I ruined my jacket but I had to smother the fire before it took the whole house down around me. Lots of old dry paper and stuff lying around.
Also, I had to spend about fifteen minutes in the woods puking when I got back. I’m not leaving the grounds again. So that was a great big stupid waste of time.
Calm down, Ben. It’s fine, Ben. We’re fine. All good out here.
No pictures. That’s fine. I’m a writer. I’ll just … describe what I see. I’m smarter than a ghost. I’m smarter than a ghost.
You won’t get the better of me.