Checking again that she was unobserved, she turned her full attention back to the object.
It was a red diary. It had been wrapped and sealed in the plastic bag before being apparently buried for someone to find. On the front of the diary, behind the plastic cover, was a card with the previous owner's details scrawled on it in black pen.
Lance corporal Frederick Landro
D.O.B 10/9/83
More intriguing even than that was the slip of paper in the bag with the diary. It was loose and looked to have been torn out of the back. The print on the page depicted a list of public holidays through the year (which she noted was 2014, making it almost three years old). Written across the page in the same hand, if more erratic than the name card, was a simple warning come instruction.
Read if found! Essential information inside.
Then below that in a much calmer version of the same hand:
The seeds of life are planted in the eyes of the beholder.
As desperate as she was to rip open the bag, she waited. Ensuring the others weren't watching, she slipped it into her rucksack and brushed stones and leaves into the hole so nobody would know it had even been there. Those next few hours were excruciatingly slow as she went through the motions of watching her friends bicker or discuss exploration plans for the following day without any interest whatsoever. She watched in a daze, as if on some kind of autopilot as she waited for them one by one to head to their tents and sleep. Dave was the last to go, just a little after twelve, and at last, she was alone in the orange dance of the fire. With the crumbling corpse of the hotel for company, she took the book out of her bag, then, after a split second of hesitation, tore open the plastic. Holding the diary brought with it a sobering sense of reality to the situation. She could feel the waxy, slick texture of the cover, and smell the mildew damp smell coming from pages which had spent years in their shallow grave. She glanced at the hulking, shadow draped hotel, then opened the diary. The first dozen or so pages had been torn out, leaving jagged edges in the gutter of the book. The text written inside belonged to the same person who had written the note and card under the cover, the handwriting small and slanting towards the top of the page.
June 9th, 2014
This should have been an easy assignment after the last two years of hell spent in the desert wondering if each day would be my last. What a surprise, then, that I would gladly take that life back if it got me away from this God awful place. We've been told by General Kimmel that this is a sensitive situation and one we're not allowed to discuss, even amongst ourselves. The whispers still get around, though. You hear about things that have happened and hope to God the stories have been exaggerated. Worse still is the feel of this place. It has a dirty, sinister vibe which is making the rest of the men stationed here cranky. Some of them bullshit that it doesn't bother them, but their eyes tell a different story. It doesn’t help that we’re not allowed in the hotel. What bullshit! That place is kitted out with all the mod cons and here we are slumming it in tents in the car park. Typical. The waiting is the worst part. We're set to patrol the area in groups. I'm scheduled in for my first taste of it tomorrow. A couple of the guys who came back in this morning said it's not too bad until you get to the clearing across the river. That, they said, was unlike anything they had ever experienced. Kimmel shut them up before they can go into detail, which prompted me to start this diary and log what happens. I'm curious, and although I won't admit it to the others, a little afraid. Some soldier I am! Let's hope tomorrow goes smoothly and without incident. So far, despite the ominous threat of some unseen presence, all is quiet.
June 10th
It’s done. My first visit to the clearing behind the river is behind me, and it was every bit as bad as I expected. I’m just glad I wasn’t alone. Even so, the three of us who went there could all feel it, although explaining what it feels like is difficult. Mills and Layfield didn’t even try. All I can tell you is that it feels like something is crawling around inside your head. It almost makes you feel dirty if that makes sense. Mills went up there all full of piss and vinegar, which to be fair to him is all he’s ever been since I’ve known him. Since we came back town to the camp here by the hotel, he’s been quiet. Layfield has gone the other way. He’s trying too hard to show he isn’t afraid, although I don’t think he’s fooling anyone. It’s almost like we’re dead men walking. Each of us waiting our turn to have to go up there. If it were up to me, we would burn this place to the ground and never come back. Unfortunately, we have a job to do. Kimmel says their scientists need us to accompany them up there so they can do their tests. I don’t think whatever is up there is anything science can fix, but as I said earlier, I’m a soldier and I’ll do as I’m told. I’m tired now and think sleep (If I can get some) will do me the world of good.
June 11th
I dreamed last night, a garbled mess of scenes. I saw a blonde haired man on fire at the base of a huge dead tree. As he stood there, arms agape, it started to rain blood. Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, dead children also started to fall, their bodies impacting on the ground with the most explosive sound. I woke up drenched in sweat and twisted around my blankets. How I didn’t scream, I don’t know. I was thinking of asking Mills or Layfield if they had experienced anything similar, but Mills wouldn’t make eye contact with me, and I didn’t see Layfield during breakfast this morning. One interesting snippet I did pick up, was about what the scientists we’re babysitting are up to there in the clearing. One of the boys overheard Kimmel talking about it. According to Cameron, the scientists are interested in the dirt. That tells me there is something up there they either want to weaponise or keep out of the reach or others. Either way, I hope they find whatever the hell it is they’re looking for and soon so we can leave this awful place behind. I never imagined I’d be wishing for an uncomplicated war zone to take my mind off a patch of damn dirt in the middle of nowhere. Anyway, I’m depressing myself by writing this and I need to give my report to Kimmel soon. Everyone who goes up there to the clearing has to report in. Research apparently. Best to get it over with I suppose. God, I hate this place.
June 12th
There was something in the woods last night. We all heard it. It sounded like children crying, or maybe that’s not the right word. It was more like wailing. Mills locked eyes with me across the fire we were sitting around, and we didn’t need to say a word. I looked for Layfield to see if he was also looking in my direction, but like the others he was staring into the trees, trying to think of anything to explain away the sounds he could hear then being unable to handle the only explanation that remained. For the first time today, I realised just how much I miss my wife. I just want out of here. It’s obvious by now we don’t belong here. Worse, we’re not wanted here, and I worry about what might happen if we overstay our welcome.
June 13th
Everyone is tense today. We heard more noises from the trees last night. Like the night before, it sounded like children, although there were other sounds too. Mills told me he thought he heard them call his name. I know that can’t be true because I heard them say mine. What the hell is out there?
June 14th
Layfield is dead. One of the guys found him hanging from a tree just a few feet from the edge of the camp. I thought for sure that would see the end of this stupid assignment, but as is the way with the government, a dead soldier wasn’t about to get in the way of what needed to be done. If anything, activity has increased. People are in and out of the hotel like ants, bringing in lights and equipment. God knows what they’re doing, but whatever it is we have been frozen out. Even Kimmel seems a little put out by it. He thinks this is his show, but this thing about the hotel being off limits showed everyone that he has someone up the chain pulling his strings.
Poor Layfield was shoved into a body bag and left in the car park ready for transportation back to the city for him at least, this ordeal is over. One of the guys said he’d left some kind of fucked up suicide note
in his pocket, although as it always was with speculation, nobody seems to know what it said.
As I write this, I can see Layfield’s body bag by the edge of the path, and it dawns on me that although we’re trained to handle death, it’s still a shock to see it up close. Speaking of close, it’s getting dark and the tension is starting to ramp up a little. People are wondering if we will get a repeat performance from the forest tonight or not. I’m almost certain that we will. It’s funny, because the more you ty to ignore them, the more sense they start to make. My turn to go on patrol tomorrow. To say I’m not looking forward to it is an understatement. I just hope I can do what I need to.
June 15
Last night was the worst yet. The noises, as I predicted were out there again. I’m sure I’m not the only one who thought they were louder as if each night brought them closer to the camp. What the hell is this place?
June 16th
Really tense in the camp today. Everyone knows what's going on here but are either too proud or afraid to say anything. I suppose I can't complain too much, as I'm guilty of the same thing. Last night, someone took Layfield’s body. We were sent out into the woods to look for it, but interestingly enough, we weren't asked to check the clearing. The official word from Kimmel is that animals must have dragged the body into the woods, although nobody believes it. Even the general himself is starting to look tense and, dare I say it, a little afraid. I keep hearing my name whispered to me by the trees. Can't say anything about it, though. It's tense enough already. My turn to patrol the clearing tomorrow. We're taking a couple of the scientists up there to get more samples. The vibe in the camp is bad. Nobody wants to be here and I suspect a revolt isn't a million miles away. It's been dark for a couple of hours now and the voices in the woods have just started. I half considered putting my iPod on so that I could get a little sleep, although if I'm honest, not being able to hear them is worse.
June 17
Early morning entry today, as I'm heading out to the clearing in an hour and I have new information to share. Last night was the worst since we arrived here. I don't think these things like us being here. The noise was awful and even hunkered down in my bunk, I could hear some of the guys losing it. Some screamed. Others cried. I even heard someone praying. It's obvious by now whatever exists here is evil. There is no use in denying that anymore. This, I suppose, is what being a soldier all is about. The TV ads and the posters asking you to sign up don't mention we're expendable, or that we might have to face things like this. Kimmel has set up armed command posts around the perimeter of the hotel, which is laughable, a token gesture at best. Everyone knows this thing can't be brought down with bullets. Can't blame Kimmel too much, though, as I think as a lifelong military man, guns have always been the go to response. It's time for my patrol, and I can feel the nausea lingering in the back of my throat. With luck, I'll be back in one piece so I can pen another update. Writing this diary has helped me to handle this situation. I wonder how many of the others are doing something similar. Anyhow, enough of that shit. I'm just delaying the inevitable. It's patrol time.
Second entry today. Needed to write. Clearing atmosphere worst yet. I threw up twice. One of the scientists bludgeoned his colleague to death with one of the fancy bits of equipment they were using to take their measurements. We tried to stop him but the voices were just too loud. I know I shouldn't, but I've started to listen to them. What the hell is happening?
June 18
All patrols to the clearing are on hold due to what happened with the scientists. I'm glad, as it gives me more time to listen to the voices in the trees. Some of the things they are saying make sense. I overhead Kimmel on the radio (phones don't seem to work here) to one of his higher ups called Fisher asking to abort the project. He said the best thing to do would be to shut down and quarantine the entire town. Can't argue really. The fact he’s so concerned has got me thinking about what to do with this journal. One thing is for sure, I can’t let anyone see it. This stuff is top secret no doubt, and the last thing I want is to be explaining myself in a military prison. I hope I can sleep tonight without the nightmares plaguing me.
June 19
Shadows on the walls of my tent in the shape of tiny hands. I can’t handle this anymore. Listening to the voices help. They make a lot of sense when you give them a chance.
June 20
Gogoku. Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku. I fucking hate that word. It’s all I hear. All I think about. If only I knew what it meant apart from the awareness that it relates to this hellhole.
June 21
Kimmel thinks he’s so clever. Thinks we don’t know what he’s up to. He deserves to suffer for bringing this upon us. The voices told me. It’s all his fault. Him and his scientists, digging in the ground to get to whatever is underneath. He thinks his secrets are safe, but they hear it all and they tell me. It’s almost dark now, but I don’t fear those sounds, those disembodied wails and phantom hands. Not anymore. Now I see why they are so mad. It’s Kimmel. All because of Kimmel and his stupid idea for bringing us up here. Tomorrow will be the day it all changes. Tomorrow is the day I put things right.
June 22
My turn to guard the perimeter tonight, but I have something else in mind. The clearing is off limits, yet the voices tell me I need to go up there to learn the secret of why they are here. Screw Kimmel and his rules. I’ll do things my way from here on in. There is one small issue, and that is this journal. I don’t want anyone to find it, and at the same time, I refuse to destroy it, as it might prove useful for others if something should ever happen to me. I could hide it in the forest, god knows it’s dense enough, but I wonder if it would last the test of time or rot into dust. I don’t think I’d like that. It doesn’t seem right. Either way, I’m late for the briefing. I wouldn’t have bothered going but I need to make sure everything appears as normal as possible. I’ll give some thought to the dilemma about this journal and update later as to my decision.
***
Just about to head out, but have decided what to do with this journal. The night is close, and already those voices hide in the wind. Strange that just a few days ago they filled me with such fear but now sing to me like the sweetest of songs. I will admit to being a little nervous about heading up to the clearing tonight. If I’m caught I’ll be court marshalled for sure, and yet I can’t quite seem to resist the lure of what the voices tell me I might find up there.
I have decided, in light of my pending possible arrest, to seal this journal in plastic and bury it. If all goes well tonight, I will, of course, return and this will be just another entry to add to the others. If on the other hand, this happens to be the final entry, and whoever is reading this found the journal buried in the shallow earth and wrapped in plastic, you should assume that I either got caught disobeying orders, or something worse happened to me up there in the clearing. Either way, I will do my best to get back and update later as to what the voices said. Until then, it’s time to put this journal in the dirt until I return.
Kelsie flicked through the remaining pages, hoping to see more words from the stranger she now felt like she knew, but there were only blank, yellowed pages, which told a greater story than any words could. She half considered telling the others, then decided they wouldn’t appreciate her waking them in the middle of the night to babble at them about a secret book she had found. Her father had always told her to sleep on a big decision, and in this case, she was inclined to follow his advice. She also didn’t want to be walking around alone in the dark after reading the contents of the journal. She lay on her side, pulling her sleeping blanket high up to her ears, trying to ignore the natural sounds of the forest all around her. She expected sleep to be a distant luxury, and so barely noticed as it grasped her and took her away with the sound of the wind and the trees growing faint in her ears.
THREE
After the build up about explori
ng the hotel, Dani, Lucy, Dave and Kelsie were somewhat let down the following morning as they picked around the site. All entrances had been sealed, covered by sheet steel coverings which were impregnable. Although the upper windows seemed like they might provide a way in, they could not be reached. Kelsie walked alone, away from the main group. Although she had slept well, she had awoken troubled by the journal she had found, and although she was sure she was going to tell the others, she wasn’t quite ready yet. She walked around the grounds, not paying attention, staring at her feet as she went over the words in the journal in her head. She imagined how it must have been to be stationed there, unable to leave and having to endure long, sleepless nights as the sounds of the forest and whatever else might be in there played tricks with their minds. She looked over her shoulder at her friends and wished she shared their complete lack of concern. Of course, they didn’t understand the situation. They hadn’t been privy to the journal which had changed her own outlook on the hotel and grounds. Dave was the biggest problem. He was a sceptic and a stubborn one and held a lot of influence within the group. He would be hard to convince, and that alone made her reluctant to discuss it. Either way, she did want to see the clearing, the place in the woods mentioned in the journal and that had become a part of the folklore of the area over the years. She moved back towards the group, heart thundering as she tried to remain as outwardly calm as possible.
Whisper: The untold stories Page 11