Where the Summer Ends - By Karl Edward Wagner Page 0,14
Haven’t found those flowers yet. Guess the night breeze carries the scent a long way. Didn’t know jasmine grew here. Weird. At nights it almost feels like a woman’s perfume...
July 2. The horns are growing. Several times at night now I’ve definitely sensed a woman’s presence in the darkness. Strange how my imagination can almost give substance to shadow. I can almost make myself visualize her just at the corner of my vision...
July 4. Wow! Too much wine of the gods, Enser! Last time I get patriotic! A little excess of Chianti to celebrate the glorious 4th, I drop off in my chair, and Jesus! Wake up to see a girl bending over me! Nice trick, too! Looked like something out of a Held illustration! Vanished about the time my eyes could focus. Wonder what Freud would say to that!...
July 7. Either this place is haunted, or I’m going to have to go looking for that proverbial farmer’s daughter. Last night I woke up with the distinct impression that there was a woman in bed beside me. Scared? Christ! Like a childhood nightmare! I was actually afraid to reach over—even turn my head to look—and find out if someone was really there. When I finally did check—nothing, of course—I almost imagined I could see a depression on the mattress. The old grey matter is starting to short out...
(The next several pages were too mutilated to decipher, and Gerry pieced together the rest only with extreme difficulty.)
.. .seems to know the whole story, tho it’s hard to say how much the good reverend doth impart. Banner’s a real character—strictly old-time evangelist. Mostly the same story as Pennybacker’s and the other loafers—except Rev. Banner seems to have known Luttle somewhat. Renee was a “woman of Satan,” but to him doubtless any “fancy city woman” would reek of sin and godlessness. Anyway his version is that she married Reagan for the bread, but planned to keep her hand in all the same. She seduced Sam Luttle and drove him from the path of righteousness into the morass of sinfulness and adultery. In Banner’s opinion Renee only got... (half a page missing)... no trace of Renee’s body was ever discovered. Still it was assumed Reagan had murdered her, since she never turned up again in Greenville or anywhere else—and Reagan seemed definitely to have been on the run when he drove off the mountain. Here Banner gets a bit vague, and it’s hard to tell if he’s just getting theatrical. Still he insists that when they found Reagan with his throat guillotined by the windshield, there wasn’t a tenth as much blood spilled about the body as would be expected. Same regarding Luttle’s death. Superficial scratches except the torn throat, and only a small pool of blood. Banner doesn’t believe the bear explanation, but I don’t get what...
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... know whether my mind is going or whether this cabin is actually haunted.
July 15. I saw her again last night. This time she was standing at the edge of the pines beyond the front door—seemed to be looking at me. The image lasted maybe 15-20 seconds this time, long enough to get a good look. She’s a perfect likeness of the description of Renee. This is really getting bizarre! I’m not quite sure whether I should be frightened or fascinated. I wonder why there haven’t been any other reports of this place being haunted...
July 16. I’ve started to paint her. Wonder what Fahler will say to a portrait of a ghost. It’s getting easier now to see her, and she stays visible longer too—maybe she’s getting accustomed to me. God—I keep thinking of that old ghost story, “The Beckoning Fair One”! Hope this won’t...
July 17. I find I can concentrate on Renee at nights now, and she appears more readily—more substantial. Painting is progressing well. She seems interested. Think I’ll try to talk with her next. Still unsure whether this is psychic phenomenon or paranoid hallucination. We’ll see—meanwhile, damned if Enser will let anyone else in on this. Tho aren’t artists supposed to be mad?
July 18. Decided to use the pines for background. Took a long walk this afternoon. Strange to think that Renee probably lies in an unmarked grave somewhere under this carpet of pine needles. Lonely grave—no wonder she doesn’t rest. She smiles when she comes to me. My little spirit remained all of 5 - 6 minutes last night. Tonight...
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... to no one other than myself, and I think I understand.