Mrsgreenhands’s Weblog

Dear Andre,

Young Peter Bradford has made a very frightening argument for Angelique being not just healer, as was her mother, but a witch, as well.  Similarly, nothing is as it seems with Barnabas Collins.  Please be advised that, if Angelique appears, she is to be trusted only to a limited extent.

N.

“The statements made by me regarding Miss Victoria were untrue.  I recant my entire legal argument and wholeheartedly suggest she be freed post haste.”

Thank you, Reverend.  It may require a tad of embellishment, but doing homages of valued signatures is a specialty one gains only in the finest of boarding schools, and I will aptly apply flourishes taught there when necessary.

The final brick’s mortar should be drying.  My main concern now is the aroma. Good Ben Stokes is used to such a bouquet, often finding his own complimented by a whiff of a ripening corpse, however, my own sense of smell is heightened to the point of discomfort under most circumstances.

As for explanations, I must proceed wisely should others sniff about.

It’s quite something, hearing dreams.  For many nights, I thought I was going mad, but now I know that I am hearing the dreams of those I choose.  More importantly, I can now manipulate them.

“Abigail” has visited Trask.  She advised him on where to find the witch.  I’m expecting him at any time.

Mr. Ben Stokes has made his prodigal return.  Amid the quest for my cane, I have continued to increase the unfortunate circumstances surrounding Rev. Trask.  A phantom hand.  A signature ring.  A voice heard only to him.  He’s sincere in his fight against the devil, and it was a pleasure to laugh at his invocation of faith and Providence.  He’s now mad as a March hare in the eyes of The Eel, as well.  He’s in a bit of a panic, and I must say it’s the first time I’ve had fun in quite some time.

Searched for the cane.  I think the noise may have upset other guests, but I dropped the body off in Trask’s quarters.  There is nothing like a strangled prostitute left in the bedroom of your ordained enemy to ensure that he will experience vague uneasiness.

Carried her there as a bat.  That was not…

In my haste to escape an unfortunate situation, I did the unspeakable: the cane was lost.  My signature cane and bearer of the family masthead.  The Eel (reliably inconveniently) interrupted a feeding. It was supposedly buried with me… a singular item.  I must have it.

Today, I said farewell to Mr. Ben Stokes, I think.  His disinclination to assist me in entombing Rev. Trask in one of the cellar larders was the cause.  I thought I could force him.  I certainly did what I could to intimidate him.

Trask is a more than deserving recipient of torture and death.  That’s a theatrical into which I’d hoped Ben would have cast himself… as the lead.

My plans continue apace.

Today, I once again exercised my will.  It has been as if I’d grown up believing that I had but one arm.  The use of the second is something that has reflexively been triggered and reflexively used.

In this instance, it was the mental torture of the good Rev. Trask in exchange for arranging the execution of Miss Winters.  His fears were so obvious.  The hallucinations as easy to create as fogged breath on chill morning.

I remain shocked by my well of anger.  Others experience vindictive attacks and lose loved ones, but do not walk the path as do I.  Has this rage always been there?  Is it an effect of my condition?  I never recall being this bloodthirsty as a man, but if I were, why?

BC

Dearest R.

In short, it is the opinion of we three that while Miss Victoria Winters is most probably not a witch, and her condition a calamity of circumstance, we are the servants of the people of Collinsport, not their masters.  In a freely elected position, this is wise to recall. And if she is a witch, we’ve protected our constituency.

My passionate love for you grows by the day.

H.

I have few reasons to be proud.  However, today Good Ben Stokes went off to testify as to the true identity of the witch, and my chest swells at the thought of him representing the best of us against the worst.  A convict, a thief, an illiterate, a brute, and a man of the lowest bearing.

And yet, I challenge you to bring me one man with the name of Collins to compare to Good Man Stokes.

I know not what result shall come of this, but even in the face of calamity, he is a teacher of the highest order, and one can find no greater tutor in bravery and honor.

He is my friend.  I have felt nothing but rage for far too long, but at this very moment, I am simply and most proudly humbled.

BC

Dear Daniel,

Take this as an example of how a man should behave, for there is a notable absence of them at Collinwood.  Right and wrong do not exist by the sanction of others. I am now to approach the bar and expose the character of those who wear the masks of goodness.  This will spell dire consequences for me, but I seize the enterprise fearlessly.  In doing so, I hope not only to render justice for Miss Winters, but to set some small example for you as a model of resolve and character.

Lovingly,

Naomi Collins