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The Journals of Barnabas Collins

Clear skies!  Mrs. Stoddard — or whomever I’m supposed to believe mother to be — has officially given me the keys to Collins Hall.  An odd feeling, since it was from her that I first received them several weeks and two hundred years ago.  It still leads me to wonder if I am a pawn in some larger game… a Satanic torture?  Everyone has been civil, but the likenesses are startling.

I brought Young Loomis shambling into the Old House to show him his new job.  I tried to reassure him that all would be well.  He was silent in contemplation.  The lad is going from contemptible to contemplative.  Bravo, Young Loomis.  You will be a right lad, yet.

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