Rooting around in the attic recently I came across a dusty old journal, ‘Ian.B Bussin’ was written in fancy script on the cover. Curious about the book and the odd name, I decided to have a quick flick through the pages and was so fascinated by what it contained I had to share one of the entries here with you and see what you think. Here we go.
I had never been one to pay much heed to dark whispers in the shadows. My life in the quaint little town of Grayswood had been relatively uneventful, aside from the occasional bar fight and hushed rumors of strange happenings in the nearby woods. I was a simple man, a carpenter by trade, and my desires didn’t extend beyond my workshop and the sturdy oak tables that were my pride and joy.
That was, until I met her.
Her name was Emily, a plain Jane if ever there was one. She had dull brown hair, eyes the color of a foggy morning, and a smile that seemed to both invite and warn. There was something about her that felt undeniably alluring, and I couldn’t help but fall under her spell.
Our love was a slow, insidious burn. The more time we spent together, the more my energy began to wane. My once-vibrant hands that crafted masterpieces now struggled to even lift a chisel. My once-vivacious spirit that brought laughter to every gathering now dwindled to a mere whisper.
It wasn’t until the night of the Harvest Moon that the dark truth revealed itself. Our small town had a tradition of celebrating the season with a grand bonfire, laughter, and dance. I should have felt the usual excitement, but instead, I felt a deep, gnawing dread.
As the flames danced and flickered, casting eerie shadows across Emily’s face, I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. Her eyes, once dull and unremarkable, now glowed with an otherworldly light. She took my hand and pulled me into a slow, hypnotic dance, our bodies swaying to a tune that seemed to emanate from the shadows themselves.
“Emily, what’s happening to me?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire. “I feel… I feel like I’m being consumed.”
She looked at me, her eyes searching my face, and for the first time, I saw a hint of sadness there. “I never meant for this to happen, love,” she said, her voice trembling. “But I can’t stop it now. It’s who I am.”
“What are you?” I demanded, fear choking my voice. The shadows seemed to grow darker and more menacing around us, and the once-celebratory bonfire now felt like a funeral pyre.
“A succubus,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “I feed on the life force of those who love me, but I never meant to hurt you. I thought I could resist, control it, but the darkness is too strong.”
I stared at her, my heart shattering in my chest. “So, this is it, then? I’m going to die because I loved you?”
She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “There’s a way out, a ritual to break the curse, but it comes at a great cost. One of us must die.”
I felt the weight of her words as though they were a noose tightening around my neck. My life, or hers. A choice no one should ever have to make.
In the end, it was love that sealed our fates. I couldn’t bear to see her suffer the torment of her curse, nor could I imagine a world without her in it. We stood hand in hand before the bonfire, and together, we leaped into the flames.
Our screams echoed into the night, a symphony of love and horror. As the fire consumed us, I could feel the darkness lifting, the curse unraveling. And as our souls intertwined one final time, I knew we were free.
Free from the chains of our earthly existence , free from the darkness that had bound us, and free to embrace the eternal unknown.
I’m going to do some more digging into this ‘I.B Bussin’ and see if I can find out anything more about his life and who he was. In the meantime though, I’ll keep reading through the journal and see if any other entries are worth sharing.