September 12, 1893
Dear Diary,
Today is the day. I have finally found a steady job as a housemaid in Charleston, South Carolina. I have been hearing rumors about “The Old Greybriar House”, but I quickly dismiss them out of excitement and expect nothing but my happiest days ahead. People keep telling me, “Meredith, you have to get out of that house. Something is off about it and the people that live there! Bad things always happen.” I tell them to hush and not believe everything they hear. Wild speculation can cause crazy thoughts. Of course I am a woman of caution, so I did my proper research on the house and I understand the original master of the house died within its walls. Grim stories have never scared me away, and I will not let them tear me from starting a new life here. Nevertheless, I traveled into town today to fetch some things and bumped into the nicest man I have ever met. He was not horrible to look at either. I dropped my parcel and a couple things I had acquired and he picked them up for me then proceeded to walk me back to the Greybriar house. I learned his name was George, but he would tell me nothing more. Anyways, when we reached the doors he refused to come inside. I suppose he was a believer of the fantastical stories people had spread. As I lay here, I cannot help but wonder what this new life will bring about for me. I needed this, a fresh start.
November 3, 1893
Dear Diary,
I have never been a woman to believe in rumors, however certain circumstances are beginning to demand my concern. Just last week, I was doing Mrs.Abigail’s laundry and believed I was being watched. I looked past the field to the barn across the way and saw no one. However, I could not shake the uneasy feeling I had. I am preparing for Thanksgiving now and have far too much on my mind to be concerned with these things, but last night, something too unusual to ignore occurred. I swore I heard a knock on the doors late at night so I went to check and no one was there. Then as I closed the door and walked away, Another knock resounded. This time when I opened the door there was George. I must have looked shocked because he told me I looked like I had seen a ghost and asked if I was ill. I tried to laugh it off as we began to talk, but him being here at that hour was slightly unsettling. When I asked him why he was out so late he said he was just walking by and thought he would stop for a chat and to check on me. He asked lots of questions about my experiences at the house the past few months and was oddly inquisitive about old rumors. I dismissed him and said he should return to his home due to the late hour. Perhaps he will visit again soon.
December 23, 1893
Dear Diary,
I am writing this as my last words, in hopes that eventually someone will find this diary and explain. I fear I don’t have much time left. This morning, George was discovered dead in the barn. He had a gruesome death with a pitchfork driven through his skull. Some suspect it was a worker from the house who did it, but I know what happened. I feared I was being watched again, just as I had a couple months prior and everyday since. I decided to investigate for myself. I walked out to the old barn. I’m unsure if I was led there or following my own instinct. I felt compelled to enter the tack room when I heard a familiar voice calling my name, George. After that, almost everything was a blur. There was a crash, a loud voice and a piercing scream. I walked out only for my eyes to fall on George with a pitchfork piercing through him. Like never before, I felt like I was being watched and doors began to slam around me and a strong wind came. I ran wildly back here to my room and now here I am. I feel as if my numbered days will be caused by my sureness of the truth. The ghost of the original Greybriar was true, and he is the reason George is dead.