Zachary’s Journal
12th October 1905
-21:59-
I have never much liked journals. They just seem quite… silly to me. I mean, what with writing down all your personal details and thoughts, recording your deepest darkest secrets and desires in print. The whole enterprise was unwise… unintelligent, as your personal ideas could easily be stolen and revealed for the whole world to see. However, my late Uncle gifted this journal to me, and it carries with it a great sentimental value. He had given it to me on my sixteenth birthday in the hope that I would one day fill it with “wonderful thoughts and memories that should never be forgotten.” Upon giving me my journal he had made me promise that I would one day use it. At the time I had promised him I would, but I had had no intention of ever using it, giving the reasons I have just stated. However, I now feel obligated to carry out my promise.
He died a week ago, the doctors and police are still puzzled as to how. Both parties mentioned, as he died in a rather peculiar manner, have questioned me. Although the police badger me still, I have not told them anything… useful, as my Uncle Sebastian, like myself, was a very private man. He had not told me much about himself when I had known him in my youth. All I knew, and all I could tell the police, was that he had been born in Wedgecliff, (like myself) he had worked as a music teacher in his youth but gave that up to become a professional piano player. He became very successful and was very talented. He became rich, famous and very well learned in the sciences and mathematics (now that he had the time and money to study such subjects).
His general knowledge became uncannily profound and he was made my private tutor. He had then taught me everything, all the subjects, English, mathematics, physics, he even taught me how to play the piano. He had always said I had a good ear for music… like him. At one point in my life I can remember hoping that I would one day be just as famous a piano player as he, but future events would later dash these hopes.
I had seen my Uncle often in my youth (1888-1897) and I can still remember his wild, wiry hair and glistening grey eyes. However, just after my sixteenth birthday something… odd happened. To this very day I still do not quite know what occurred but all I know is this: on the 19th of January 1897, my father approached me, after having just visited my Uncle, and he told me never to see my Uncle again. My father had look frightened… so very frightened. His face was pale as snow, his hands shook with fear, and his eyes were wild. I can still, to this day, remember seeing the sweat drip down his pulsating temples as he seized me, his hands clamping down on my shoulders like a pair of vice grips. He stared me right in my eyes; I had never seen him so… so… upset. My father had been the quintessence of composure, logic and practicality but what had happened had deeply disturbed him, so much that till the day he died, he would jump at small noises and wince whenever I made sudden movements. He always seemed especially anxious around me, as if I would hurt him.
After seeing how dazed my father was I of course absolutely respected his wishes. I never saw my Uncle again. Alive that is.
I was moved from my private tutoring to an all boys private school. Wedgecliffe Boy’s College it was called. It was there that I discovered just how bright I was. My skills in arithmetic and essay writing were much greater than any of my classmates and I stood out. Of course, I did let some of it go to my head. However, after having being beaten up and scolded by the rest of my class mates for the first few months I was there, I learned to keep quiet about it. I had a knack for science. Physics specifically. At the moment I am actually a substitute physics teacher at my old school. However, my real interest of course resides in the world of physics academia and research. I had been particularly impressed by four papers I had just read by some German fellow, Einstein I think his name is. My favourite paper would have to have been the one he had written about mass energy equivalency, such things fascinate me.
-22:12-
Such thoughts had reminded me of a piano teacher I had had at Wedgecliff Boy’s College. He died shortly after I arrived so I did not have many lessons with him. However, he too had said I had good ears… and it was that very night that I had started to hear… strange things. I have never told another soul this, as I fear what they may think of my sanity if I did. I could… I could hear people shiver across a street in the pitch-black darkness of night. I could hear ants crawl and fleas jump. I could hear hairs grow and intestines churn. I could also not explain such hearing, so, I chose to ignore it and it eventually went away. “Must be some apparition of the mind; phantom noises”, I told myself sternly. I know this all sounds odd, but it is true. Also, I had not tried to explain it in quite a while, as I have not thought about it in a very long time. Now that I think about it, this hearing of mine peaked at around about my sixteenth birthday, about the day my father had been in such distress. The day I was told to never see my Uncle again. Around the time I received this very journal. What a very curious coincidence.
Zachary’s Journal
13th October 1905
-13:22-
I must say I am quite befuddled. Something rather peculiar has just occurred, and I feel as though my sanity is being questioned, maybe even tested, once more, but I am getting ahead of myself.
Today at around eight in the morning I awoke and prepared myself, both physically and emotionally, for my Uncle’s funeral. I had gotten over the initial shock of his death but was still saddened for he was - or rather, had been – my last living relative. My mother had died during childbirth; I never knew her save for the pictures and stories my father had told me. My father himself died of a heart attack five years ago. I had no siblings and neither did my father. Both my maternal and paternal grandparents had died many years ago. So, Sebastian, my mother’s brother, had been my last blood relative (and he never married). Now he was dead. Gone. I was, alone. My lips trembled slightly. Tears formed in my eyes, but I fought them back. Be strong.
I took a bath and ablated myself appropriately. I put on my finest silken suit and stepped in front my bedroom mirror to assess my appearance. I was tall; my hair was neat, blonde and curly (although I have no inkling as to how, as my hair is usually untameable). My emerald green eyes glistened, and burnt with a determined light. Despite this light, however, my overall facial expression was dark. My features were shadowy, and this frightened me slightly. I stepped away from my evil reflection and pulled my watch from my breast pocket. It was almost nine; I was going to be late. Quickly, I returned my watch to its resting place and sprang into action. I ran from my room and sprinted down the stairs, skipping steps as I went. “Franklin!” My voice echoed as I bellowed into the depths of my mansion. I really did hope my butler would hear me. For a moment I feared he had not, but then, in a fashion that suits the cheeky old bugger best, he replied, “Running a bit late aren’t we Zachy?” A large, lanky man stepped from behind a mahogany door as he entered the foyer. “Oh well you know me Franklin, always keeping people on their toes.” I gave the butler a large smile. He simply laughed and replied, “Very good sir”.
I had by then reached the bottom of the stairs and strolled up to him. “Is my transportation ready?” I asked, my tone now more serious as I remembered where it was that I was going. “Yes sir, it has been ready for the past ten minutes,” he replied in a severe tone that did not suit him. “Thank you Franklin” I gave him a small sad nod and moved quickly towards the front door. However, before I could reach it Franklin called out, “Zachary,” I span on my heels to face him. He eyed me with sad, dark eyes. “I am so sorry. I really am.” A small wry smile twisted its way onto my face. Franklin’s words had made me feel bitter. Bitter and angry. How is saying he’s sorry going to change anything? Will it bring my Uncle back? Quickly my anger subsided. It wasn’t Franklin’s fault; he had not been the cause of Sebastian’s death. I was only angry because I was frustrated and scared. I was on my own now. The last of the Cranes. Once outside I found a large black automobile waiting for me on the icy, black driveway. I climbed inside and off I went.
Franklin had been my butler and friend since 1891. He had been young at the time, in about his late twenties. I would have been 10 years old, but despite my age I always maintained the personality of a middle-aged man, or at least that’s what Franklin had told me. He liked to tease and playfully mock. He had been placed in charge of the house staff. He was also there to look after me because my father, being a very important businessman, was often called away to London. We soon became friends despite my initial reluctance. Franklin was witty and sometimes overly cheeky. However, at the same time he was helpful, sincere and caring. As our platonic admirations for each other ran deep we never acted formally around one another, for instance, he never called me Master Crane – Crane obviously being my surname – he would call me Zachary or Zach. Or when he felt especially impudent he called me Zachy. Such things had irritated me at first, but then I grew up and grew a brain. Which is not something I could say most of the people around Wedgecliff have done. Most of my guests were snobby and stupid (old “friends” of my father, but to call them friends would be blasphemous, they were more like leeches), and the informal relationship that existed between “my mere servant” (as the fools had put it) and myself shocked them to the core. It was if they were not capable of understanding that friendship and love transcended status…. “mere status”. The guests would scold me for my so-called “inappropriate behaviour”. I would then tell them that if they continued to stick their large noses in business that was none of their concern, I would be forced to tell them to shut their damn mouths. That remark would then lead to sudden outbursts of “I say, there’s no need for that!” and “How dare you?” and subsequently would lead to the stiffened departure of the angry ruffled blue bloods. I smiled to myself. I could not care less. All of this behaviour made me quite infamous in this small town. I was somewhat of a social pariah. Again I could not care less because I knew I had a true friend that I could depend on, and they, with their stupid accents and cocktail parties where the truth was never uttered, would ultimately have nothing.
The automobile suddenly came to a halt, thus ending my twenty-minute ride, and my current train of thought. My mood changed from its usual apathetic state to a depressed one. We had arrived at the Wedgecliff cemetery, where my Uncle would rest forever. Again tears filled my eyes and blurred my vision as I stepped from the automobile. I fought them back and as I did so a lump formed in my throat, and a horrible empty feeling came over me, made my stomach feel as if it had no bottom.
I walked slowly but determinedly towards the group of black clothed sad looking people that stood in the middle of the grounds. I recognized some of them, people who I knew by face not always by name. There were about fifty people present at the funeral. All these people knew my Uncle? How odd. He must have been more popular than I thought. Maybe these people are not really friends. Maybe Sebastian had a few leeches of his own, and it would damage their precious reputations to skip the funeral.
As I entered the closed huddle of people the shadows of the colouring trees fell over me and so most of them did not even notice my arrival. However, those that did glanced at their watches and gave me a stern look, they obviously found my late arrival to be of no surprise but it did not stop them from being disdainful.
The priest was in the middle of his mundane prayers, and his words were of no use to me as I stared across the small sea of people to see my Uncle’s coffin lying neatly in the middle of the circle. Being a man of science I had never given much credence to the idea of a deity. People were born, and they died and all that remains are the memories they leave behind. These memories inevitably fade. And then the person is forever lost. That’s that I’m afraid. To say that this view is pessimistic is correct, but it’s not about how something makes you feel that is significant. It’s about the truth. Just because it is easier and nicer for everyone to believe that there is a magical being who watches over us, and that everything happens for a reason, does not mean that people should believe it! To do so is childish and stupid! People have died and will die for these beliefs, these falsities, and it sickened me to my very core. People are stupid and fickle. It is why I spent so much time away from them. I’m afraid that some of their filth will rub off on me.
This “depressing” ideology of mine was yet another reason the wealthy, ignorant people disliked me so. “He doesn’t even have the decency to go to church!” I had heard a small withered looking man say as he leaned over to gossip to his equally hideous counterpart. I had approached said man soon after and began to have a passionate argument with him. The argument involved Darwin, Hume, Freud and fists. Afterward I was asked to leave the party. I was not upset; I had not really wanted to go anyway.
Despite my beliefs it pained me deeply to think that Sebastian was… gone. Tears formed once more and this time I did not have the strength to stop them.
“Zachary?”
My eyes widened as I spun around to meet the source of that smooth, pretty voice. My Uncle’s funeral fell into the back of my mind. It was Ms. Elizabeth Rose, or as she preferred, Betty. “Ms. Rose,” I started, my voice croaky from sadness, “You knew my Uncle?” I asked, wiping the tears from my cheeks. She surveyed me with her dark sparkling eyes for several seconds, her delicate, porcelain features took on an expression of deep, sincere sympathy. “You do not need to wipe your tears away just because I am here, I have always thought that if more men allowed themselves to cry, the world would see less suffering.” I nodded and turned to face her properly. “I was not wiping them away for my sake Ms. Rose, I did it for you. I know how susceptible you are to the emotions of others.” What I said was true. Betty was someone who would cry at the drop of a hat, even when she was not sad. She just had to think you were sad, and she would cry. “Well how kind of you,” a sad smile spread over her full lips, “and how many times must I tell you to call me Betty? We have known each other for ten years now!”
“I will call you Betty when you finally stop asking me to.” I responded, a small smile flickering into life as I did so. Betty stared at me, amused.
Her features were usually bright, but today those lights were gone. A cloud of sadness clung to her I could feel it. My intuition told me that my Uncle’s funeral was not the only thing that was making her sad. Something else was going on. I did not press the matter. It would be foolish to do so, especially now. We both turned to face the coffin once more. My Uncle’s death returned to the foreground of my mind. I shuddered, tears forming as that ridiculously cold emptiness washed over me. Betty must have noticed, and she laid one of her beautiful hands onto my shoulder. “I am so sorry Zachary, you must be so awfully lonely.” I felt my face harden and my lips tighten. She had struck a nerve. A very sensitive nerve indeed.
* Something I wrote a while ago. I'm sort of umming and arring as whether or not I should continue writing it. It would be fairly short. I would say the final story would be 5 times the length of all the above.
For some reason, when I saw that his last name was Crane, I immediately thought of Sleepy Hollow and it made me click on it (I know that this has absolutely nothing to do with the story, but I felt like mentioning it. xD). The grammar altogether wasn't bad, but I tend to be a bit picky, so I mentioned the things I noticed in the spoiler below. I think the character development of Zachary is really good; even though you haven't finished it, by the time I finshed reading this I had a pretty good idea of his personality. However, in my opinion, I don't think it's the best option to flat out explain the characters in the writing (as you did with Franklin, the butler). Just my opinion. All in all, I really liked this. 
