The tale of my daughter Gwen is a sad and sorrowful fable. I refer to it as a fable for my mortal brain can not begin to comprehend the horrors that I have witnessed in this house. So I cast what I have witnessed in to my memory as delusion and morbid fantasy.
My small family moved to this house of solitude last summer to escape the perils of society, and to mourn the unfortunate death of my wife Julia. Tuberculosis claimed her life months before my move to this place. Hindsight is a beautiful thing, and knowing what I know now, it was a move that I would never again make.
The days rolled onwards towards inevitability, and my daughter and I continued our simple existence. Being a scholar myself, I enjoyed passing the time reading the literature left here by the previous owner of this detached house. Many of the fine works kept here proved to be very old and of extreme interest to me. Some works proved very challenging, and very hard to translate.
The library provided here had an abundance of books flavored on the occult. One particular book caught my interest, simply titled Exmortis. The word is a derivative of "ex mortis" - which loosely translates to "the dead".
It was from the moment that I finished translating this book (from an unusual dialect of ancient Aramaic, mind you) and read the final English translation that our troubles here began.
My daughter - the only other occupant of this house - grew distant from me over the course of the following week. She developed rageful tendencies towards my parentage and she started having seizures which worried to me immensely at the time. But these unusual events didn't limit themselves to my daughter. I began having nightmares so ghastly that I dare not recall them. Suffice to say, I was concerned by the disturbing changes to both my daughter and I.
After the first week, the hallucinations began. I recall hearing noises and whispering as well as sighting movement in my peripheral vision. I constantly had the felling that someone was in the room with me, but upon searching it was clear that I was alone.
My dear Gwen, however, became less active all of a sudden. She was almost catatonic at stages, not reacting to conversation or physical prompting. She would just shuffle her petite form around the house and stare blankly through me whenever I confronted her.
It was shortly after a month of this behavior that I began to notice certain physical changes in my daughter. She seemed withered in her appearance, but her face would at times seem bloated and twisted horribly.
It wasn't until a fleeting moment in my day, that my hope was crushed forever. My darling Gwen broke free from this new personality that had gripped her for months. She screamed and cried for me to help her. To save her from the monsters that now plagued her body.
All that I could do was hold her in my arms and assure her that I would free her from the prison she was trapped in. And then she was lost forever. The Gwen that I loved had resurfaced for only a minute, but to me it was enough to realize what had to be done.
That night while she slept in her room, I crept in with dagger in hand and plunged it deep into her heart.
She writhed and convulsed in agony while all I could do was just watch and sob from the corner. In her dying breath, the real Gwen locked eyes with me and spoke.
"Thank you Daddy."
I sit here now recounting the events that lead me to this point in my insanity. My wife and daughter were taken from me over the past six months leaving me with nothing but their memories and this home.
But I fear that now I am a target for the invisible force that resides within these walls. I am trapped, unable to venture past the front door or the cellar hatch to the surrounding forest.
I hear voices from all around me cursing me for my actions. I occasionally see her. My Gwen. Standing in the hallway looking straight through me like she used to. I hope that I have saved her soul, but after seeing her apparition on a daily basis, I fear that all I have done is aided my tormentors.
I now spend my days reading, researching and translating the library. I feel that it's my purpose in this house. May God have mercy on my soul and may death soon relieve me of the guilt I carry.