March 3, 1825.

Why do I believe what is written on the pages of my family’s diaries?

The very ideas penned there are absurd, but I find it difficult to doubt their veracity.

It would explain away certain strange affairs in my family, and the odd manner of death that plagues us.

Does my willingness to believe mean I am mad, that this madness runs through my bloodline? Or does it mean that I can see the truth clearly?

March 5, 1825.

I have tried to put those wretched diaries out of my head, to not indulge in speculation and worry, but I find it impossible.

Odd thoughts keep plaguing me. Perhaps it was merely a game, some bizarre family jest; I want to believe that. It is a far more enjoyable alternative than madness or the possibility the diaries are true.

I must resolve to either forget the diaries or actively seek the truth.

March 7, 1825.

I cannot spend the rest of my days wondering if the strain of lunacy runs in my family, so I have decided to research the matter.

There are people mentioned in my father’s diary that I may be able to locate here in London. I believe I shall make discreet inquiries.

March 8, 1825.

I’ve decided to focus my efforts on three of people that my father mentions in his diaries: Alan Durham, Jeremy Meade and Percy Lambert. This Alan at least seems to have been the social equal of my Father. Someone of my acquaintance may know of him.