In June

June 3

I find myself still strangely lightheaded from my purchase this afternoon. My intent upon entering the antique shop had been merely to escape the sweltering heat, yet I soon found myself in the back of the place, standing before a statue, my breath heavy and rhythmic, my hand rubbing at my wallet. I cannot recall crossing through the store.

The shop owner frowned when I asked the price of the statue, and eyed me with deeper confusion still when I led him to her.

“This old rock?” he muttered, offering a small, dismissive wave of his hand. Still, seeing as I was intent on the purchase, he took my money and promised delivery for tomorrow.

June 4

Eleanor, dear wife that she is, did not comment on the arrival of the statue, though she eyed it with unmistakable dubiousness, her arms folded around herself as if cold. When I asked her opinion, she said she could not understand why I would purchase a barnacle‑encrusted pillar of coral and ocean rock.

“Can you not see the beauty in it?” I asked.

She replied only, “No.”

I reminded her it would remain in my study, and she would not have to look upon it. She shook her head, more weary than annoyed, and went to check on the twins.

I lingered a while longer, and made note not to mention the womanly form I could see, nor the calling voice I could hear.

June 11

I spend more and more time in the study now, and less and less working. Hours disappear and I have missed meals. I have failed to tuck in Julian and Viola on more than one occasion now as well, and the patter of their footsteps and laughter sounds muffled as if in a dream. Stranger still, I feel no guilt, though I know I should. The air is damp, and smells faintly of brine, and yet I find more comfort here than I ought.

June 14

I awoke standing before the statue, my arms outstretched and in a state of undress. I have no recollection of how I came to be there. A faint taste of salt lingered on my lips and tongue.

My dreams these past several nights have been of the ocean goddess, her presence warm and terrible, her nearness clinging to me even upon waking.

I shall not speak to Eleanor of this.

June 17

I entered the twins’ room in the morning to check on them, as they had gone to bed the night before complaining of feeling unwell. The air felt damp and thick, even for a summer morning.

They lay still, their bedsheets darkened with sweat. As I approached, their small bodies twitched once, then split open along a long fissure, pouring forth a deluge of crab, eels, bobbit worms, and snailfish from their now hollow forms.

I simply stood, watching, as still as the statue in my study. Eleanor’s scream, the raw heartbreak of a mother, broke my benumbed state, before her howling gave way to vomiting ocean water, seaweed, and urchins.

June 18

That which kept me from her is now gone. I sit at this table staring at the hammer before me, uncertain whether, once I cross into the study, I will have the strength to take vengeance or simply fall into her embrace.

May God have mercy on me.