The latest journal entry from General Beadle didn’t contain nearly as many scribbles and blots as the last, but it is no less discomforting. What was happening to our poor general? Why has his struggle become so lost to the ages? The entry goes as follows:
03 February 1901
The sounds, they torment me. It is as though voices rise up from the very depths of this horrid building. I never truly forget their noise. But oh do I try.
There is a break here, as if he stopped writing for a while before he picked up again:
It takes more and more each Day for me to fulfill my job. My Office – somehow – constantly undergoes reconstruction. I can not handle my belongings in states of disorder, but just the same I carry on. It is like I m…
He must have fought with himself here while he tried to figure out what to write. There are a few scratches over illegible words until finally:
…taunted. Others seem not to hear. Perhaps it is all these late hours. Something has indeed changed. Some terrible cold howl rises. Is it from my soul which it ascents?
I cannot think to shake these notions. I feel in my heart that the cries in the evening or so early in the morning are wholly and fully nonimaginary.
It becomes continually more difficult to decipher what is happening in General Beadle’s life at this point in time. He seems to be hearing some sort of dreadful cries… whether metaphorical or literal, we cannot be sure. He was certainly hearing SOMETHING. Could it perhaps be attributed to old age? This and the last were two of the more… insane sounding entries. More reading will hopefully divulge more answers.
There was a short bit in the journal later, discussing a conversation he had with his wife. We plan to post that in a few days, but keep in mind… his wife died years before the writing of this journal took place.