Til Morning's Light: The Private Blog of Erica Page

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Til Morning's Light: Erica Page privát blogja

**English: "***Erica Page, the protagonist of Amazon and WayForward's upcoming game Til Morning's Light, is already sick of the boring New England town that her family now calls home. There's nothing to do in beige Leisterville except browse the Internet, update her blog, and investigate 'supernatural phenomena' with her weird new friend Angie. However, when their research yields more-than-convincing results and tragedy strikes, it's up to Erica to enter the mysterious mansion on Hamilton Road and discover the truth about her new hometown.***"**

**Magyarul: "***Erica Page, az Amazon és a WayForward közelgő játékának, a Til Morning's Light-nak a főszereplője már belebetegedett az unalmas Új-Angliába, amit családja új otthonának hív. A bézs színekbe burkolózott Leisterville-ben nem tud mást csinálni, mint internetet böngészni, frissíteni a blogját és természetfeletti jelenségek után kutatni furcsa új barátnőjével, Angie-vel. Ám amikor kutatásuk meglepő eredményt hoz és a tragédia elkerülhetetlen, Erica feladata, hogy belépjen a Hamilton Road titokzatos kúriájába és kiderítse az igazat új szülővárosáról.***"**

—Amazon's Overview

A **Til Morning's Light: Erica Page privát blogja** az Audible Studios által 2014. október 14-én kiadott hangoskönyv. A Til Morning's Light előzménye.

A 12 blogbejegyzésben, Erica  a blogján keresztül beavat minket jelenlegi életébe. Megtudjuk, hogyan költözött ő és apja, Donald, Új-Anglia egyik "unalmas" kisvárosába, Leisterville-be. Hogyan találkozott a legjobb barátnőjével, Angie-vel és az utálatos Brooke-kal és Lexie-vel a suliban. Hogy kezdte el Angie-vel együtt vizsgálni a transzcendenst és különösképp, honnan tudta - ahogy meglátta a Hamilton Road-i kastélyt - hogy ott a gonosz tanyázik. Amikor Angie eltűnik, Erica dolga, hogy folytassa a természetfeletti utáni kutatást és belépjen a kúriába, hogy megtalálja Angie-t.

## Chapters / Fejezetek

The audiobook contains 12 chapters, or blog posts, as transcribed below:

A hangoskönyv 12 blogbejegyzést vagy fejezetet foglal magában, amelyekben az alábbiak olvashatóak:

### Intro:

So, I just turned 14 last week. Yes, I know, major accomplishment. I wasn't expecting much of a gift from Dad, but, I admit, I was expecting *something*. A necklace, maybe, a gift certificate? What did he get me instead? Chinese food. Yep. He forgot. I wanted to say something like, "So, yeah, I think this is when you wish me 'Happy Birthday'?" But, seeing how stressed he's been lately, I couldn't do it. Ever since Mom--well, ever since Dad and I have been on our own, I make it a policy never to rock the boat. I don't share with him how transferring to a new school has caused me uber anxiety; how I don't have any friends; how I can't concentrate on my homework; how I get picked on for being . . . well, me. Typical 8th-grade angst. Or *ahngst*, as they say in *Frahnce*. Le sigh. Even if I was to open up to Dad about these problems, Donald Page would rely on his old cliche: "You're no social butterfly, Erica, but you'll survive." Um, Dad? There's a massive gap between humiliation and survival. What do I do in between? His typical response? Silence. But, he's right. I do need to be a bit more . . . "outward." I'm not fitting in. And I want to. This is gonna take a *ton* of practice. So, I figure if at first I can't *say* how I feel out loud, I might as well put it out for an audience in the blogosphere to enjoy . . . or laugh at. Thus, without further ado . . .

### Bemutatkozás:

Múlt héten betöltöttem a 14-et, igen, tudom, felnőtté váltam. Nem vártam sokat apától, de el kell ismernem valami nyakláncra, esetleg ajándékutalványra számítottam. Ehelyett mit kaptam? Kínai kaját. Ja, elfelejtette. Valami olyasmit akartam mondani neki, "Szóval így kívánsz nekem boldog szülinapot?", de az idegességét látva nem tudtam megtenni. Amióta anyu... nos, mióta apuval ketten vagyunk, hoztam egy olyan szabályt, hogy sosem avatom be semmibe. Nem osztom meg vele, hogy az új iskolába való áthelyezés miatt nem kicsit voltam ideges, hogy nincs egy barátom se, hogy képtelen vagyok a házi feladataimra koncentrálni, hogy folyamatosan zaklatnak... azok a 8. osztályos kölykök vagy "oncs" ahogy a franciák mondják. Ha megpróbálok beszélni apámmal ezekről a problémákról, Donald Page a régi közhelyével jön: "Erica, nem szereted a társaságot, de túl fogod élni". Apa, hatalmas különbség van a megalázás és a túlélés között, hogy kerüljek a kettő közé? Erre általában csend a válasz. De igaza van, kicsit nyitottabbnak kell lennem, nem tudok beilleszkedni, de szeretnék, úgyhogy sokat kell gyakorolnom. Szóval arra gondoltam, míg nem vagyok képes ezeket az érzéseket hangosan kimondani, talán a blogoszféra közösségi felületére is kirakhatom, hogy élvezzék vagy nevessenek rajta, és így tovább...

### Post 1: "Welcome to Creepsville" - May 8th, 10:47 PM / 1. bejegyzés  "Üdvözlet Iszonyfalváról", május 8. Este 10:47

I don't sleep well at nights. Why? I guess I was just born this way. I got up yesterday at 4 AM and killed some time by watching DJ Necro vids online until 6:30, when I started to walk to school. I couldn't wait for the bus. Our neighborhood is a cookie-cutter suburb. In fact, all of Leisterville is bland. I call it "Beigeville," which Dad simply cannot stand, but it's a different story once I hit West Mountain Road, which cuts in between the greenest wilderness I've ever seen. It's blooming with everything. Dandelions, mountain laurels, daisies. Mom had a green thumb, so I've picked up a few things. As much as I hate to admit it, Leisterville is a very pretty town. I'm about three blocks away from school when I approach Hamilton Road. The bus takes a different route to school every day, so I haven't seen this street yet. My phone says I have 25 minutes before the first homeroom bell. Should I or shouldn't I? I hit the pavement of Hamilton Road and walk along its shoulder so oncoming cars can see me. The sun was rising when I left home, but you wouldn't know that here, with the trees hanging over. Okay, I'm a little creeped out by the darkness, but I can't stop walking. I see this huge mansion about half a block away. It's old. Really old. A few pockets of moss are scattered across the front. Shallow water covers the driveway. I try and sneak closer, and end up splashing my dress. Ugh, Dad's gonna kill me. I try to look through a window, but I can't see anything. Way too dark inside. Then I hear a faint tapping from a second story window. I step back, but I don't see anything, so I take my phone out and zoom in, ready to take a picture. On the phone's screen, I see a boy around my age is staring right at me. He looks . . . weird, so pale, and almost like I can see right through him. Without thinking, I take the pic, but I'm so startled, I drop my phone. Okay, Erica, take a deep breath. You didn't really see what you thought you did. Sure enough, when I look back at the window, there's nothing. I pick up the phone, and there's just a blur of pixels. Am I losing my mind? Calm down, Erica. Let me wait for him--or it--to reappear, and I'll take another pic--oooh, no, look at the time! Homeroom just started! I dash out of there lightning speed and arrive at school ten minutes late. The principal greets me with a yellow slip . . . which means detention, which means later tonight, the wrath of Don. Daddy's little girl is losing points, so I dread his reaction to that yellow slip. Somehow, though, whatever scare Dad will try to put in me will be nothing compared to what I saw earlier. I need some sleep.

### Post 2: "No Use Crying Over" - May 11th, 8:57 PM / 2. bejegyzés "Nincs értelme sírni", május 11. Este 8:57

I meet Brooke Vallen , 8th grade's most popular girl . . . after spilling milk on her silk shirt. "You idiot!" she screams. "Don't you watch where you're going, or do you need glasses to cover that COW face of yours?!" People circle around us. I can't even look at her. Her BFF Lexie appears and glares at me with disgust. Okay, I admit it. It's my fault. I was texting while walking. I didn't see Brooke until I bumped into her tray. She wasn't supposed to have her milk carton open until she sat down--cafeteria rules--but no one seemed to care about that. Lexie and Brooke take turns throwing insults at me. "Where'd you get that hideous shirt?" "Did you even shower this morning?" Suddenly, a girl from my pre-algebra class jumps in and tells them to back off. "Oh please, Angie," says Brooke, "what are you gonna do? Put a 'spell' on us?" Angie whispers, "No, but I'll tell Liam Moorehouse how you wet the bed during the sleepover last year!" And just like that, it's over. Brooke and Lexie give me the stinkeye and push past me into the crowd. Angie then invites me to sit at her table. It's just her, which is odd. I mean, people like her. She's not uber popular or anything, but she's definitely not an outcast like me. So, why is she alone? "For a person like Brooke," Angie explains, "a spilled secret is worse than any spell." She then talks my ear off at a mile a minute. Who's hot, who's not. I don't understand half the things she's saying, but honestly, I don't care. I'm completely, and utterly, having a good time. She gives me her number and says, "Text me tonight! TTYL!" Are there people who actually recite their text 'breves out loud? OMG! Seriously, it doesn't matter. She made me smile, my first time since the move. I'll forgive a 'breve or two.

### Post 3: "Indielolo" - May 18th, 9:17 PM / 3. bejegyzés "Inda-logó", május 18. Este 9:17

Angie and I have been hanging out for a week now, and I feel like I've told her everything about myself. The move, my mom, my painful shyness. She's totally cool with my dark family stuff, and offers me her shoulder whenever I choke up. It feels too early to call her my best friend, but what do I know? I've never had one before--except my mom, and I don't think she counts. Things did get weird last night, though. We're doing our math homework in my room--"the four-quadrant Cartesian coordinate plane," ugh--and she takes out this notebook with an odd doodle on the cover. When I ask her about it, she gets all weird and runs the notebook down to my living room. When she returns, it's as if nothing happened. "Which of these numbers is not graphed on the Y-axis below?" Um, Angie? Hello? But, I don't say anything. This morning, I look up the symbol online. It's called the Indalo, which is an ancient Spanish symbol used to ward off evil. Its curve represents a rainbow, and the stick figure below is a ghost. Hmm. During the milk incident last week, Brooke insulted Angie when she came to my defense. Something about Angie putting a "spell" on her. What's this girl up to?

### Post 4: "Whichever You Prefer" - May 20th, 1:43 AM / 4. bejegyzés "Melyik tetszik", május 20. Hajnal 1:43

Angie loves to rant, going from monologue to dialogue in 0.3 seconds. It's hard to get a word in edgewise when that happens, but I couldn't let yesterday slide, even if the subject was dear to my heart (hint: crop tops). When I ask her about the Indalo, Angie goes stone-cold silent. She shoots me this look, like she's really mad. I almost back down, but I had to know why it was on her notebook. Is she in any danger? She lowers her head and asks me if I'll promise not to laugh or judge her. I pinky-swear not to. "I'm a ghost detective," she says. Whaaat?! Okay, keep it to yourself, Erica! "I investigate supernatural phenomena!" Angie says. "This town is haunted!" Pause. At this point, I'm freaking out! I try my best to be sensitive, but every fiber in my body is like, "Get out of there!" But I don't. I remember that house on Hamilton Road, and that boy I saw in the window. Was that supernatural? This I also keep to myself. Angie senses my doubt. "Do you want me to prove it to you? I can take you somewhere tonight." I don't want to go, but I say yes anyways. I can't hurt Angie's feelings, not now. It's 9 PM when we enter Porter Graveyard, one of the oldest cemeteries in New England. The last person to be buried here was in 1814. With the thickness of the cobwebs, I totally believe it. With one dying flashlight between us, we stumble our way to a tombstone that looks like it's about to crumble. Angie lights a candle and sets it between us. She then closes her eyes and tilts her head back. When she begins to hum, I shush her, fearing the police will come by and arrest us. Angie tells me she *has* to be loud, because she's reciting an "incantation," which is basically a magic spell to alert a witch to our presence. Isobelle Buchanan , Angie tells me, has been haunting Leisterville for *hundreds* of years. Now is the time to meet her face to face. When Angie lets out a huge "Hmmmm," I roll my eyes and ask myself, "What've I gotten myself into?" Just when things couldn't get any weirder, she starts thrusting her tongue in rapid motions and blurting out clucking sounds. Okay, so now my best friend has turned into a Cornish hen. Awesome. She then tells me how to bow my head in silence and ask Isobelle's permission to walk beside us. I let out a frustrated sigh but go through the mental motions anyway. We sit in silence, until . . . a twig snaps. And then another. Angie and I open our eyes at the same time. *Another* twig snaps! Suddenly, we hear ten steps run forward, each louder than the one before it! The brush of a tree shakes violently. Angie and I turn toward the sound. She tracks it with her flashlight "Oh, Isobelle, master of the dark arts, we call upon you to materialize!" yells Angie. There's movement in the background. Shake! Shake! We get to our feet. Shake! Shake! Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! Shake! Shake! "Show yourself, you hideous beast, and finish us once and for all! Aaaahhhhhh!" We scream, as if the volume of our voices would scare off this unknown creature, but the beast keeps moving forward and lets out a sound so shocking my heart literally stops! . . . "Meooow." Yes, the beast is a tiny calico kitten. Angie and I look at each other, relieved--aaand embarrassed. The calico walks next to me and bumps her head against my shin, not once but twice. We catch our breath. "Maybe next time we'll find what we're looking for," Angie says, and apologizes, "I-I'm still learning." I tell her she doesn't have to explain. I'll join her during her next investigation, and the one after that, and the one after that. She thanks me as her cheeks fill with red. Honestly, it wasn't all that bad. At least I got a cat out of it. Her name is Farfel, and she has a caramel patch under her nose.

### Post 5: "The Ones Left Behind" - June 1st, 8:17 PM / 5. bejegyzés "Akiket elhagytunk", június 1. Este 8:17

I just got my first C ever. It was English class, thanks to a lousy book report on *A Tale of Two Cities*. I am mortified. The silver lining? I was able to slide my grade past dad because he was too nervous preparing for his first date in sixteen years. Honestly, I have no one to blame but myself. I've been so obsessed with our research on the supernatural that I couldn't even tell you who Madame LeFarge is--or is it DeFarge? Unfortunately, that obsession hasn't translated into any substantial proof that the supernatural exists--that is, I think . . . until last night. Angie and I enter Hawthorne Park around 8 p.m. We hide in the bushes behind the swing set. Angie tells me we're waiting for the ghost of Francis Meryl, who lost her life 150 years ago. These grounds were once a hospital for women who fell ill to consumption, which I think is a rich person's way of saying tuberculosis. Francis was left behind after the hospital was torn down, and she soon died all alone. Legend has it she roams the playground at night looking for her mother. During the total boredom, I find the courage to tell Angie about the creepy house on Hamilton Road and what I thought I might have seen in the window. She takes notes on her phone, and she says she'll check it out later. Then she uses her phone's camera to sweep the area and says it can sometimes spot ghosts the human eye can't. No luck, though. Then Angie and I sit quietly . . . and sit . . . and sit. After a couple hours of zero activity, I think about that C on my book report and lose patience. This whole supernatural thing is *ridiculous*. How can anyone believe in this junk? Why am I even friends with this girl? My eyes slowly get heavy. I'm calmed by the crickets chirping, the smell of wet grass. Soon everything . . . turns . . . to black. It's the first time in years that I fall asleep before midnight. It's peaceful to sleep. I can't remember images. Just feeling happy, secure. Suddenly, I hear the voice of a young girl. "Mother? Mother, are you there?" I open my eyes only to see the back of a white dress vanish into the forest. I frantically wake Angie, and we chase the voice deep into the woods, but what was faint before is now silent. There's no trace of Francis, just the memory of what could have been a figment of my imagination. Angie and I sit on a swing and mope. We get airborne to lighten the mood. I apologize to Angie, but she won't hear of it. "We're even," she tells me. Within a couple of minutes, we try to outdo each other to see who can swing the highest. Finally, I beat her at something! But then, she raises the stakes. She dismounts and lands about three yards away from the swing. "TOP THAT!" screams Angie. As soon as my swing approaches the ground, I press my feet against the dirt and give a quick boost upward. I launch forward real fast and dismount right before the swing heads south. I land . . . two feet behind Angie. Angie rushes over, pointing towards my feet. "LOOK!" she yells. I'm standing on top of some gooey green gunk, which Angie calls "ectoplasm," a residue created only by a supernatural being. Angie struggles to put words together before she congratulates me. "I-I think you really did spot a ghost, Erica !" My heart drops. All of this is now for real.

### Post 6: "So Not Funny" - June 8th, 9:21 PM / 6. bejegyzés "Nem annyira vicces", Június 8. Este 9:21

I went by your house tonight to check on you. Your folks told me you still haven't come home. They're freaking out, Angie! It's been 12 hours. Where are you?! If this is a joke or some kind of BFF boycott, I'd stop right this second. Your parents have already spoken to the police. That's how major this is, do you understand?! If the police come to me, I'm going to tell them everything--the Indalo, your supernatural research, the investigations--unless you come home right away! I'm serious! By the way, you left your notebook at my house right before our fight. If you don't stop this sideshow at once, it's all mine! P.S. Farfel says hello.

### Post 7: "Text Me, ASAP" - June 9th, 7:17 AM / 7. bejegyzés "Írj azonnal", Június 9. Reggel 7:17

Angie, if you're reading this, please come home. I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'm sorry I wimped out. I'm sorry if you don't like me anymore. Just please, come back. When I screamed at you, I did it out of fear, not because of our friendship. That mansion on Hamilton Road, it's not like Porter Cemetery or Hawthorne Park. There's something in there that's . . . bad. Evil. I'll do you a favor. I'll . . . "grow a pair," like you said. I'll gather the courage to go inside. I'll take everything we learned and put it to good use. I'll do it, but I can't do it without *you*! Just text me, or e-mail me to let me know you're okay! Promise me that my biggest fear isn't true! Promise me that you didn't go into that mansion alone! I could never live with myself if you did that.

### Post 8: "Solitary Confinement" - June 22nd, 6:09 AM / 8. bejegyzés "Magánzárkában", június 22. Hajnal 6:09

It's been two weeks since Angie's disappearance. The police have searched every nook and cranny of this town and have come up short. They stopped by my house the day after I saw her folks. My dad stood by me as the police asked me a ton of questions. I wanted to tell them about my supernatural investigations with Angie, but I chickened out. I didn't think they'd believe me even if I told them about Francis Meryl. I don't even know if I believe it myself! My heart sank when they told me that they put out a statewide alert for Angie. That made it official. Volunteer groups have been nice enough to help the police, even working off hours, combing the woods for any trace of my best friend. But today, there's only one group left: me, Dad, and two neighbors. I feel bad it's not more, but people have been giving up hope . . . including me. I look through Angie's notebook and search for clues. I keep coming back to the same place, the mansion on Hamilton Road. One of the search groups went there over the weekend. The group leader told me they had a dog sniff around, but that led nowhere. He didn't say anything about the house being haunted or spooky. Maybe that's just *my* impression. Maybe these investigations and sightings are all BS. Maybe I just cracked under the pressure of being at a new school, getting swept away by a new friend. Maybe I didn't want to disappoint her, so I made myself believe in fairy tales and ghost stories. The bad part is . . . I encouraged her. And now she's gone. Today, I'm past the point of being sad. I've missed Angie so much, but I can hardly feel anything now. I've cried out all the tears I can. This whole experience doesn't even feel real, yet Dad tells me it is. I don't think I can do this anymore, this blog. It was cool at first, helping me get out of my shell, but I'm signing off, at least for now. I won't be checking it, either. Looking at Angie's name is too painful. I'm leaving the blog as is, on that rare chance that my best friend is reading it, and that she'll drop me a text, or e-mail me and tell me, "Everything's all right, Erica!" Until then . . . TTYL.

### Post 9: "From Caterpillar to Butterfly" - October 12th, 7:31 PM / 9. bejegyzés "Hernyóból pillangó", október 12. Este 7:31

To quote the famous Jack Nicholson, "Honey, I'm home!" But, instead of an axe to greet you--anyone remember *The Shining*?--please accept a heartfelt emoji hug and my deepest apologies. I should never have left this blog, but I hope you understand that I had a lot to deal with and needed some time to adjust to life without Angie. I've "been there, done that" before with my mom, but a past experience doesn't make a new loss any less painful. So, what have I been up to this past one year, three months, two weeks, and six days, you might ask? Well, for starters, I dyed my hair from brown to red and now sport a short cut that is *very* Dark Tinker Bell, so yeah, pretty badass. I'm more popular now than ever before . . . just kidding. This shy girl has advanced from wallflower to full-on antisocial introvert with a taste for death metal and rebel boys--though, I'm still too shy to make eye contact with someone I like. \*ahem\* Liam . . . I'm now in my sophomore year in high school and I no longer freak out walking the hallways side by side with upperclassmen. However, there is the occasional run-in with Brooke and Lexie, who still remain, unfortunately, the most popular girls in our grade. I steer clear whenever they walk by. They shoot me dirty looks. I pretend they don't exist. I've kept up with my supernatural research, and I've read everything, and more, that Angie suggested before her disappearance. I felt I owed it to her. Besides, I like doing it. My wuvvable cat Farfel has gwown to 8 pounds! You're no wonger a kitty cat, Farfel! Yay! So why the grand return? Well, I would have kept my distance if it weren't for something I discovered in my research last week. I came across an online review of Enoch Sampson's *Black Magic and Nether Sorcery.* One reader gave it 5 stars and called it "smashingly macabre, not for the faint of heart." I paid for overnight delivery and started to devour it the next day. There were several pages devoted to sites around the world, each linked to an unexplained supernatural phenomenon. Then, the shocker: a black-and-white photo of . . . wait for it . . . the Mansion on Hamilton Road. It wasn't clear why at first, but a little digging at the Department of Records revealed that the place was built in September 1797. That week, a hurricane swept through Leisterville and destroyed most of the town, and killed over a dozen people. And yet, the house was still standing, untouched! Weird, right? Um, yeah! The house was bought and sold ten times before being abandoned 30 years ago. But for some reason, there's no record of anyone actually owning it after the original owner, and there's no record on him. I'm sure it's just as creepy now as it was in 1797, but did Angie actually go inside that mansion? I've got to find out, and if she was there, maybe she left a clue where she ended up--*if* she ever left. Well then, here is my to-do list: 1. Get proof that Angie was--is--in that mansion. 2. Become Jason Statham overnight by taking an online MMA class. 3. Pray. Ugh, there goes another Saturday.

### Post 10: "Necromancing the Stone" - October 13th, 7:38 AM / 10. bejegyzés "A kő megidézése", október 13. Reggel 7:38

I finish Enoch Sampson's book this morning at 3 AM. I'm too wired to go to sleep when I think about the final chapter: "How to Detect Supernatural Activity of a Loved One." Sampson recommends getting a liquid crystal and attaching it to an object owned by a missing person. Then you approach the place the missing person is supposed to be, hold up the object with the stone, and wait until the crystal turns color. If it's a bright green, your loved one is inside. If it remains black, they're not there. If it turns bright red, a supernatural demon is following you; either run away, or you'll basically . . . die. Okaaay. I rush to Dad's room and plunge my hand into Mom's jewelry box, until I grab the only liquid crystal I know of: a mood ring, that Dad won for her at a carnival during their first date. I remove the crystal with a screwdriver and tape it onto the front of Angie's notebook. I rush out of there and run to Hamilton Road. After 20 minutes of being out of character--that is, jogging--I find myself five yards away from the mansion. I take out Angie's notebook and face the liquid crystal toward the front door. I walk slowly towards it, foot . . . by foot . . . by foot. I'm within a few yards when the color of the crystal begins to change. At first, orange. Then blue. Then purple. I take several steps forward. It remains purple, but shifts to a lighter shade. I take another step forward. I'm right in front of the door. The color in the stone splits into two halves, swirls up and down, and then reemerges before growing brighter. It's about to change colors again. Green? Or red? I hide my face behind the notebook as I press it against the door. I feel the energy vibrating from the stone to my arms. It surges for a good 30 seconds before . . . total stillness. I timidly peek my head up and slowly remove the notebook from the door. I turn it towards me. It's *brown*, which means . . . WHAT?! BROWN?! The book didn't explain this at all! Is she inside or not? I-I don't know. I gotta take a chance anyway. Okay, Angie, here I come! I grab the door's knob, turn it *just* a smidge, and then hear the pitter patter of a little creature scurry across the porch. I look down, only to find a *rat* circling my feet. I feel its fur rub against my ankle. . . . Ugh! I let out a huge scream and run out of there as fast as I can. Okay, maybe I'll try this again in about . . . *never*?!

### Post 11: "My Back Against the Wall" - October 15th, 5:12 PM / 11. bejegyzés "Szorult helyzetben", október 15. Délután 5:12

I'm walking to Western Civ, and the bottom of my bag tears wide open. I leave a trail of books, pads, and pens behind me. I collect everything in a frantic rush. One minute before the bell rings. Hurry! "Smooth move," Brooke says as she stands over me. She then grabs the topmost thing from my hands: Angie's notebook! I reach for it, but Brooke turns away and starts reciting the warlock spells that Angie copied from Harrod and Laughlin's *The Alchemist's Prayer Book.* Brooke sarcastically calls it "Angie's Greatest Hits." The next 40 minutes are an absolute torture. Brooke whispers in Lexie's ear every five minutes while staring right at me. They giggle ever so quietly so that our teacher can't hear them. Lexie even points her finger at me and mouths the word "loser." Later they pass me a note. "You can have the freaky notebook back, but we're driving you home after school. Lots to talk about. -B." Ugh, great, what now? I sit in the back of Brooke's new Lexus, a gift that her parents bought for their spoiled little daughter just for passing her driver's test. She hightails it out of the school parking lot, having no idea how to make a smooth right turn. I feel like I'm gonna throw up. Then, they give me the third degree about the notebook, which apparently Angie has been writing in since the 7th grade. Brooke says Angie was making herself look like a fool, claiming that Leisterville is haunted. They ask me why I fed into Angie's obsession by reading books on the supernatural. I play dumb and tell them, "I have no idea what you're talking about." "Oh?" Brooke says, eyes glued to Angie's notebook. "There's all these notes about a haunted house. On Hamilton? I bet you guys went looking for ghosts, and you killed her." The accusation is *not* cool. But they tell me it looks suspicious that one day I pop into town, and less than two months later, Angie disappears. I tell them to stop the car. I can't hear any more of this. But they won't. "Unless," says Brooke, "you want to help us look for Angie. We'll all go into that mansion tomorrow and see if there's . . . well, any *trace* of her." I panic for a good ten seconds. Then it hits me. I've chickened out every time I've visited that mansion on Hamilton Road. There's . . . power in numbers, right? Lexie whispers in Brooke's ear. Looks like a serious conversation. It's a good minute before Brooke nods and says, "How's Saturday? We'll pick you up. You lead us there." "Yeah," I reply. "Perfect." And then finally they hand back the notebook. I have no idea if this gonna work, but I'm willing to take a chance if this brings Angie home. At this point, I have no choice.

### Post 12: "So It Goes" - October 17th, 6:43 PM / 12. bejegyzés "Így megy ez", október 17. Este 6:43

Sorry, I just have a few minutes. Brooke and Lexie are on their way. I've given these last two days some serious thought, and there's a strong possibility that I'm walking straight into a trap. The way I see it, there are four possible outcomes tonight: 1. Brooke and Lexie don't really think I killed Angie but are going to ambush me somehow. 2. Brooke and Lexie join me inside the mansion, we find out what happened to Angie, save her, and all is good in the world. 3. We go inside, no clues, and Brooke and Lexie make fun of me for the rest of eternity. 4. We go inside, and we *don't* come out . . . which means--drum roll, please--there's only a 25% chance of a happy ending. So, in case tonight ends up as one of the other three options, I just want to say thanks. Thanks for listening to me rant about my problems. Thanks for helping me work some things out in my head. Thanks for being consistently there when I've been consistently inconsistent. That's pretty much all I ever wanted out of this blog. As much as the odds are against me tonight, I can't be so negative. My best friend needs me. She's needed me for a while, and I can't keep her waiting any longer. So Angie, when you get a chance to read this, I just want you to know, I dedicate this whole blog to you. You've not only been my best friend, you've also been my alarm clock. You've woken me up after a couple years of feeling sorry for myself over my mom, of being too shy to open up to anyone, of not knowing what makes me happy anymore. You've given me a purpose. For a girl who's painfully shy and pretty much afraid of the entire world, that means *everything*. I'm eternally grateful to you, Angie, my one and only BFF. Okay, just heard a honk. They're outside. Take a deep breath, Erica. One more. Wish me luck, Farfel! Meow, meow! I know, Farfel. I hope I won't be long, either. Here we go. 1, 2, send.

Getting back to the house on Hamilton is only the beginning of my story. Play *Til Morning's Light*, exclusively on Fire Phone, to unravel the rest of the mystery.

## Gallery / Galéria

Official Audiobook CoverAudiobook Banner at Amazon's Official Website

## Trivia / Érdekes tények

. The Blog Post #1 name is "Welcome to Creepsville". Welcome to Creepsville is the name of a DC Comics' graphic novel featuring The Creeper.

. Erica makes a reference to a quote of Stanley Kubrick's The Shining on the Blog Post #9 . "Honey, I'm home".

. In fact, an Indalo is a prehistoric spanish magical symbol that can be painted on houses and businesses to protect them from evil and is considered to be a god totem. Due to Angie's "Supernatural Research" probably she hear of it and she painted one on her notebook to protect her from an evil presence.

. Jason Statham is mentioned by Erica in Blog Post #9, she says she'll become him overnight when she realizes that Angie could be inside the Mansion.

. The name to "Blog Post No.10 Necromancing the Stone" is a parody to "Romancing the Stone". A film from 1984.

## References / Források

1.http://www.amazon.com/Til-Mornings-Light-Private-Erica/dp/B00OH3LKB4 Til Morning's Light: The Private Blog of Erica Page Audible – Unabridged

2.https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indalo Indalo

## See Also / Továbbiak

.Characters

.Bosses

.Journal Entry