Mostly too weak to leave th bed. Ganhook’s been coming in, pushing food into my mouth and spilling water down my throt.
He mixing something in the water. Salty apricot taste
His beard is unrolled when Ganhook tends to me. It ask questions in French
Are there yellow dots on front of my eyes?
Are mi muscles frozen?
Do u hear voices?
‘Yes. I do.’ The fever voice gro stronger in my head by the hour. And now it’s got an odd accent that makes it hard to understand. That accent’s lik a different language, just like the County Kerry accent back home.
It stil tells me not to eat or drink or answer questions. I tells me to pretend to be asleep. But I don’t think the fever cares now whether I understand or not. My time is near up. Its time is soon here.
I answer questions just to spite it. That voice makes pain. It hurts my legs, my head, my back. It makes my ears burn and my eyes dry and itchy. I see Boneman fever wen I doze. Full skeleton. Triangle head. Holds some crzay ting
I won’t let tha voice b happy.
‘Aren’t you afraid to come near me?’ I asked Ganhook earlier.
‘Ha! That thing wouldn’t dare meddle with us,’ Ganhook’s beard reply
Two others entered the room den. One man. One woman. Dressed in white, wearing odd little cup hats. Their pale, expressionless faces lits up the gloom.
The spoke to Ganhook in a strange language. Ganhook’s beard translated in French. More questions. Can’t remember. Something about cold blood
Everyone seems to be speaking different languages, and everyone else seems to be translating dem.
One thing they all say is, ‘Don’t listen to the voice. Don’t listen to the voice.’
I won’t. But is getting harder not to. I wont dis end soon
Wasted. Harrrd to writ. I see the . . .