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Provided by explosiveskull https://twitter.com/kaboomskull

I don't know why I write this.

I don't want to.

I don't feel like I am able.

It makes me so tired.

But I must continue on, at least for you.

Please, dear, do something!

Stop!

- Sister. - John.

How was your journey?

Long and uneventful.

Thankfully.

It is very seldom that mere ordinary people,

like John and myself,

secure ancestral halls for the summer.

I would call it a haunted house

and reach the height of romantic felicity.

That would be asking too much of me.

Still, I will proudly declare

that there is something queer about it.

Else, why should it be let so cheaply?

Here. Let me.

John laughs at me, of course,

but one expects that in marriage.

What do you think of it?

Why, it's lovely.

Who owns it?

Right now, the court owns it.

Two brothers are in dispute over the hereditary paperwork.

But, for the summer, it's ours.

I love this drawing room.

It is beautiful.

Come.

Let me show you the bedroom.

What on earth was this room?

It was a children's nursery, I believe.

The playroom when they grew older.

It's big and airy.

With windows and wonderful views.

Come.

You can see the gardens and arboretum over here.

And look at this view.

If I'm correct, the sunrise will shine in this window,

and you can watch it set through here.

We can check the almanac

and plot the exact time if you like

so we don't miss a single, glorious sunset.

There's something strange about the house,

but especially this room.

Can we take one of the rooms downstairs,

the one that opens up to the courtyard with the roses?

There's only one window there, and it's too small.

This room is much better.

But I-

- This is the best room.

We're finished downstairs.

Of course.

Doesn't something feels strange to you?

The doctor says it has an agitating effect,

but I do so enjoy a glass with dinner.

But of course, he's right.

Goodnight, my love.

John.

John!

What is it, my dear?

Did you hear that?

Hear what?

That sound.

Nevermind.

Go to sleep.

- Good morning. - Good morning.

No thank you.

Well, hello, my pet.

Good morning.

Everything in order?

So, what's my dear have planned for the day?

Don't worry. I'll be good.

I think I'll do some exploring and maybe work in the garden.

I'm off to work.

I'll be back for dinner.

Do you want anything from town?

Cigarettes and a newspaper.

Sorry.

I think we have everything we need.

Remember, your exercise depends on your strength, my dear,

and your food somewhat on your appetite,

but the air...

the air, you can relish all the time.

Remember, she's not to do more than an hour of chores.

And, please, no writing.

However talented she may be, her talents as a mother

are considerably more important these days.

Of course.

I'll see you this evening.

Jane!

Hello.

How was your walk?

It was lovely.

Would you like to hold him?

All right.

Shh, shh.

Here.

John will be home soon.

Why don't you go upstairs and dress for dinner.

I'll take him inside, and we'll have Mary feed him.

Thank you.

Come in.

How was your day, dear?

It was wonderful.

I explored the gardens.

I took a long walk down to the bay.

Even the broken old greenhouse was inspiring.

Sounds very lovely.

It was a glorious day.

I wish they were all like this.

How was your day?

Two cases of poison ivy,

a young boy who broke his leg climbing a tree,

an old woman who accidentally poked her eye

with a sewing needle.

Oof.

Any other cases?

Such as social diseases?

No.

No, I mean...

any cases like mine?

My dear, how many times have I got to tell you?

I just thought that,

with all the other people in the office,

there would be some sort of research or something.

Please, listen to me.

The worst thing you can do is think about it.

Take today for instance.

You had a wonderful day.

You took a walk, held a baby.

This place is already doing you good.

Yes.

I know.

Why don't you go upstairs and get ready for bed.

I have some more work to do,

and then I will be up to join you.

All right.

We have been here two weeks,

and I haven't felt like writing before,

not since that first day.

I'm sitting by the window now, up in this atrocious nursery,

and there is nothing to hinder my writing

as much as I please, save lack of strength.

John is away all day, and even some nights,

when his cases are serious.

I'm glad my case is not serious,

but these nervous troubles are dreadfully depressing.

John does not know how much I really suffer.

He knows there is no reason to suffer,

and that satisfies him.

Of course, it is only nervousness.

It does weigh on me.

Good morning.

Aren't you hungry?

You need to eat.

And take my medication?

I just promised John I'd make sure you did.

He cares for you so much

and truly wants to see you get better.

Except he doesn't think there's anything wrong with me.

- Well... - You see it.

He thinks I'm sad.

Just a little bluebird.

What a poet.

Sometimes I think he's right,

there isn't really anything wrong.

And other times I feel as sick and tired as this old house.

I hate to be been ungrateful.

We all just want to see you happy,

and better, and writing again.

I doubt John feels that way.

He thinks it's nonsense and likely the cause of my problems.

He loves you so much

and is truly dedicated to giving you the best care.

We all love you.

I know.

Thank you.

Such a glorious day.

So lovely here.

Is anything the matter?

Fine.

But I think all laid down for a moment.

Thank you.

Let me know if you need anything.

I'll be right downstairs.

Mary is so good with the baby,

and yet I could not be with him.

He makes me so nervous.

I suppose John was never nervous in his life.

This paper looks to me as if it knew

what a vicious influence it had.

It makes me so tired and scares me for some reason.

I'm starting to think it's haunted.

How are you?

Easy, easy.

I need to go downstairs.

Shh. It's all right.

It's not all right.

This room is so foreboding.

Can you feel it?

It just saps all my energy.

You know, this place is doing you really good.

The gardens are, but not this room.

And most definitely not the wallpaper.

Couldn't we repaper it or paint it over?

Dear, I don't care to renovate the house

just for a three months rental.

Then do let us go downstairs.

The rooms there are so pretty.

Oh, my blessed little goose,

we can go down to the cellar if you wish,

and I'll have it whitewashed to.

There's something wrong with this room.

You can't let those talks get a better of you.

As soon as we change the paper, it will be the door

and then have you bedstead and the barred windows.

There's nothing worse for a nervous patient

that to give way to these sort of fancies.

Are you staying here tonight?

I have to go back to the clinic.

There are two very sick people I have to check on

and a case to research.

If I get done early, I'll come back,

but it's likely I'll have to stay.

I just feel so much better when you're here

and so much worse when you're away.

Oh, my sweet little girl.

You know I wish I could be here all the time.

We have to pay for this house and the repairs.

How can I not take these patients?

I know.

I'm sorry.

Shh. It's all right.

Get some rest.

And I'll send Jennie up with your dinner.

Thank you.

Are you all right?

You've been in here all afternoon and evening.

I had such a beautiful dream last night.

May I tell it to you.

Of course.

It is the story of a composer

who comes to a house much like this one.

He comes to write a symphony.

But the house is haunted by a woman.

Yes, an apparition who used to be a dancer.

She falls in love with his music

and begins to dance as he plays the piano,

which inspires more and more music,

music almost as beautiful as her dancing.

The beauty of their art forms combine

and propel one another.

Over time, he becomes stronger.

And over time, she begins to weaken and fade.

He starts to notice this,

and he starts to play quieter and slower,

quieter and slower, until you can barely hear a sound,

trying to keep her dancing for as long as she can.

And as the piece comes to an end...

on that last note, which he tries to hold

for as long as he possibly can...

in that very moment...

whoosh...

her light extinguishes...

and she disappears, forever.

Are you finished?

Yes. I think I'll turn in.

Would you like me to check in on you

after I finish tidying up?

No, thank you. I'll be fine.

My Lord!

Are you all right?

You look like you've seen a ghost.

I may have.

John is downstairs getting ready for dinner.

Good. I'll be down in a minute.

There he is.

How I've missed you.

I've missed you as well.

Is everything all right?

I was about to ask you the same.

Well, you've been gone for three days-

- Two.

All right, two.

I thought we had an understanding.

An understanding?

About what?

I think he knows.

When did you start writing again?

We had an agreement.

An agreement?

We're all here for you, my dear.

For me?

You've been gone, and I've been here all alone.

Sweetheart, you know I have to take care

of the patients in town.

And you have Jennie here to take care of you when I'm gone.

And this beautiful house.

The gardens.

I know, of course, your work is important, but there-

Dear James,

I'm writing this letter to you regarding your sister, Jane.

She's requested that you come for a visit,

and, given the circumstances,

I agree that it may be helpful.

I know this is difficult news,

but I fear Jane's condition isn't improving

and she's not taking the treatment seriously.

I'm not sure she understands what's at stake:

our family, not to mention her own wellbeing.

I've been more than reasonable,

but what I am now at the end of my resources.

I may have no choice but to check her into the institution.

It may be that, if she hears from you,

another physician and her brother,

she may acquiesce and give a real effort.

With this, I hope that you can visit

at your earliest opportunity.

Sincerely, your brother-in-law, John.

There, there.

How are you, sister?

So tired.

My body feels so weak.

I know.

We're gonna try some different medications and dosages,

help you relax, sleep better and rest.

I think we're going to have to limit

your work in the garden

until you're feeling a little better.

I'm sure it'll be just a couple of days.

If you can clear your head and get some rest...

you'll be on your way in no time.

That's it.

How is she?

Better.

Just needs more rest.

We need to keep her in bed, I'm afraid.

They're beautiful, aren't they?

I had another vivid dream.

I'm lying on the ground, tangled in these vines.

They wrap around me in all sorts of terrible ways.

Poking me and prodding me.

They get tighter and tighter

until they pull me down into the dirt.

I cry out as loud as I can for John's help.

When he finally arrives, I plead with him to help me.

He just sits and watches with that stern look on his face.

He reaches down towards me, but instead of helping me,

he pushes me down further, until I'm drowning in the dirt.

I flail around and around, but eventually it goes dark.

I just don't understand.

John says, if I don't pick up faster,

he'll send me to Weir Mitchell in the fall.

I don't want to go there.

I had a friend who was in his care once.

She said he's just like John and my brother, only worse.

Besides, it is such an undertaking to go so far.

I'll get you something to drink.

The lingering smell is horrid.

I remember it from when we first moved in,

but it was much weaker then,

especially with the open windows and fresh breeze.

Now, we have had a week of fog and rain,

and whether the windows are open and not, the smell is here.

It gets into my hair.

I wake up in the night and find it hanging over me.

It is the strangest yellow.

It makes me think of all the yellow things I ever saw.

Not beautiful ones, like buttercups,

but all foul, bad yellow things.

Like this smell.

An awful yellow smell.

But I'm used to it now.

Jane?

Jane?

Wake up, Jane.

Jane.

Are you all right.

How did you get so dirty?

Jane.

The pattern does move.

No wonder.

The woman behind the wallpaper shakes it.

Good Lord.

I'll get John.

It's a horrid smell.

So foul.

It's coming from the wallpaper, you know.

We should burn this house down to the ground.

What are you doing?

Good Lord!

Why would you frighten me?

That paper is just awful.

It stains everything it touches.

All your clothing is yellow smudges.

John's too. It's impossible to clean.

I really wish you'd be more careful.

Are you all right in there?

Jane?

Why is the door locked?

Everything's fine.

I'm just resting.

Can I get you anything?

No, thank you.

How was your day?

Same as always: uneventful.

And how are you feeling?

A bit better. How are you feeling?

I meant how is work?

Splendid.

Things have calmed down.

But I'm most concerned about you, of course.

Did you go for a walk today?

The gardens are beautiful.

Maybe tomorrow. I was so tired today.

You should.

A little bit of fresh air will do some good.

You're right.

I'll spend some time in the gardens tomorrow.

Goodnight.

Sleep well, love.

I've seen her.

I can see her out of every one of my windows.

It is the same woman, I know, for she is always creeping,

and most women do not creep by daylight.

I see her on that long road, under the trees,

creeping along.

And when a carriage comes,

she hides under the blackberry vines.

I don't blame her a bit.

It must be very humiliating

to be caught creeping by daylight.

I always lock the door when I creep by daylight.

I can't do it at night,

for I know John would suspect something at once.

Oh, my Lord!

Jane!

I did it out of pure spite at the vicious thing.

I must admit, I wouldn't mind doing some of that myself.

I'm sure it's quite therapeutic.

But Jane, you mustn't get too tired.

Why don't you come downstairs

and spend your last day with us?

You could take a walk in the garden.

It's so quiet and empty up here.

I think I'll lay down again.

Get as much sleep as I can.

But Jane, you really could do with some fresh air.

Please don't wake me up, not even for dinner.

But-

- I'll come down when I wake.

John will be home soon!

Jane?

Jane?

Please, Jane, open the door.

John is coming home. He loves you so much.

My darling John?

He'll see soon enough.

I peeled off all the paper I could...

standing on the floor.

It sticks terribly...

and the pattern just enjoys it.

Those bulbous heads and strangling eyes...

and fungus growths just shriek with derision.

And I'm getting angry.

I have a rope up here that not Jennie could find.

So if that woman does get out of the wallpaper

and tries to escape.

I don't want anyone to come in,

and I don't want to have to go out,

not till John comes.

I forgot I could not reach far without anything to stand on.

And this bed will not move.

Jane!

It's no use, young man!

You can't come in!

Open the door, my darling.

How he calls and pounds.

It would be a shame to break down that door!

Open the door!

I can't.

The key is downstairs by the front door in the planter.

Open the door!

I can't!

The key is downstairs by the front door in the planter.

Jennie!

Get me an ax!

Now he's calling for an ax.

"What is the matter?" he cried.

"For God's sake, what are you doing?"

I kept on creeping just the same.

I looked at him from over my shoulder.

"I've got out at last in spite of you and Jane,

and I've pulled most of the paper,

so that you can't put me back."

Now, why should that man fainted? But he did.

And right across my path, by the wall,

so that I had to creep over him every time,

again...

and again...

and again...

and again.

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