Dawn of Eve, MJ Howson [lightweight ebook reader TXT] 📗

herself up from the floor and brought the diary back down to the nursery. The sunlight coming in through the windows made the nebula display drifting across the ceiling hard to see.

“Evelyn, close the curtains in the nursery.”

“Closing the curtains,” the voice assistant replied.

The motorized drapes slowly expanded as they made their way across the window, darkening the room. Dawn walked over to the changing table, the top now covered in water from Eve’s wet towels. She picked up Eve and carried her to the rocking chair near the window. The edges of the curtains allowed just enough light through for her to clearly see the diary.

“All right, little girl,” Dawn said. “Let’s finish this.”

Dawn adjusted Eve’s arms and legs to get her into a comfortable position nestled in her lap. As she pulled Eve close to her, the doll’s eyes snapped open.

Dawn flipped to the first page of the final entry in the diary. She read the opening line to herself. Dawn looked at Eve and said, “The twenty-first? That’s only two days away.”

∞∞∞

December 21, 2012

Eve sat in her lumpy bed, alone in the vast empty room. She looked around the depressing, prison-like quarters and sighed. The radiator beneath the windows clanked as steam from the boiler filled its coils. Eve stared at the six other beds, stripped bare, knowing tonight she’d finally learn what fate awaited her behind the black wooden door at the end of the hallway.

The diary in Eve’s hands documented the past year spent in this bizarre camp. She ran her hands across the paper’s deckled edges and then the camel leather cover. In many ways, the diary had been her best friend, having outlasted everyone else. Eve’s hopes, fears, and dreams were in here.

Eve flipped through the pages, taking a trip down memory lane. Her knuckles ached from the drafty air that filled the room. She pulled her bright red flannel blanket closer to her body. Eve couldn’t help but smile as she scanned through the pages. There had been birthdays, hiking trips, campfires, games, and schooling. She had to admit that, despite the isolation, there had been joyous moments. She missed the friends she’d made and wondered if she’d ever see any of them again.

Her birthday party earlier this evening had been rather odd. With the other kids gone, Eve expected it to be just her and Caretaker. The attendance of Father John and Mother Martha surprised her. Eve’s parent’s, as expected, didn’t participate, making the party rather depressing from her point of view.

The lock to the bedroom door snapped open. Eve closed her diary and tucked it beneath her pillow. Caretaker slowly entered the room carrying a single glass of water. Eve found it odd seeing her without her tray.

“Hello, Eve,” Caretaker said.

“Hey,” Eve replied.

“Did you enjoy your party tonight?”

“Party?” Eve shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“How about the red velvet cake?”

“It was good,” Eve said. She sat upright as Caretaker came and sat on the edge of her bed. Eve took the glass of water from her and took a small sip.

“Good. I’ve never made one of those before.” Caretaker took the glass from Eve and placed it on the nightstand beside the bed. She then took Eve’s hand in hers and said, “I know you’re worried about tonight. There’s nothing to fear.”

Eve glanced up at the towering cedar-lined armoire across from her bed. The serpent’s eyes atop the black walnut cabinet seemed to stare back at her. A sense of doom washed over Eve.

“Then why is nobody allowed behind that door?” Eve asked. “Or that gate?”

“We’ve talked about this before, Eve. And I don’t like that tone of yours.”

“That whole part of the camp’s a big mystery. You never tell any of us what goes on over there.”

Caretaker crossed her arms and forced a smile to appear.

“Rules are rules, Eve. That door leads to your future. And you can only pass through on your thirteenth birthday.”

“Then why are we celebrating today?”

“What?”

“My birthday’s tomorrow. How come all the other kids got their cake on their birthday, but I’m a day early?”

“Because, Eve, you’re the last one. And your day is the most special.”

“I . . . I don’t understand.”

Caretaker ran her fingers through Eve’s curly copper hair. She smiled, stood up, and walked to the door. As she opened it, she turned to Eve and said, “All your questions will be answered soon enough. You can trust me, Eve. You can trust all of us.”

“I don’t believe you. How come our parents never come to our birthday parties?”

“Because, Eve, they are busy preparing another party for you.”

“What other party?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Caretaker killed the light, left, and locked the door. Eve sat alone, cold and confused, in the dark, chilly room. She reached beneath her pillow and grabbed her diary and pen. Eve walked over to the door and turned on the overhead light. Being the only child left, she didn’t have to worry about bothering others.

Suddenly the lock snapped, and the door opened. Caretaker stuck her head inside and said, “Lights out, Eve.” She turned off the chandelier and closed the door.

Eve waited for the lock to engage. Caretaker’s shadow could be seen in the gap beneath the door. Eve patiently waited until Caretaker walked away. She sat down on the frigid cobblestone floor beside the doorway and opened the diary to the last blank page. The light from the hallway allowed a dim orange glow to illuminate the book’s pages.

Eve made her final entry in the diary, recounting Caretaker’s visit. When done, she wrote one last sentence.

I don’t trust Caretaker. I don’t trust any of them.

∞∞∞

Dawn flipped the page, only to find the next one blank. She frowned and flipped again. There were less than a dozen pages at the end of the diary, all of them empty. Dawn’s hands trembled as she did a frantic search through the end of the book.

“I don’t understand,” Dawn said as she bit her upper lip. She spun