IOHH 9

On the very first page, the first thing I saw was this:

Kaina, you must not leave the hotel.

…Excuse me, Uncle? What kind of nonsense is this?

I stared at the sentence written on the first page, closed the diary, and then opened it again. Of course, the content hadn’t changed. I must not leave the hotel? Uncle must’ve expected me to read this diary. The real issue was that he’d only written that single sentence—no context, no explanation.

The other odd thing was the handwriting. It looked like Uncle’s, but unlike his usual neat penmanship, this was messy—like it had been scrawled in a rush.

Was Uncle in such a desperate state that he’d write something so absurd in his diary?

Trying to ignore the strange message, I began flipping through the diary slowly. Uncle hadn’t written in it daily, so this single volume spanned almost two years’ worth of entries, though sparsely.

The early entries detailed his travels around the world, which I already knew about, so I skimmed through them. Then, starting from a certain page, the tone began to shift. One particularly strange entry caught my eye, and I started reading more carefully from there.

January 4, 1888
I thought I’d finally been freed from everything. After all, I’ve survived past forty. I had no intention of returning to the Lindetail family, and my plan was to wander the world until the day I died. But damn it all… This is all because of that cursed heir’s legacy. The shadow of death looms once again. This can’t go on. I need a solution—something new, a way to survive…

“The heir’s curse? How long has it been since I last heard that term…”

It referred to a curse said to be passed down through the Lindetail family: “The firstborn of the Lindetail line will live a fate worse than death and die young.” I’d heard it from the elders, and according to them, not a single Lindetail heir had survived to old age. Supposedly, the longer an heir lived, the more calamities befell the family.

However, there were almost no written records of this curse—just whispered tales passed down by word of mouth. No one really knew how true it was. In recent years, most people dismissed it as a baseless superstition. After all, Uncle had lived well into his forties.

But unlike Uncle, my brother…

I traced the word curse with my fingertip. Father had always avoided talking about it, so I hadn’t heard anyone mention the term in years. Honestly, it was a topic I didn’t like to think about either.

And yet, here it is in Uncle’s diary… What did he mean by “the shadow of death looms again”? Was he saying the curse had returned? That it still held sway over him? We couldn’t even be sure the curse was real… so why did he sound so convinced?

I turned the page.

The next several entries, spanning about two months, described Uncle traveling around various parts of Shetland, searching for a hotel. I instinctively realized that the hotel he referred to was the very one I was now staying in—Hotel Belvedere.

February 13, 1888
At last, I’ve found my new sanctuary: Hotel Belvedere. I know this isn’t just an ordinary hotel. That’s exactly why I came. I’ve seen terrifying things, but I can endure it. I made a contract with the manager and became the owner of this hotel. The fact that the position was vacant was a stroke of luck. Seems like I’m not meant to die just yet. I’m safe now.

I didn’t know how Uncle found out about Belvedere, but in the end, he made it here. It seemed he’d known from the beginning that this wasn’t a hotel for humans alone. The “terrifying things” he mentioned were probably the same kinds of ghosts or spirits I’d encountered.

But how could he feel safe after meeting things like that? I felt like I was going to die just being in the same room with them. Uncle really was something else.

I turned another page. The next entries detailed Uncle’s daily life at the hotel. Surprisingly, there weren’t any horrifying stories—just mundane events and work logs. Or rather, it seemed like he had deliberately left out anything awful. There’s no way anyone could live here peacefully. Maybe the experiences were so traumatic he didn’t even want to write them down.

August 27, 1889
More than a year has passed, but I still haven’t gotten used to the things I see every day. If anything, they’re becoming more unbearable. What was the beginning of all this? Right. It’s all because I was fooled by that damned manager. He’s done nothing but ruin my life. That bastard. The fact that someone like him exists is the greatest misfortune of humanity.

The tone of the diary shifted again. It seemed Uncle had reached his mental breaking point around this time. I couldn’t tell exactly what “fooled by the manager” meant—there wasn’t enough context in the entries before or after this one to be sure.

The only thing I could understand was his string of insults aimed at the hotel’s monsters and the manager.

Though honestly, I don’t have a huge grudge against the manager. He’s just… a little, no—a lot annoying.

I flipped through the remaining pages. There were sporadic entries from the next six months. From this point on, the frequency of his writing dropped dramatically—less than ten entries total. It seemed his health had declined to the point where he could barely keep up the diary.

December 30th, 1889
It’s been a long time since my thoughts have been this clear. For the first time in ages, I’m writing in my journal again. But the only thing I can record is the fact that my body is wasting away. Skin and bones… and the hallucinations and nightmares won’t stop. I can’t even eat properly anymore.

Is the meat on my plate even real? I can’t trust that bastard. I don’t know how much longer I can stay sane. Death is creeping closer. I thought I’d escaped it…

Uncle was dying. Based on the contents of the journal, it seemed that even if he hadn’t taken his own life, he wouldn’t have lasted much longer.

…Could he not see a doctor? Or maybe even medical treatment didn’t help anymore.

He had clearly been suffering from hallucinations and nightmares, just as he’d written, and eventually even paranoia. It’s possible he refused to see a doctor at all. Of course, I knew that wondering about it now was pointless. Either way, Uncle is no longer alive.

To stay grounded, I kept analyzing. The curses and foul language were clearly aimed at the manager. And what did he mean by “escaped”? Escaped from what? The horrors of Belvedere? Or the family curse? I couldn’t say for sure.

This was the second-to-last page. I turned one more and saw Uncle’s final entry.

March 19th, 1890
I’ve written a letter to Kaina. I left it with the manager, so it should reach her without issue. My only remaining blood relative… Please, let her stay safe. I don’t have much time left. Before things get any worse, I’ve decided to end it on my own terms. This is how I defy my fate.

“Kaina… My name.”

Even when his memory was fading, Uncle thought of me. And the sentence he chose to end his journal with… It hinted at suicide.

I slowly closed the diary. I now knew when Uncle had come to this hotel, and why he had chosen to end his own life. But even after reading it all, the questions hadn’t gone away. If anything, there were more than before. Especially that old term I hadn’t heard in ages—the heir’s curse.

No… Honestly, more than any of those questions right now…

I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand.

There’s no way I’ll be getting any sleep tonight.

Morning came. I ate the simple breakfast brought to my room and changed clothes with a staff member’s help. I hadn’t slept properly, and it showed—I felt like a mess. As I pressed my aching head with both hands, trying to dull the pain, someone knocked on the door.

“Pardon the intrusion, Miss Lindetail. It’s Ezekiel. I’ve come to escort you to the office~”

So annoyingly cheerful, even this early in the morning. I swallowed down the sarcasm and confirmed his identity again before opening the door. Sure enough, he was there, grinning from ear to ear.

With no real choice, I followed him to the office. Like yesterday, I sat at the desk to deal with documents, while Ezekiel waited silently near the door with nothing better to do.

Honestly, after reading Uncle’s diary and all the insults he had hurled at Ezekiel throughout it… Just being in the same room as him felt uncomfortable. What exactly had he done to my uncle? The thought alone made me feel sick. Maybe even angry.

I put the papers down and turned to him.

“I read my uncle’s journal yesterday.”

“Ah, so the head of security took it upon herself to deliver it, did she?”

“You’re not surprised.”

“Well, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Anyway, how did you find it?”

Ezekiel’s tone was just as casual as ever, like he’d expected this. So he could have just given it to me himself, but chose not to. I clenched my fists, then slowly relaxed them as I continued.

“Before I say anything else… There was something strange at the very beginning of the journal. On the very first page, my uncle wrote: ‘Kaina, you must not leave the hotel.’ Do you happen to know what he meant by that?”

There were plenty of things I wanted to ask, but this was by far the most pressing one. Why had Uncle warned me not to leave the hotel? What had he been trying to say?

“Ah, that part,” Ezekiel replied, the corners of his lips curling into a crescent.

But it wasn’t the innocent smile of a child. No, it was a smug, satisfied grin—like someone who’d achieved exactly what they’d wanted. And somehow… it made my skin crawl. Like he was mocking me.

Then he said:

“Exactly what it says, Miss Lindetail. You must not leave the hotel. If you do… you’ll die.”