10 February 1977 / Magnus Estate

8 AM
I headed to the A&P to pick up the day's supply of buttermilk (3 quarts) and was dismayed to find a braying mass of humanity crushing through its aisles. From the snippets of conversation being yelled above the panicked din, I was able to ascertain that the hysteria was prompted by the prediction of 6 inches of snow.

I saw a woman carrying at least three dozen rolls of toilet paper. I pitied her and her warped view of reality. I also pitied her if she really did need that much toilet paper to last the 10-12 hours during which the snow would make leaving her home slightly inconvenient.

11 AM
The snow has begun to fall. As always, I will keep the compound snow-free by coating the grounds with kerosene-soaked timber, and then lighting them while I enjoy a brandy and the meditative flicker of the controlled yard-fire. Even if the fire quickly burns out, as it does when I've over soaked the timber, the residual warmth will keep the snow from sticking to the ground in solid form.

1 PM
There are no kerosene soaked logs on the premises. It is possible that there never were. I concede that the memories of the world outside my study window engulfed in roaring orange flame may be from a dream I had, rather than reality.
About 2 inches of snow has accumulated so far. Baldur played in the snow until he got ice in his paw, later, he ate a snowball.

3 PM
It continues to fall! Well over the anticipated 6 inches has accumulated already. The power has gone out. I curse my "modern" electric stove, but have plenty of buttermilk to provide sustenance. No problem.

6 PM
I spent the last hour manually operating the giant squid tank's aeration pumps. My arms are tired and veiny. I worry about cabin fever.

9 PM
The walls close in. The ghosts of my past mingle with the spirits of this haunted wood, howling through the hallways chipping away at my sanity with their insane laughter of the damned. Other than that, all is well. Buttermilk supplies still healthy.

10 PM
I have become a spider. I made a deal with the ghosts. I will weave their battle tunics out of my steely silk. I will be safe.

11 PM
The power is back on, but I think I will call it an early night.