HAUNTED MANSION BELONGS TO WALT DISNEY (DISNEYLAND)

My dearest friend:

This is the last time I will write in this diary. In a few hours, Mother will open the door and dress me for my wedding. The dress that she bought me is on the chair and she finally found her veil. Ambrose's mother bought me a pearl necklace...that is the only good idea she had. She wants me to wear an awful perfume and put some make up on. We had a little struggle about the shoes...she doesn't like the idea that I'm taller than her son.

By this time tomorrow, I will be in a farm seven miles away from here, with Ambrose sleeping by my side and I won't be Constance Hatchaway anymore but Constance Harper. I will have a home of my own to take care of and that means no more fun with my friends. I don't even know if I will ever see them again. Ambrose is as boring as his family and I'm sure that his mother won't find it decent for a married woman to have fun with her friends. She finds everything indecent. I think I will end up like Jane.

Dear diary, I'm so afraid...I don't want to end up like Jane...I saw her two days ago, pregnant of her second child, wearing those dull dresses that married women wear and this that expression that Mother has...I don't want that...I don't want to be like her...I don't want to be a mother and all my aspirations be raising brats and please that stupid Ambrose. If he had more money, he could afford travels around the world and a maid or two to do the chores for me. But it is a miracle that the farm has not ended up in ruins yet. How could Mr. Harper have such an idiot like him? I could do a better work!

So this is the end. Thank you for all these years of intimacy. You helped me a lot. Now I suppose I have to grow up and become a real woman. T

The hand was not able to continue writing. A little tear fell in the middle of the text, creating a blot that was illuminated by the rays of the sun that filtered through the curtains. In just a few minutes the sun would raise and her mother would come into the room to wake her up, but Constance had been awake for a long time. She wished that make up and her tricks would brighten her face. In the penumbra, she looked like a ghost.

Cleaning her tears with the back of her hand, careful not to sob even once, the seventeen-year-old girl put the ink and the pen back to their place and opened the trunk to hide the little diary under all the clothes she was going to take with her. She was not not going to write anymore but she would want to remember the old days. When she was done, she returned to her bed, lied down and closed her eyes. She would not sleep anymore but at least Mother would not find her walking around the room.

Her heart beat so hard in her chest that it felt like if someone was hitting her. She could hear the wedding march in her head.