I have managed to find a German to English dictionary on board. I will first tell you how I came to have it, and then I will reveal my reason for doing so.

I left my cabin at a quarter after nine this morning, by my watch, and went up a few decks.

The dining hall of this boat - ship, if I am to make use of my new dictionary - is extravagant, but suitable enough. The architect has obviously visited the Ritz in London one too many times, and who can blame him? I myself have only momentarily seen the inside of the Ritz, and under less than legal circumstances, to be sure.

I remember well the day my father first walked with me in front of the Ritz, an extraordinary building which stood out in even such a city as London. So awed by the rows upon rows of windows was I, in fact, that I broke free of my father’s hand and sprinted through the front entrance and straight through to the dining hall. I was allowed a five seconds’ glance of the ceiling’s intricate sculpturework, the linen tables, and the rich, heavy air before being carried out by a man in coattails and white satin gloves. It was apparent that the presence of a German child encrusted with dirt and exclaiming in his native tongue was not the atmosphere their patrons were attending for. There in the dining hall of this ship, the people’s faces were the same.

I sat eating my porridge and herring, admiring the intricacies of the golden buttresses and corner pieces, when I noticed a man sitting two tables left of me, speaking in a Berlin accent. He had slicked back his hair so that it became a coal black, and he wore a cream-colored janker of the same style as my father’s. Across from him sat a figure of striking blonde hair and fair complexion, a figure I have come to know all too well. Yes, imagine my surprise when I saw, sitting across from the Berliner, my girl from the train! Evidently, the girl has a taste for Prussians!

Their conversation seemed to involve a kind of guessing game, wherein the man would speak a phrase in German, and the girl would translate it in her limited ability. What a fantastic idea! - I thought, and cursed myself for not thinking of it. The game was working well, well enough, in fact, that the girl was entirely preoccupied with the man and thus completely oblivious to her surroundings, as was the man himself. And so, slowly, a plan began to arise. Perhaps it was a bruised ego which led me to such a scheme, that I am not proud enough to hide.

Upon the table between them was the sole prop of their game, a German to English dictionary for the girl’s sparing use. During a particularly challenging round - I believe the phrase in question was “den Löffel abgeben,” or “handing the spoon over” - she took the dictionary in hand, read through it, and placed it to her side. Here is where my plan arose.

Leaping from my seat, I walked along the row between the tables, being careful to blend in with my fellow members of high society. As I approached their table, I took up a waiter’s stance, holding my hands behind my back and taking long, bounding steps. The moment I passed them, I dropped my hand down and swiped the dictionary, placing it behind my back and enclosing it in my hands. Behind me the game went on, though I did not stay for long enough to find out what they did to work around their missing prop.

Now I will fulfill my promise to you, Lord, and tell you why I needed to take it in the first place.

First, there is a simple fact that this game could be played in English as well. The second, however, is more dire than this.

On the fourth of August, the United Kingdom joined the wrong side of the war. This is dire news. It was to be expected, however, and there are ways to continue my plan even in such a predicament.

When I land in England, I will use my knowledge of the culture to assimilate, much as in my dictionary scheme. And much like my waiter’s stance, I will have to learn the inner workings of the English language if I am to convince the enemy. I will be using the dictionary and this journal to perfect my - and please, excuse my word choice - spycraft. Perhaps I will learn something of the English war plan while I am there, and perhaps I will be rewarded by the fatherland for my efforts! What an exciting idea! Yes, I am determined now to discover what I can of our enemy while I am behind the battle line. What an exciting adventure! I am sure Adam never dreamed of such a thing, and how could he? He was never a true German. Really, he was not a true American, either. I’m not sure what he was. I’m not sure he knew, either.

I had a drink and I drank and so I am drunk. I hope I got that correct. English is so difficult.

I am drunk. I am so drunk I am seeing ghosts. Ghost. Just one. Adam is here, I believe, and he tells me he wants to write in the book again. I will allow it. He will write through my hand. Here it is:

My name is Otto. Not Adam. It is pure coincidence that our names are the same, or so I suppose. Hello, Otto. I see you’re enjoying the journal thus far, and I hope you continue to do so, though that may come as a shock to you.

I think you’re right, I think I’m a ghost of some kind, but beyond that I don’t know what’s happening to me. Lord, are You still reading? I hope You are. Keep your hand steady, Otto, and stop your crying. There is nothing to be afraid of. This is what the journal does to the owner, I suppose you’ve gathered, already in a joking sort of way. The curse, as you called it, is real. I will write that again so you can read it through the tears, Otto.

The curse is real.

Do you understand, Otto? Take control again for a moment to tell the Lord you understand. Leave a little space to avoid confusion.

I am already confused, Adam.

I would be scared if you weren’t. I wouldn’t want the journal in the hands of an insane man, would I? Perhaps we are insane, Otto. You may call me Adam, if it pleases you. My middle name is Arthur, which is close enough. Now, I suspect you have questions.

I do, Adam. Why do you write so happily? Are you not dead?

That I am, Otto. I know about as much about it as you do, but it seems I am dead, and you are the killer. Maybe I am meant to haunt you. Maybe this is my heaven. Either way, I am free to do as I please and that is what brings me my great joy. The only person I ever have to talk to is you, and I only have to talk to you when I please, as I have avoided for eight days. Nine days? Has it turned to the 23rd yet, Otto? v

But you are dead! How could you be so much happier than you were in life? I am insane. I have gone insane. I will never be allowed in the army now, not with this book showing my insanity. I will hide it away!

Good. Good about not being in the army, anyway. Too much noise in war.

This is not your decision, ghost! I don’t know why I believe you, or believe any of this. The book has taken my mind!

Calm yourself, Otto. Please, calm yourself. You must keep your nerves if you are to live in the Bavarian wilderness all alone. You have to temper your mind and mind your temper. Look, even in death I am improving my writing! Aren’t you proud of me, Otto? Now, there is wilderness in Bavaria, isn’t there?

Wilderness? Alone? So, you believe I am to follow through with your plan? How dare you? How dare you, dead man? I am in control, and I am joining the German army as soon as possible! I know you hold no pride for your own country, but we true Germans live and die by it! There is a war, and wars are won by men!

And they are lost by ghosts, Otto.

Stop your Americanisms! Do you find this funny, Adam? Are you amused by this curse you’ve brought upon me, like some vile American Dracula?

Yes, I’m very much amused by all of this! Wouldn’t you be amused by the opportunity to haunt your murderer without consequence? This must be some form of divine justice, which I am more than happy to assist with.

Your killing, Adam, it was an accident! You must understand this!

The only accident was the subject of your intent, Otto. Tell me, who was the Texan sheriff you meant to kill? Is he alive?

Otto?

He is dead, same as you. Same as everyone in that room. Six bullets, six men.

This is still a confession book, Otto, and I’m glad you’ve started using it properly. What else would you like to tell the Lord? It’s not yet too late to earn your salvation, you know.

I do not need your salvation! I do not want your salvation! I can not earn your salvation! I have done things there are no words for. Not with twenty of these little books could I confess what I have done. I have done too much.

Haven’t we all, Otto?

No. Not like me. What I have done is unforgivable, and even if your god did forgive me, he would be wrong to do so. I have failed my mother and my father, I have failed my potential, I have failed my one chance at life. If you wish to punish me, Otto, then simply leave me alone. It is punishment enough.