Horror logo

Dear Diary

A short creepy tale

By Karen CavePublished 4 years ago 3 min read
5
Be wary of giving your soul to a diary...

The diary was old and battered, and empty when she found it. It was tan coloured and leather-bound and smelt amazing. She'd run her hands over the surface and it felt smooth but wrinkled, like skin. As soon as she saw it she felt drawn to it, and as soon as she touched it she knew she had to have it.

She handed the smiling owner five pounds and walked away with her treasure clutched in her arms. She'd never been the 'diary keeping' type, but now she knew what she wanted to devote her time to.

She worked tirelessly, and wrote slowly and neatly with her pen, not rushing, filling up the pages with her thoughts and dreams, her memories, her experiences; in short, the essence of herself.

Her parents started to feel concerned; their outgoing, sporty daughter was suddenly spending most of her time in her room, writing thoughtfully, quietly. She'd even cleared off a previously messy surface especially to write on. Her mother brought up various small meals and drinks after her calls of 'food' started going unanswered. At first they would be eaten, then she started collecting them untouched. A whole plate of cookies, a salad and cheese sandwich, a glass of coke not drank. She tried varying the foods - pizza, crisps, a cereal bar, hot chocolate, pasta salad, even jelly and ice cream - but the food was still largely uneaten.

Monica was by now looking gaunt, her eyes shrunken in her dehydrated face. Yet still she wrote. She'd lost a stone from her already small body, but Monica hadn't even noticed. It wouldn't have mattered to her even she had known; all that mattered to her now was filling these beautiful, crisp yellow pages with everything she had, everything she was. This was all that mattered to her now. Not food, not hygiene, not daylight.

Her parents started to plead, to beg her to get help, to come outside in the sunshine, to have a shower, change her clothes. She'd feel better for it. But it was as if she no longer heard them. One desperate day her father tried to physically lift her frail body off the beanbag and away from the diary. But the sound that emitted from his daughter put a terror into him and he left the room shortly afterwards and shut the door. His wife could not get any sense out of him after that. All he could say was, in a trembling voice, "She's not Monica."

Her mother waited until she was asleep and then tried to remove the diary from her room. The next day her mother was very ill.

They put the diary back in its place immediately. Neither of them would set foot back in that room for many days. All they could hear when they put their ear to the door: was scribbling, scribbling, scribbling.

Three weeks later the door was opened. The scribbling had stopped and they grew afraid. Their terror was even more pronounced when they saw that their daughter was no longer in her room. She was not in her bed, or under it, nor in the cupboards. The window remained locked. The diary stood closed in its usual place. It seemed to the parents to illuminate the room. It seemed to be taunting them. Trembling, they crept towards it and opened it.

To their shock it was empty. Completely empty except for four words etched on the very last page. Etched not in ink but in some strange dark substance. It read: NOW YOU ARE MINE.

supernatural
5

About the Creator

Karen Cave

A mum, a friend to many and I love to explore dark themes and taboos in my

Hope you enjoy! I appreciate all likes, comments - and please share if you'd like more people to see my work.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.