CHAPTER 6 — The One Who Writes the Diary
A sudden crash echoed upstairs.
Someone had entered the house.
Emma grabbed the diary and rushed toward the staircase.
Halfway up, she heard footsteps coming down.
Slow.
Measured.
Patient.
The shadow finally stepped into view.
It wasn't a monster.
It wasn't a ghost.
It was an elderly woman with silver hair and tired blue eyes.
She looked at Emma with heartbreaking sadness.
"You opened the final page again," the woman whispered.
Emma tightened her grip on the diary.
"Who are you?"
Tears filled the stranger's eyes.
"I've answered that question ninety-eight times."
She slowly reached into her coat and removed another leather diary.
It was identical to Emma's.
Except this one was much thicker.
The old woman opened the first page.
Every page was filled with photographs of Emma.
Different ages.
Different lives.
Different deaths.
Finally, she stopped at the last page.
A photograph showed the old woman standing exactly where Emma stood now.
The caption underneath read:
Emma Carter — Age 83
Emma's blood ran cold.
The woman smiled weakly.
"I am you."
"I survived longer than any of the others."
"But every time I try to save us..."
She looked toward the darkness at the end of the basement.
"...he simply starts the story again."
Before Emma could ask who "he" was, a deep voice echoed through the house.
It wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
Because it came from every wall at once.
"Chapter Seven begins now."
May you like
The basement door slammed shut.
And for the first time, the diary began writing new words by itself...
