The dusty, leather-bound diary lay concealed in the attic, untouched for decades. At first glance, it appeared to be an ordinary book. However, the moment I opened it, I realized it was far from ordinary. The first page contained an inscription that read, “To whomever finds this, know that I am not of your time. I am a traveler, a wanderer through the ages.”
The dusty, leather-bound diary lay concealed in the attic, untouched for decades. At first glance, it appeared to be an ordinary book. However, the moment I opened it, I realized it was far from ordinary. The first page contained an inscription that read, “To whomever finds this, know that I am not of your time. I am a traveler, a wanderer through the ages.”
However, something felt off about the entries. As I delved deeper, it became evident that each journey exacted a toll on Edward. His handwriting became more unsteady, his words increasingly frantic. He described bizarre events, shadows that trailed him, and whispers in unknown languages.
In one journal entry, he recounted a visit to a vibrant metropolis in the year 2150. Astonished by the advanced technology and towering skyscrapers that seemed to reach the clouds, he was equally disturbed by a shadowy figure lurking just at the edge of his sight. No matter how many times he leaped through time, the figure pursued him relentlessly, drawing nearer with each jump.
Tension gripped my chest as I reached the final entry. The handwriting was nearly illegible, the ink smudged as if hurriedly written. “I have made a terrible mistake,” Edward confessed. “I believed I could evade it by traveling to the dawn of time, but it’s here, waiting for me. There is no escape.”
The diary ended suddenly, the last page ripped out. I sat there, gazing at the vacant spot where the final entry should have been. A chilling dread washed over me. What had become of Edward? And more crucially, where was he now?
A creak sounded behind me, prompting me to spin around, causing the diary to slip from my hands. The attic appeared empty, yet the air felt charged, as if an unseen presence was watching. Hastily, I gathered my belongings and fled downstairs, abandoning the diary where it had fallen.
That night, as I lay in bed, an unsettling feeling washed over me. It felt like unseen eyes were watching, an eerie presence lurking in my room’s shadows. I shut my eyes, trying to dismiss it as mere imagination, but then I heard a soft whisper right by my ear.
I jolted awake, heart pounding. Though no one was there, the sensation of being observed lingered. The next morning, I retrieved the diary from the attic, resolved to burn it and break its curse. Yet, when I opened it, the last page had returned—and it was no longer blank.
The message, hastily scribbled, warned, “It’s here. Hide before it finds you.”
I cast the diary into the flames, but its words seared into my memory. Even now, as I write, I sense it—something lurking, watching, just beyond my sight. I fear my fate is sealed, just as Edward’s was. If you discover this, please, avoid the diary. Destroy it, and whatever you do, don’t let it follow you.
