It was 11.59 pm and the job had been done. You shifted your eyes around the room and smirked in excitement, literally squealing inside. It was right in your hands; that leather bound book. Its smooth yet slightly cracked surface ran through your fingers as they came in contact with the delicate latch of the book. You blew away the layer of dust that tinted it in a slight shade of grey and curled your fingers to open the cover of the old diary. You thought you felt a small burst of wind blow on the back of your neck but you shrugged it off and carried on, becoming more and more fascinated with the book in your hands.

            It was ‘The Black Diary’ as they had called it. Rumour has it that they are all the stories written by the dead ghosts of the victims killed and/or massacred in these entries. As well as that, apparently a curse is set on you as soon as you have any motive of finding the book. Nobody knows what the curse will do to you and if you are able to surpass the curse. You shrugged those thoughts at the back of your head and flipped a yellowed page.

you……

you……

Don’t read it before it’s too late…

Don’t read it before the curse sets on you…

Don’t…

You gave a sharp gasp and exclaimed quietly,

“Who’s there?”

No response. You sighed loudly and shook your head, thinking it was your brain just messing with you. You looked back at the pages, all faded and yellow and began to read the entries of the dead.