The Diary
1151 Words
The scream echoed through the mansion long after the lights came back on.
Amara stood frozen by her bedroom window, her hand pressed tightly against the cold glass. The figure near the abandoned cottage had vanished into the darkness, as though it had never been there at all.
Then came the silence.
Not the comforting silence of a peaceful night, but the kind that made every creak of the old house sound louder than it should.
A knock at her bedroom door made her jump.
“Amara?” Claire’s voice drifted through the wood. “Are you alright?”
She quickly unlocked the door.
Claire stood in the hallway holding a candle. Behind her, Daniel carried a flashlight.
“The power cuts out every now and then during storms,” Daniel explained. “The scream you heard came from the television downstairs. It switched on by itself when the electricity returned.”
Claire laughed softly.
“It nearly gave me a heart attack too.”
Amara smiled politely, though something about the explanation felt rehearsed.
“I thought someone was hurt.”
Claire gently squeezed her shoulder.
“Everyone is safe.”
The couple wished her goodnight before disappearing down the hallway.
Amara closed the door, but she didn’t sleep.
She couldn’t.
⸻
The following morning dawned bright and cloudless.
It was as though the storm had never happened.
After breakfast, Daniel left for work while Claire drove the children to school.
“You’ll have the morning to yourself,” Claire said, picking up her handbag. “Feel free to read, relax, or explore the gardens. Just don’t wander into the woods. It’s easy to lose your way.”
“I won’t,” Amara promised.
As the front door closed behind them, an unusual feeling settled over the house.
For the first time since arriving, she was completely alone.
Or so she thought.
⸻
She wandered through the library again, determined to search more carefully than before.
She ran her fingers along the shelves until she reached the section where she’d found Sophia’s passport.
Everything looked exactly as it had the previous evening.
Too exactly.
Someone had already cleaned the dust from the shelf.
Her heart skipped.
Had Claire checked it after leaving the library?
Amara hesitated before pulling on the same leather-bound book.
Nothing happened.
She tried another.
Still nothing.
Finally, she pressed gently against the back panel of the shelf.
A faint click answered her.
The hidden compartment slid open once more.
The wooden box was still there.
Relief washed over her.
She lifted the lid.
The passport remained.
So did the silver necklace.
But the bundle of letters had disappeared.
Instead, a single black notebook rested inside.
Its cover was worn and faded, with no title.
Only a tiny pressed daisy lay between its pages.
Amara carefully opened it.
The first page contained a name.
Sophia Markovic
Beneath it, written in elegant handwriting, were the words:
“If someone else finds this… please don’t make the same mistake I did.”
A chill ran through her.
She turned the page.
⸻
Day One
The family is exactly as they described themselves online.
Claire hugged me the moment I arrived.
Daniel seems kind.
The children are wonderful.
I think this is going to be the best year of my life.
Amara frowned.
Sophia’s first impressions mirrored her own almost perfectly.
She flipped ahead several pages.
The handwriting gradually changed.
The neat, flowing script became hurried.
Uneven.
Some words were crossed out as though Sophia had been afraid someone might read them.
⸻
Day Twenty-Seven
I keep hearing footsteps beneath my room.
Claire says it’s the pipes.
I don’t believe her anymore.
Amara’s pulse quickened.
She turned another page.
⸻
Day Thirty-Two
I met someone in the village today.
When I told her where I lived, she stopped smiling.
She asked me whether I’d seen “the room.”
I pretended not to understand.
Maybe I should have asked what she meant.
Another page.
Several had been torn out.
Only ragged edges remained.
Her hands trembled.
Someone had deliberately removed them.
⸻
The final intact page was dated almost a year after Sophia had arrived.
The handwriting was barely recognizable.
Shaky.
Panicked.
I don’t know who to trust anymore.
If you’re reading this, they’re probably watching you too.
Don’t look for the basement.
Look for—
The sentence ended abruptly.
The rest of the page had been ripped away.
Amara stared at the torn edge.
“Look for… what?”
A floorboard creaked behind her.
She spun around.
No one.
The library was empty.
Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone.
⸻
She slipped the diary beneath her sweater just as the front door slammed downstairs.
Claire was home earlier than expected.
“Amara?” Claire called.
“We’re back!”
Panic surged through her.
She looked around desperately.
There wasn’t enough time to return the diary to the box.
Quickly, she tucked it beneath her shirt and closed the compartment.
By the time Claire entered the library, Amara had picked up a random novel and pretended to read.
“There you are,” Claire said cheerfully.
“I brought pastries from the bakery.”
“Thank you.”
Claire smiled.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time in here.”
“I like books.”
“So do I.”
For a moment, neither woman spoke.
Claire’s eyes drifted to Amara’s cardigan.
To the slight bulge beneath it.
Then back to her face.
“Is everything alright?”
“Of course.”
Claire held her gaze a second longer before smiling again.
“I’ll make tea.”
As she left, Amara let out the breath she’d been holding.
Had Claire noticed?
Or had she imagined it?
⸻
That evening, after everyone had gone to bed, Amara locked her bedroom door and placed Sophia’s diary on the bed.
She read every page again.
This time, something fell from between the final pages.
A small, folded map of the Whitmore estate.
Most of it looked ordinary.
The mansion.
The gardens.
The greenhouse.
The lake.
But in one corner, deep within the woods, Sophia had drawn a red circle around a place with only two handwritten words beside it.
“Start here.”
Amara looked up toward her bedroom window.
Beyond the glass, the forest stretched into darkness.
The same forest where the mysterious figure had pointed the night before.
For the first time since arriving at the Whitmore estate, she wasn’t simply reacting to strange events.
She had a lead.
And she had a choice.
She could ignore the map and continue pretending everything was normal.
Or she could follow Sophia’s trail and discover why someone had wanted her diary hidden.
Outside, the wind stirred the trees.
Then, from somewhere in the distance…
Three slow knocks echoed through the night.
Not from the house.
From the woods.
- Writer
