Secrets Of The Diary
1475 Words
Chapter 6 - Secrets of the Diary
(7:00 PM – Nightfall)
Night had settled over the city.
Dark clouds drifted slowly across the sky, partially hiding the moon. The streets glowed under dim streetlights, and a cold, uneasy silence hung in the air.
In front of an old, classic restaurant, a vintage car came to a smooth halt.
The driver’s door opened.
A man in a white suit, Professor V. Shivers (age 55), stepped out. He paused for a moment, lifting his gaze toward the cloudy sky, as if trying to read something hidden beyond it.
His face reflected a mix of curiosity and unease.
After a brief moment, he walked inside the restaurant.
Inside the Restaurant
The restaurant was calm, almost quiet.
There was no heavy crowd, just a few guests seated at distant tables.
Waiters moved efficiently, serving steaming plates of food. The aroma of freshly cooked meals filled the hall, warm and inviting, creating a sharp contrast to the cold night outside.
Professor Shivers scanned the room.
Then he noticed a man seated at the far corner near the glass window.
The man raised his hand slightly, signaling him.
He wore a formal English suit. His skin tone was dark, his body solid and well-built. A pair of white rimmed glasses rested on his face, but what stood out the most were his eyes sharp, alert, and deeply observant.
Professor Shivers walked toward him.
“Hello… Mr. Walia,” the professor said politely.
(Mr. Walia, age 48.)
Mr. Walia smiled faintly.
“Welcome, my old friend,” he replied.
“You took quite a while to arrive.”
The professor returned a mild smile.
“An important matter delayed me,” he said calmly.
At Mr. Walia’s gesture, the professor took a seat across from him.
Old Friends, New Tension
Professor Shivers glanced around appreciatively.
“You’ve chosen a wonderful table,” he said.
“The view from this large glass window is quite clear.”
Mr. Walia nodded.
“Yes. It’s been my favorite spot for nearly fifteen years.”
A waiter approached to take their order.
Mr. Walia handed the menu to the professor.
“What would you like to have?”
“Something simple,” Professor Shivers replied.
Mr. Walia ordered his usual, more elaborate meal.
Once the waiter left, the professor leaned back slightly.
“So,” Professor asked casually,
“how is your work going? Any promotions yet?”
Mr. Walia exhaled slowly.
“I took leave to rest from work,” he said,
“but instead, I’ve walked straight into a strange confusion.”
The professor frowned.
“What kind of confusion?”
Mr. Walia lowered his voice.
“The kind that is difficult to explain.”
There was a brief silence.
Then Mr. Walia spoke again, carefully.
“I was saddened to hear about your elder brother… Dr. Ken Shivers.”
The professor’s expression softened.
“Yes,” he replied quietly.
“He was a good man.”
“An excellent scholar,” Mr. Walia added.
Professor Shivers shook his head gently.
“He was actually an archaeologist. Literature was merely his passion.”
Mr. Walia adjusted his glasses.
“That may be so,” he said,
“but tell me... are you truly convinced that his death was caused by a fall down the stairs?”
The professor stiffened.
“What kind of question is that?” he asked sharply.
“I understand you’re an investigation officer, but still...”
Mr. Walia interrupted calmly.
“Professor, you are my old friend.
I wouldn’t ask this unless it was important.
Very important.”
The professor took a moment before replying.
“He lived alone,” he said.
“The police investigated thoroughly.
The official report states that he died due to a fall.”
Mr. Walia nodded slowly.
“That is what everyone believes,” he said.
“But I don’t.”
“Why do you think otherwise?” the professor asked.
Instead of answering directly, Mr. Walia gestured toward the glass window.
“Look outside, Professor. What do you see?”
The professor turned his gaze outward.
“Nothing unusual,” professor said.
“The road… streetlights… a few vehicles… five or six people walking… closed shops… buildings.”
He paused.
“And?”
Mr. Walia spoke softly.
“Not long ago, this place would have been crowded at this hour.
People used to roam freely at night.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“Now look at it.
Everything has changed.”
The professor nodded slowly.
“Yes… I know. It’s quite strange.”
Mr. Walia’s voice hardened.
“It has changed because of fear.”
(The Fog Night)
“So far,” Mr. Walia continued,
“twenty six people have disappeared from the city.”
The professor’s eyebrows rose.
“And nineteen of them vanished on the same night,” Mr. Walia added.
“The night of the dense fog.”
He locked eyes with the professor.
“What do you think about that night?”
Professor Shivers responded calmly.
“Every year, thousands of people go missing across the country.
This isn’t new.
The government should take strict action against criminals and human trafficking networks...”
He scoffed slightly.
“But powerful people are often involved.
So nothing really changes.”
Mr. Walia shook his head.
“That explanation doesn’t fit here,” he said.
“Something about this city is different.”
“What exactly is different?” the professor asked.
Mr. Walia hesitated, then spoke carefully.
“Some news channels claim it’s a gang war.
Others call it a political conspiracy.
But a few well known scholars suggest something else entirely.”
The professor leaned forward.
“What?”
“They say that the fog itself carried a supernatural force,” Mr. Walia said quietly.
“That those who were caught in it were pulled into another dimension.”
He paused.
“Some even call it a curse from the gods.”
(The Story Called ‘Fog’)
The professor frowned.
“These are absurd stories,” he said dismissively.
“News channels sell lies for money and ratings.”
Mr. Walia didn’t argue.
“Maybe,” he said.
“But nineteen people disappearing in one night... and no trace even after a week... isn’t normal.”
The professor sighed.
“And how does any of this relate to my brother’s death?”
Mr. Walia leaned in closer.
“There is a connection,” he said.
The professor’s eyes narrowed.
“What connection?”
“Two days after the fog incident,” Mr. Walia continued,
“your brother published a strange story in a magazine.”
The professor looked confused.
“A story?”
“Yes,” Mr. Walia said.
“It was titled ‘Fog.’
Are you aware of it?”
The professor shook his head.
“No. He often wrote strange stories.”
Mr. Walia watched the professor closely.
“In that story,” he said slowly,
“the fog is described as a dangerous conspiracy.”
He recited from memory:
"'They do not appear openly.
They plot in shadows.
Centuries ago, they spread deadly plagues across Europe, then the world.
They took countless lives.
And now… no one knows what they plan next.
Perhaps something far worse.’"
Silence fell between them.
An Unanswered Question
The professor felt uneasy but masked it well.
“It’s well written,” he said.
“But I have no interest in such fictional narratives.
I teach history.
Stories like these only complicate real facts.”
Mr. Walia’s gaze sharpened.
“You still don’t see it, Professor?” he asked.
“The night this story was published…
your brother died the very same night.”
He paused.
“It could be a coincidence,” he admitted.
“But what if it isn’t?”
“What if there is a deeper secret…
a conspiracy hidden beneath all this?”
The professor fell silent.
For the first time that evening, doubt crept into his eyes.
“…Yes,” he said slowly,
“that is possible… but...”
Just then, a missed call appeared on the professor’s phone.
Professor Shivers glanced at the screen, paused for a moment...
then ignored it and placed the phone back on the table.
Mr. Walia noticed.
“Professor… who was that?” he asked calmly.
The professor replied casually,
“Nothing important. One of my college students. She needs some help with her project. I didn’t reply to her messages for a while, so she must have tried calling.”
Mr. Walia raised an eyebrow.
“That’s quite surprising,” he said.
“A young college girl calling her professor at night.”
The professor frowned slightly.
“You’re misunderstanding,” he replied.
“She’s my student. Students these days are quite open... they don’t hesitate before calling.”
Next Chapter...
- Writer
