Till Twelve

I completely blame that sketchy-looking man who sold the darn journal to me for five bucks for my current predicament. I knew something was off the moment I saw four of the pages filled in that dirty old thing. I mean come on, a magical level up journal? How the heck was I supposed to predict that?

I procrastinated the whole year and now I’ve only got three hours to perform some kind of miracle and get a million dollars. As of now I only have $1,159 in my bank account, which the last time I checked, has gone down in favor of a fast-food burger. However, considering how dire my situation is, I doubt a measly two bucks will matter.

Despite it being way past my bedtime, my adrenaline was pumping from my new deadline. Quite literally. My armpits were practically a waterpark under my shirt. The heater isn’t making my situation any better so I throw off my duvet. My mind was reeling because I knew I only had one option, rob my grandma blind. Which won’t be hard since I’m spending the holidays in her vacation home in Colorado.

It’s not like I liked her or anything. She always got on my nerves. One minute she supported me and the next she’d do something that made me want to hide her medication. She always acts so innocent in front of strangers and family members, but as soon as we’re alone, she awakens a demon out of me. If I wasn’t already going to inherit her fortune, I would’ve taken her money long ago to pay my student loans.

I rushed out of my bed and made a beeline towards my crafts container where my “New Year New Me Glow Up” phony journal resided. I stared at it with disdain while recalling the contents without opening the old thing. I made some small promises like cussing out my aunt, slapping the crusty makeup off my fake friends, and giving hugs to ten puppies. Those resolutions were pretty attainable compared to becoming a millionaire. Now I have a few hours to somehow acquire the insane amount of money or I’d be swimming with the fishes.

The old rusty man who gave me the journal back in January, looked like he was on the brink of death. I thought that paying him five bucks for a two-dollar journal would be my good deed for the day. However, all I did was seal my unfortunate fate. 

I took it home after I bought a burrito from the gas station. Rather than resolutions, a lot of the things I wrote was something you’d write in a bucket list. Very few of them were real resolutions. But I continued to write them down anyway since paper is paper. Or so I thought. I could remember the moment my spit covered bean touched the journal, the words I had previously written in black ink turned blood red. 

I clutched my journal in my hand before shoving the cursed journal back into the cluttered container. I didn’t want to think about the deformed my dreams for three weeks after that. It’s haunting whispers promising my death if I couldn’t succeed in my “aspirations” still makes me shudder to this day. Whether I can go through with it or not, the deformed figure will leave my mind today.

As I sneaked through the empty hallway, I suddenly remembered Mr.Sketchy practically hooping and hollering when I bought the nightmare of a book off of him. If I make it out of here alive, I’m finding that cheap swindler and fighting him on sight.

As I turned to twist the doorknob, a sudden force hit me square in the back faster than I can say ‘I want my five dollars back’. As I quickly moved to the side of the hallway, I turned around to see my grandma with her trusty cane aimed at me.

“I’ve already called the cops, so get out of here.” My grandma cooly informed me with her shaky voice.

“Grandma it’s me, Dera!” I yelled urgently not wanting to get whacked again.

“Oh dear lord. Why are you creeping around like some lowly thief.” Grandma said while watching me get up.

“That hurt like heck,” I ignored her question to rub my sore back.

“Don’t ignore me.” She harshly poked my back again.

“I don’t have time for this, just get back to what you were doing.”

“You don’t have time for grandma?” She asked with a sarcastic tone.

“We don’t even talk like that. Besides, my life depends on whether I get this resolution done on time.” I informed her while speed walking towards her office.

I heard my grandma’s inquisitions weakening as I closed the door. It would be pretty easy to get into the safe since my grandma told me it was the birthday of her successor. Despite us hating each other, I’m the most competent person in the family business-wise so the password had to be 0922. Right?

Well, imagine my surprise when the screen on the tiny black safe began to flash red. What does it mean by “incorrect pin”? Is the machine stupid? Or maybe grandma funnily wrote my birthday. However 2209 had the same result as 0922, and my birthyear 1996 had the same outcome as the first two.

My mind briefly entertained the idea that maybe I wasn’t the successor. But that made no sense. Grandma hates my brother because he’s a screwup, my cousins are dumb as rocks and even more useless than the journal in my room. Who could be a better candidate than me? I’m the only person who is doing something productive in this family other than her. No matter how petty she is, she would never let her pride get in the way of the business she cherishes more than life itself.

In exasperation, I began rummaging through drawers. If I can’t get in through a pin code, then I can at least get in through a key. The more I searched, the less hope I held for finding the key to the safe. It was 11:50 at this point and I was about ready to give up. I mean, the last time I checked, you don’t pay bills in the afterlife. Maybe that won’t be so bad. 

As I flopped down on the spinning chair with a defeated sigh, my grandma came into the room.

“Are you so petty that you won’t even give me the business,” I asked before she got a word in.

“What do you mean.”

“Don’t act dumb. My birthday ain’t work on the safe.”

She snorted and let out a little chuckle before breaking out into a burst of full manic laughter that sounded like a car being started up.

“Hold up. Who told you the successor would be in this family.” She continued to laugh as though the situation was humorous.

“Um, you did. Remember all that talk about building generational wealth? About you wanting to pass this down to grandchildren?”

“I mean yeah, but that was before I realized I hated y'all. A bunch of good for nothings.” 

“Excuse me?”

I could take her calling my cousin and brother names because she’s not wrong. I wouldn’t trust a million-dollar business with them either. But for me? No, no, no. Not me. I was the valedictorian in high school, I’m getting my degree in business at a prestigious school, and I even have an internship in Spring at a well-known company. I was not a useless good for nothing.

“You’re the worst of them all,” my crusty grandma smiled annoyingly as she looked at me dead in the eye. 

I took a breath and sneaked a look at the clock. It was 11:54 and I’m running out of time. I’ll be dead in six minutes saying hi to Satan if I don’t do something. However, my ears had caught her taunts again and I couldn’t help but see red.

“Your ego is way too big. You walk around all prideful like you’re better than me but you’re not.” What?

Nothing she said even made sense. The only time I’ve done something like that is when she started it. Besides, she cut off her sister and started acting brand new when her big fat check came in so who’s the prideful one? The hypocrisy is suffocating and my vision zeros in on her.

She would berate me and make me feel dumb just because I’m doing something for myself. Or she wants to be the only successful woman in the family and is going against her own words. Perhaps her words of generational wealth were never true at all. 

Either way, judging by the way her blood is leaking out of her head, she’s not going to be saying much anymore.

11:57

Well, screw it, if I have to die I’m taking down other people with me. Maybe if I kill them all I can get lucky and have my cousin go to the limbo because I know he’d get lost on the way to heaven. Brother wouldn’t even climb the stairs of heaven so I might see him burning in a corner somewhere.

Screw solid motives, I’ve got three minutes to live because of a failed mission. My cousin had it coming after he stole the spotlight of my tenth birthday for being “sick”. Brother never cleaned up around the house so he has to pay too. If the universe is kind, my grandma hasn't submitted her will yet and I kill them all to get the million and use it as hush money.

Whether it’s hell or getting away with murder, I don’t know which I’m looking forward to more.