The Unnatural Diary

Part I: The Unintended Discovery

Dust swirled in the dim light as Sarah pushed aside a stack of brittle newspapers, her fingers brushing against something unexpected—soft, worn leather. She reached into the box of forgotten books and relics, pulling free an old, weathered diary. Its edges were frayed with time, the cover nearly stripped of its once-proud embossing, now smooth and cool beneath her touch. A faint residue of salt clung to its surface, as if it had weathered years of quiet decay or been touched by the sea itself.

Intrigued, she carefully pried it open near the middle, where thick, textured pages crackled with age. The paper felt different—denser than usual, almost like parchment. The ink, though faded, carried an unusual shimmer, as if the words still pulsed with some lingering energy revealing a chilling passage:

"I had to move quickly, but the floorboards betrayed me, groaning beneath my steps as I crept through the darkened hall. ‘It’ was close. I could feel its snarling breath, cold and damp, seeping through the walls, making them feel thinner than they were. The air was thick with the weight of it’s presence. I had to make it to the kitchen—I had to get to the closest bag of consecrated salt—before it was too late."

A shiver ran down Sarah’s spine. The words read like a story, yet something about them felt strangely real, and weren’t meant to entertain, but to warn. She flipped another page, the dry parchment whispering as it moved, and something slipped loose.

A note.

A single, yellowed slip of paper fluttered to the attic floor. Sarah bent to retrieve it, her pulse quickening as she read the hastily scrawled words:

"If you’ve found this, it already knows."

"It already knows?" The words sent a shiver down Sarah’s spine. What does that mean? What already knows?

Shaking off the unease, she set the diary aside, convincing herself it was just a very old diary—nothing more. She returned to cleaning, determined to finish the task before indulging her curiosity.

Later, with the attic finally organized, Sarah sank into the old desk chair she had recently dusted off and pulled from the corner. It paired well with an antique desk she had just cleaned off, a piece that had likely sat buried beneath clutter for years. Exhaustion giving way to curiosity, she reached for the diary, opening it to the first page. Her fingers brushing over the worn pages, coming to the inside of the cover, where a passage so intimate, it felt as though she was intruding on something deeply personal, was scrawled in elegant handwriting:

"To my beautiful Collette, may the enchantment of these pages cradle your precious memories and bridge the distance between us, keeping our hearts forever intertwined.

With eternal love,

Roderick Shadowthorne of MoonVeil Hollow."

Beneath the inscription, in a more delicate script, another line had been added:

"Given to me by my love on Saturday, February 28th, 1953."

Sarah's pulse quickened. The names—Roderick Shadowthorne, MoonVeil Hollow—felt almost otherworldly, like something plucked from a forgotten fairytale.

Sarah turned to the first entry,

“March 2, 1953

My Dearest New Diary,

I am excited to begin writing! I can scarcely believe my fortune. Has it only been weeks since I met Roderick? It feels as though I have known him forever, as though our souls recognized one another long before our eyes had ever met. He is unlike anyone I have ever known—his presence is both briskly confident and gentle, and his words laced with a wisdom as though he has seen lifetimes beyond my own, fascinates me.

When I am with him, the world feels richer and brighter, as if I have stepped beyond the veil and into something wondrous. His world is unlike anything I could have imagined—mystical, brimming with enchantment and secrets woven through everything there. He speaks of things I cannot yet comprehend, yet I believe every word. When he takes my hand, I swear I can feel the pulse of something ancient and powerful.

He calls himself a hermit—or rather, that’s what others call him—but to me, he is nothing short of extraordinary. Everything about him is mesmerizing—his long, dark waves that frame his face, the depth of his warm brown eyes, and oh, the way he looks at me! As if I am the only thing that exists in his world. It sends my heart racing, my breath catching in my throat. I have never felt so seen, so cherished. If this is love, then let me remain lost in it forever.

I do not know what the future holds, nor how we will balance our lives together, but I know I wish to be with Roderick forever, and I will follow wherever this enchantment leads.

Forever hopeful,

Collette”

"Wow."

Sarah exhaled the word, unable to stop the tinge of jealousy creeping into her voice. To feel that in love—to be cherished like that. She had once known that feeling, back when she and Neil were still wrapped in the bliss of their early days. But those days had faded, worn thin by time and disappointment, until all that remained was silence and a divorce finalized three years ago. Now, her world revolved around work, the occasional night out with friends, and a growing reluctance to let anyone get too close again.

She shook off the thought and turned the page—

Only to feel as though something else was guiding her hand.

The diary fell open to a blank page, yet at the top, written in the same elegant script, a date had already been inscribed:

March 15, 2025.

Sarah’s breath hitched. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

That’s today’s date.

She stumbled back, nearly losing her balance. Her mind raced for an explanation, but none made sense. The diary was old—decades old. How could this be?

A chill swept through the attic, and she rubbed her arms, trying to shake the unease pressing against her chest. It’s just a coincidence. A weird, creepy coincidence.

Forcing a nervous laugh, she muttered, “Okay. That’s enough reading for today. I just need a shower, food, and—”

Before she could finish, a brilliant light erupted from the diary, flooding the attic in a blinding radiance. The air crackled, thick with an energy she could feel rushing over her skin. A high-pitched hum filled her ears as the pages of the diary flared open, their edges glowing with an unnatural heat.

Sarah barely had time to scream before the light consumed her.

Then—silence.

The attic stood empty. The diary lay undisturbed on the desk.

A new entry had appeared on the once-blank page:

“March 15, 2025

I could sense a release. The connection to her world is back. It seems different somehow. Oh how I can’t wait to see her again.

What is this?

She?

She opened it?

Who is she?

She has dared to open Collette’s diary.

She will answer for this. She will—"

The sentence trailed off, the ink still wet, as if waiting to be finished.

Part II: The Vanished Sister

As the last of the evening sun faded into a moonless sky, Gloria settled in beside her husband, the familiar hum of their favorite television show filling the room. The night was calm, uneventful—until the phone shattered the quiet with a sharp trill.

Gloria glanced at the caller ID. A slight frown creased her brow.

Miranda? Sarah’s friend? Why would she be calling?

Perplexed, she rose from the couch, murmuring to her husband, “I’ll be right back.”

Pressing the phone to her ear, she answered hesitantly. “Hello? Miranda?”

“Uh, hey, Gloria. I, uh—I’m sorry for calling so late,” Miranda’s voice wavered, the hesitation in her tone setting Gloria instantly on edge. “I got your number from Sarah’s records…”

Gloria’s throat tightened. Sarah’s records?

“…We were wondering if everything was okay with her. She hasn’t been to work in about a week, and we’re starting to get worried. We’ve tried calling, leaving messages, but she hasn’t answered. This isn’t like her at all. And—” Miranda hesitated before continuing, her voice barely above a whisper. “She missed an important deadline for a major project on Wednesday.”

Gloria gripped the phone tighter.

Sarah? Missing work? Ignoring calls? Failing to meet a deadline?

The words barely registered as the realization slowly settled into fear—she hadn’t spoken to her sister in nearly two weeks. That wasn’t unusual for them; life had a way of pulling them in different directions.

But Sarah not showing up for work and no word to anyone?

That was impossible. That was not Sarah.

And suddenly, the quiet night didn’t feel so peaceful anymore; the familiar rhythm of her world began to close in.

Where is my sister?

*****

By the time the police got involved, Gloria had already exhausted every possible explanation. Even Sarah’s ex-husband Neil had flown into town, trying to find out what he could from their mutual acquaintances and his family in the area. But the more they searched, the deeper the mystery became.

There were no signs of forced entry. No struggle. No evidence of foul play.

Sarah’s car remained parked in the driveway. Her purse sat neatly on the dining table, car keys beside it. The house—meticulously arranged, just as she always kept it.

Security footage only deepened the mystery. The last recording showed Sarah arriving home from work last Friday, locking the door behind her.

And then—nothing.

No one entered. No one left—leaving the house feeling eerily undisturbed, as if she had vanished without a trace.

Her coworkers, Amalia and Miranda, had been the first to raise the alarm. They knew their friend would not miss work, especially not a major deadline—not without calling, not without an explanation. This was an impossibility for someone as methodical and precise as Sarah.

So where had she gone?

Then there was the opened diary in the attic.

Sitting on the antique desk in the attic, its cracked leather cover bore the weight of years. It wasn’t Sarah’s—Gloria knew that much. The pages, thick and timeworn, had been left open as if abandoned in haste. And there, scrawled in elegant yet unsettling handwriting, was a date.

March 15, 2025.

Last Saturday, the day after Sarah was last seen.

The police had skimmed through the diary, dismissing it as nothing more than an old journal Sarah had stumbled upon. Perhaps she had been reading it, maybe even planning to write something inspired by it. After all, she had only moved into the house last October.

The previous owner—a woman in her nineties—had passed away the year before, and her children had taken what little they wanted. Antiques, heirlooms, family photographs. The rest had been left behind in their rush to sell the house.

But as Gloria sat at the old antique desk staring at the diary, unease slithered through her.

She reached for it hesitantly, fingers grazing the worn leather cover.

A whisper of movement stirred the air, though the room was still.

The moment she picked up the book, a chill pricked deep in her bones.

Something told her that Sarah hadn’t just disappeared.

She had been taken.

Part III: The Final Entry

Taking a steadying breath, Gloria flipped through the pages only to have them land on the last recorded entry again:

“March 15, 2025

I could sense a release. The connection to her world is back. It seems different somehow. Oh how I can’t wait to see her again.

What is this?

She?

She opened it?

Who is she?

She has dared to open Collette’s diary.

She will answer for this. She will—"

The ink shimmered in shifting iridescent hues of black and blue as if the words were still being formed, not yet complete. A low hum vibrated through the attic, the air thickening with something unnatural.

Gloria clenched her jaw. An aching sense of dread settled in her chest. This wasn’t just a diary. This was something else—something supernatural.

Sarah… what did you do?

With a deep breath, she turned the page—and gasped.

“March 20, 2025

She keeps running again.

I’ll find her again.

She will tell me where Collette is!

She does not belong.

She is not Collette.

She fights, but she cannot escape.

She will stay… if I cannot have my Collette.

I found her again. She hides.

These people cannot protect her from me.

She is strong, but endurance lasts only so long.”

Gloria’s stomach twisted. Sarah was alive—but she wasn’t just missing. She was trapped. Somewhere beyond this world.

Desperation clawed at her chest. There had to be something—some way to help Sarah.

Flipping frantically through the brittle pages, she stopped when she found an entry dated April 10, 1956.

The ink was uneven, smudged in places, as though written in haste.

“April 10, 1956

I have kept “it” at bay with consecrated salt.

I believe I have found a way to seal this diary.

It was forged by Roderick’s own hands—a doorway between both worlds.

It seems impossible to destroy.

But I must protect my husband. My children.

The salt has bound the door. He cannot come through that way again.

I did love him once, but what he was becoming...

 Now he is lost to rage and darkness. No longer the man I loved.

He is something else now. A vile creature.

I pray no one ever finds this diary.

I have been told—soak cloth in sea salt. Wrap the diary within it. The realms will be severed.

If this works, this will be my last entry.

If it doesn’t…

God help me.”

The smudged words ended abruptly.

Gloria’s hands trembled as she closed the diary.

She knew what she had to do.

Collette had sealed the diary once before. Gloria would do it again.

Gloria searched the attic, her hands trembling, looking for any salt that may have been left. Thankfully, Sarah had cleaned and organized the space not too long ago, making it easier to find what she needed.

But would it work? Would it not only seal the diary—but also bring Sarah back?

Her fingers brushed against something cool and metallic. An old tin can with the words Consecrated Salt embossed on its worn surface. Inside, a thick, heavy bag of salt remained untouched, waiting.

Anxious, Gloria quickly opened the diary to the most recent entry. Her heart pounded as she poured a thick line of salt down the center of the open pages, then traced a protective circle around it.

She didn’t know what she was doing. But she had to do something.

It had already been a week since Sarah disappeared.

The air shifted.

A strange, oppressive stillness pressed down on the attic. Then—

The diary lifted off the desk.

A plume of smoke curled from its pages as an eerie glow pulsed from within. The pages flared open, flipping wildly as a gust of wind erupted through the attic. Bolts of crackling light shot from the diary, slamming into the wooden beams and shaking the very foundation of the house.

Gloria stumbled back, shielding her face as the attic groaned, the walls pulsating as if the house itself were alive.

Then—a scream.

Low and guttural. Full of rage. And loss.

A scream that was not human.

And just as suddenly as it began—everything stilled.

The diary dropped to the floor with a final thud, its edges slightly singed. The attic fell silent, the air refreshed into somewhat normalcy.

Gloria hesitated before stepping forward.

The diary lay motionless, its pages now eerily still.

A single, final entry had appeared.

 “March 21, 2025

She is gone.

My Collette has left me.

I am nothing without her.

Oh Collette… I am so sorry.

I loved you so...

I waited... you never came.

I am no more.

Finally… released from my agony.”

Then, without warning—the diary slammed shut.

Gloria’s breath caught.

“Where is Sarah? Please—give me my sister back!” she cried, voice breaking.

A soft thud echoed from downstairs.

Heart pounding, Gloria bolted down the steps.

And there—lying in the center of the living room, was Sarah—dazed, shaken, a little battered, but very much alive.

Sarah blinked at her, disoriented. “Gloria?” Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “You’re here… what… what happened?”

Tears blurred Gloria’s vision as she rushed forward, pulling her sister into a fierce hug. “Oh, Sarah! You’re home!”

Sarah shuddered against her. “I—I saw him. Roderick. He was a monster, Gloria. Twisted by rage. He was searching for Collette—furious that she had betrayed him, that she had moved on, married someone else.”

Gloria cupped Sarah’s face, her thumbs brushing against her cheeks wiping the tears. “You’re safe now. It’s over.”

Sarah’s gaze flickered toward the attic door. Her voice was quieter now, wary. “Is it?”

 Gloria took a slow breath. “I think… he finally found peace. After all these years, he was released from his pain.”

Sarah nodded, but unease lingered in her expression. “Then let’s make sure no one ever opens that diary again.”

Gloria agreed and without hesitation, they climbed back up to the attic, grabbing the diary.

Then, under the moon’s watchful glow, they carried it out back—straight to the fire pit.

As the flames consumed the aged leather and timeworn pages, an unnatural wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the last echoes of Roderick Shadowthorne of Moonveil Hollow.

And for the first time in seventy years…

MoonVeil Hollow would be forgotten forever.

Or so they hoped.