Through the eyes of the damned.

I was sifting through my attic for wearable warm clothes as the thin white layers of snow had started covering the roads, houses and cars. Amidst the dusty old cardboard boxes, I found an old book bound in surprisingly clean and dazzling red velvet. There was nothing written on the cover so I opened the book and discovered that it was a diary. Unlike the neat cover, the writing inside was rather peculiar and crooked. Each letter written by the author screamed apprehension and fear, written in dark black, seemingly with a charcoal pencil, it looked as if each word was written in a haste by trembling hands with cold sweats. 

"I never thought it'd come to this. I never thought that a simple coat from a thrift store would ruin my life forever." 

The first page read. 

Having read this, my curiosity piqued and I found myself turning one page after another to read what the book narrated.

"16 November 2015.

I had just emptied the attic and had taken out warm clothes for the children to wear in the harsh winter."

I felt a little awkward as that is exactly what I had been doing but I brushed it off. "Everyone does that in winters," I bolstered myself.

"I took out tons of sweaters, scarves and gloves and started doing the heavy laundry, 'Honey,' my husband called from behind, 'We have to go to my boss' home tonight for dinner, you do remember that right?' 'Oh shit!' I murmured under my breath. I had just put the only decent coat I had in the laundry and had nothing to cover myself with in the chilly weather so I decided to go to the local thrift store to search for a presentable coat in the little time we had left. I had always been the one to save money and this time, we were also low on budget so a second hand, thrift store coat was my only option. I put on my weary boots, grabbed a dull sweater and scarf from the dirty clothes and got into the car to the store. By the time I got there though, the store was closed, so on the way back I kept frantically looking around for any more stores open where I could buy a coat and still save a few bucks. Just when I had lost all hope and was heading to the mall to spend 70 bucks on a coat, a small shop, cramped up in the corner of a dark street caught my eye, 'BUY CHEAP, SECOND HAND CLOTHES,' The board hung on the shop read in big, bold letters. 

I decided to take a shot at it and entered inside. It was eerily quiet except for some ghoulish, old opera song playing. I ventured inside and saw just what I was looking for! It was a red velvet coat with the most beautiful embroidery and crystal buttons. There were peacocks sewn in the coat with a shiny black thread and cloth flowers were embedded in it.The coat was fashioned so elegantly that when I took it off the plastic hanger and put it on, it felt like it was tailored for me and me only! 'Who would want to sell such a coat?' I questioned myself, hastily rolled it around my hands and went to the counter to make the payment. On the counter, an old man, with wrinkles on his face resembling the folds of a pleated blanket and an eye so white and milky that it resembled the shining moon on a full moons' night addressed me, 'You're here for the coat huh,' he said, a smirk on his face that made me uncomfortable, 'Yes,' I replied with a subtle, forced smile on my face in an attempt to ease the tension, 'How much will it be?' I asked, 'Oh no, for you it's free,' he shrugged. It made me feel weird and I insisted on giving him money but he just wouldn't take it so I quietly left a 20 dollar bill on his table and took home the coat.

That night when I went to the dinner, everyone noticed my coat and asked me where I had bought it. I told them that I had it especially tailored for myself. I didn't take off the coat even when we were in the house saying that I was feeling cold although I was dying of the sweat. I just wanted to find a way to flaunt my new possession. It could have easily been the best day of my life if not for the weird scribblings I found in the coats pocket when I took it off upon reaching home. 

It was an old paper with burned edges and brown specks. I took it out and opened it to see if there was something relevant written on it but it was all blank so I crumbled it and went to the dustbin to throw it but just as I was about to drop it in the bin, I felt compelled to check it once again. To my horror, the paper was full of scribblings done in an ancient language, 'But….but it was just blank,' I gasped under my breath but later shrugged it off as a result of my tired state. 

I had always been fascinated by history and languages and had a full book shelf of books about ancient languages so I went up and matched the scribblings to a book. It was Coptic! With tired eyes and constant yawns I turned around the pages and translated the text on the paper. It translated to an address in an area widely known for the supernatural entities that haunted it."

Reading about the supernatural in the chilly, dark attic all alone sent shivers down the lowest part of my back and gave me goosebumps where I didn't even know I had hair on so I ran out of the attic into my room with the book clutched in my hand. I switched on my bedside lamp, settled inside the warm comforter and continued.

"I was equally intrigued by all things mysterious and so I decided that the very next day I'd go the place and went to bed.

17 November 2015.

 I woke up early, dropped my daughters off to school, told my husband I was going to visit my sick aunt and went onto the adventure to the haunted road. As I drove along the roads the way got bumpier and I got on foot to complete the rest of my journey as I didn't want to tend to a flat tyre in that weather. The streets got narrower as I went in deeper and it felt as if the land was isolated from the rest of the otherwise lively and joyous town.

Locked house doors were proof that life existed there but no one dared come out of their houses for the streets were not safe. I opened up the parchment paper and revised the address written on it. 52nd Bahria view street. I was standing right there but there was nothing or no one there except a few rodents and two stinky garbage cans. 

I waited and waited but no one came. Daunted, I turned back to leave when a voice came from behind, 'So, you're the chosen one huh,' his tone and framework of sentence mirrored that of the old man that I had encountered the day prior in the thrift store. I turned around but the man standing there was nothing like that old man. He was a rather attractive young man with eyes as bright and blue as the deepest oceans, perfectly styled hair and a big body frame. I did not feel intimidated as he was a well dressed man and I did not take him to be a thug or thief so I interrogated, 'Are you talking to me?' I expected an answer or at the very least, a confirming or denying nod but he just looked at me and smirked. In the blink of an eye, he was gone and there was a book lying around where he once stood. The book was covered in the exact same cloth that the coat I had just bought was made of. Red velvet. 

I picked up the book and hurried home.

That was the start of the end of my life."

The narrations were chilling and I feared the velvet covered book in my hand but the curiosity was greater than the fear and so, I continued.

"For several following days I tried opening the book. I hammered it, I pulled and pulled the covers to get a glimpse of what was inside, I tried to open it with a knife. Hell! I even jumped on it in the hopes that the wooden cover would break and I'd get to see the papers, but to no avail. When all my attempts to open the book went in vain I dumped it in my bookshelf and forgot about it for months.

17 April 2016.

It was my birthday and I had spent an amazing day outside with my friends and family. I came back home and hopped in bed. I was so tired that I felt as if my heavy eyelids would fall shut any minute but I just couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned in bed for hours but I could not get a single minute of sleep. Finally, at around 3 am, I got up to fix myself a bowl of cereal and walked to the kitchen. On my way there, my eyes befell on the bookshelf decorated in the living room and I instantly remembered the book. I decided to try one last time and took out the prominent red book stacked with the other brown and black covers and tried opening it with all the force I had and surprisingly enough, it opened like any normal book would!

I was astounded for a while but what I saw inside the first page surprised me even more. In big bold, red letters there was written "HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAMANTHA!" How'd the book know it was my birthday that day? Had that young stranger in the alley been stalking me?I was completely and utterly shocked, so much that the book dropped out of my hand and flipped forward a few pages. I squinted my eyes to see what was written on the page. But, to my horror, all I could observe was a grotesque scene with a little dead girl. I picked up the book and turned on the page after the birthday one. On the top of the page, a date was written. 19 April 2019. The scribblings on the old paper were hardly even readable.

It read, 'The Lloyd's building will fall. People will die, children will be orphaned and women will be widowed. This will be the next Twin Towers." At the end of the paper there was a sketch of the building with people running out of the exits in front of the falling infrastructure. Smoke flying here and there, people crushed under the heavy stones, ambulances and police near the scene. The drawing was sketched with great detail and really did remind me of the tragic day of 9/11 and I was horrified at what I had read and seen. So much so that I dared not turn another page to see what was written ahead and just dumped the book back on the shelf.

The next two days were spent in anxiety.

19th April 2016.

I put on the tv and waited. At exactly 3pm, all news outlets broadcasted the fall of the Lloyd's building. Footage showed people running around frantically in front of the collapsing architecture, there was debris all around and several people were crushed right in front of the camera and even the countless ambulances and police force around could not do anything to help. It was the next 9/11.

After seeing the news I was scared to my wits' end but I wanted to confirm, I wanted to see if it was just a coincidence or if the book really could predict the future.

So I opened the book again, this time the entry was for the 21st.

"A girl named Selena will be raped, tortured, killed and thrown in Palm's view 47 street."

The details were vague and again, there was a drawing at the end of the page, of a girl, evidently tortured, her clothes ripped and her lifeless eyes staring right at...me.

I closed the book in repulsion but yet again, two days forward, I found myself sitting in front of the tv, going between different tv channels with twitching muscles and a pounding heart when I read the headline of a news channel "12 year old girl's mutilated dead body, showing signs of rape found in Palm's view 47th street" soon every channel was showing news of the innocent child's brutal murder. 

I was shocked. I was astonished. I was grieving for I had known but because of my delusion I had not warned or told anyone about it. I felt like if I had warned anyone I could have saved the poor soul's life.

How did the book even know what was going to happen next? Was it possible that the same person who had given me the book was doing all this just to mess with my mind? But who would go to such lengths? My speculations were all proven wrong by the next entry.

After days of depression I opened the book again but this time I did so to stop whatever sinister was going to happen next. 

15th May 2016.

"Tsunami will destroy the coastal area of Karachi, Sindh in Pakistan."

It was as if the details kept on getting shorter with the passage and the drawings kept on getting more detailed. The disturbing scene of people and buildings as a whole being consumed by the angry waves and children weeping, looking for their parents was too much for me to handle so I decided not to stare at it for long.

Rather, I closed the book and dialled 911. 

'911 what's your emergency?'

'Listen, this is urgent, I want you to….'

I wanted to continue but suddenly my throat felt dry and no voice came out of my chords. I gulped down a big glass of water but nothing helped. Whenever I tried too hard, I felt like my throat was being strangled by a thousand thorns gathered in one rope and no matter what, I just couldn't speak. 

Not even in front of my husband, my children or anyone else for that matter. I just couldn't talk about it.

And so, I had to watch it all again, on the news, the devastating scene while tears fell out of my eyes. 

25th May 2016.

"Family in Toronto. Massacre."

This time I tried writing to warn authorities and save the family. I wrote desperately on pieces of paper but everyone said that they could not see it. They asked me why I was writing in air. 

By that time I had known that there was no way I could stop the tragedies and so, I stopped reading, for I was going insane. I distanced myself from the world, hardly ever ate or slept and had become a patient of severe anxiety and depression.

After I'd stopped reading, I thought that the misery would end too, but, no, that evil book had something else in store for me. I started having dreams. About when the disasters would happen and they did happen the exact same ways shown in the dreams and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I was going insane and suicide was the only way I found to be the solution to my gloom. Right now, with the cold blade pressed against my wrist I would like to apologize to my husband and children.

I am sorry Phil, Rosie and Sandy but I have to or else I will go insane. I have to do this or else I'll be damned for the rest of my life. I am damned for all of my life, but thanfully, that won't last long ."

The diary ended with this and it seemed as if the 'diary' was just a story book written by a kid with an overactive imagination. Sure, it had been a good read but I had a lot more to do and went on about my work putting the book on my side table.

Months passed and eventually, I forgot about the book. 

26th April 2019.

I went downstairs and scoured through my cupboard for something presentable to wear on my brother's outdoor birthday party next week when my mom called for me from the kitchen.

"Honey look at what your father got me," she said holding a red velvet coat in her hand. "Isn't it just perfect?" she asked excitedly wearing the coat. It felt like it was made just for her. It was the perfect fit!

"Oh and look at this book I found on an address written on a paper in the coat's pockets. It has rather strange and creepy stories though,"