Dear Diary,

I know I usually write in this about my study schedules and revision notes - I find that more important then prattling on about what boy I have a crush on or some other irrelevant drivel. However, I have discovered something that has proven even more important then my academic career and it's not exactly a topic I can discuss with my peers or even my family. I fear they may come to the incorrect conclusion that I have become too stressed and have thus, made myself unwell.

I have found something living in my bedroom wall.

There. It's such a relief to have that written down.

The Professor recently made the decision to separate my sisters and I into our own bedrooms, because at thirteen we are much too old to be sleeping in the same room. We helped to construct the new rooms ourselves. Although significantly smaller, we all appreciate the new-found privacy.

It was a week after we had settled in, when I discovered the small hole in the wall about 30 centimeters above my bed. The hole is about the size of a quater and even my own x-ray vision could not penetrate the darkness within it. This deeply unsettled me.

That weekend, we were invited to a party by one of our peers. I found it uncomfortably different to the parties I'd attended in the past. Buttercup says she saw much older teenagers drinking by the back fence - I sincerely hope none of my own schoolmates were amongst this crowd. Drinking underage is an offense after all and it is scientifically proven to damage the developing brain cells of a young teenager or adult.

After further thought, I must conclude that Mitch Mitchelson may have been intoxicated. While I sat on a couch with my soda and discussed the current political climate with Mary, Mitch sat behind me and began to play with my hair. I of course told him to back off and he laughed and said I needed to 'loosen up.'

The rest of the night passed with my schoolmates slobbering and groping at each other, prompting me to leave early.

I wish I had friends with the same levels of maturity as me. Friends who did not embarrass themselves by succumbing to such carnal desires.

That night I thought I saw a flickering light coming out of the hole above my bed and I smelt something like a flame burning low.

I've been finding high-school very unexciting. Despite being placed in advanced classes, the material comes easily to me and I find it takes me little to no effort to master my work. Other students snicker when I put my hand up. They never offer answers, so I of course feel obliged to share my knowledge.

My friends often tell me to "let loose." They spend their weekends out in town or hanging in the park or having their ridiculous parties. I'm sorry I have more important duties to attend to. I'm sorry we have a town that needs to be saved which only I can do. I'm sorry I value my brain over my reproductive organs.

One time in the middle of the night, I thought I saw an eye watching me through the hole in the wall but when I blinked it was gone. I whispered out who's there but only the silence answered me.

Bubbles and Buttercup are thankfully not too preoccupied with superficialities, but again I worry they don't focus on their training and study enough. Bubbles has joined cooking classes and environmental groups and she often has no time to better her skills in fighting, or do her homework. Buttercup likes to write songs and she plays them on her guitar and sometimes I see her at the skate park with older types. I hope she isn't being drawn into the wrong crowd. I should talk to her.

Sometimes I find myself stopping robberies, fighting monsters and going up against the varied members of Townsville's rogue's gallery by myself. However, I can't help but think I do a better job by myself anyway. I'm the only one who has a consistent training schedule. More then ever I notice the power imbalance between my sisters and I.

My friends tell me I brag too much.

I hate to be overly emotional - but there's something inside my heart that hurts me. Something bitter and pulsing and sometimes it stings so bad it makes me want to cry. I can't find a source to these feelings.

But that's not why I'm writing in here today.

The thing in the wall is talking to me.

He won't tell me his name - but he knows mine.

He only talks during the night.

I could fall asleep to his voice, but I can't - that'd be stupid.

When I ask how he got there, he rumbles in my ear about the Professor's ancestors from long, long ago. How they thought he committed a terrible crime, but how it was all lies, despicable lies.

I ask him how long he's been there, even though I'm afraid of the answer.

He says he's been there longer then I can imagine. And when I ask why I've never heard of him until now, he says he's been sleeping for just as long.

I don't know how I woke him up. Why it was me that awoke him. Sometimes I feel his gaze on me when I'm brushing my hair in front of the mirror. This might sound silly, but I've get dressed in the bathroom nowadays.

I hate to admit this...

But I'm scared.

Really scared.

Dear Diary,

This sounds strange I know, but

but I'm talking to him now.

About all kinds of topics that I can't talk about to anyone else.

The teachers are too busy, schoolmates eyes glaze over.

I'm sorry for the poor grammar.

Sleep-deprived.

Can't go to sleep. He's watching me.

I'm writing this, writing this at Ms Keane's house.

Childish I know.

I've been awake too long.

And I don't want to sleep over at a friend's house.

With their stupid titter about who likes who and other ridiculous gossip.

I wish my friends were as smart and interesting as...

Dear Diary,

I'm sorry for the way I trailed off in my last entry. I fell asleep mid-sentence. I guess even a superhero can't fight sleep for too long

I've been having a lot of sleep overs lately. Sometimes at a friend's house, sometimes at Ms Keane's. The Professor seems to be worried but he needn't be. I've concluded that because of my lack of sleep, I was experiencing hallucinations. That's a common symptom - I looked it up to make sure. Anyway I must've imagined it. It's not real. It's extensive history is a product of my over active imagination - my mind when left with no stimulation at school, manifested a shape in the wall that was my own intellectual equal.

That makes perfect sense to me.

Although I'm not going back home to see if it's still there.

No way.

Dear Diary,

It's midnight. And he's here.

He's watching me now as I write. The light from beyond the wall casts it's flame across the bed and he watches me.

He recognizes something in me.

He nurtures it.

He says I'm smarter then anybody knows.

I think that painful thing is getting more liquid black in my chest.

I can't sleep. There's something wrong with me. Right in the back of my throat. Right at the bottom of my belly.

He's telling me to let him out.

He wants me to break down the wall.

Only I can do it.

Only I am strong enough, smart enough to do it.

I don't want to. I can't.

I'm a hero and he was locked in there for a reason. Some mysterious reason that I can't find in books. I can't let him out, I want to let him out, there's something deep down inside me and I'm scared.

He's just trying to play me. Trick me. He can't outsmart me, he won't.

But I want to let him out. I want to.

Sometimes I think he's getting stronger every day.

He's going to get out soon. I know it.