(I had to change some people's name cause Eric got mad at Moi!! *Screams*)
The Diary That Told A Story
Eric covered his face with his hands, and shook his head in pure laziness. The sunlight gleamed through his bedroom's curtains, and he didn't it enjoy it. He desired to go back to sleep, but now he was wide awake. He looked at his alarm clock and it read 6 a.m.
"Eric!! Wake up lazy boy! Get ready or you'll be left here!" echoed his dad's voice.
Eric grunted, and got up. He opened an eye, and sighed. "Why do I have to go to the stupid camping trip?" he thought to himself "I'd rather be left here!"
After he went to the bathroom and got dressed, in his usual punk clothes, he went down. His dad, mom, and sister were hurrying back and forth, from room to room, packing up last minutes needs, while they ate breakfast. His dad almost broke his neck trying to grab some water bottles from a high shelf. He sighed, and sat down, to eat breakfast, in a rather slow way.
"Eric, you're eating all the strawberry jam!" cried Lizzie his younger sister, while she tried to snatch the jar away, with her arms full of clothes. He snorted, and moved the jam jar an inch away from her sister's reach, and continued eating. His sister squeaked, as she tried to reach for the precious jar, when all the clothes she was carrying fell.
"Eric!! Leave you sister alone and help her with the clothes!" her mom barked from the garage.
"How could she know what was happening if she was in the garage?" asked Eric to his contented sister, as he picked up all the clothes. Lizzie grabbed a spoon and dug it inside the jam jar, as she shrugged. Eric stood up and handed his passing by dad the clothes, and he went upstairs to grab his CD's and his c.d. player. He looked at his guitar and he knew that three days in the wildness without his guitar was going to be a living hell.
"ERIC!! Are you ready yet? Come down, we're about to go!!" came her mom's yell from downstairs. He took a last look at his very comfortable, earthly bedroom, and went down.
"Mom, are we there yet?" came Lizzie's monotonous voice from behind him. He didn't notice because he was listening to "The Ramones" and was happy enough. Suddenly, the car stopped abruptly, and his mom turned around, and cried with joy "we're here kids!". Eric cried to himself, because he already missed his computer and instant messaging.
When he got out of the car, all that could be seen was a small, wooden cabin, with two windows, and two crooked chairs outside its tiny veranda, and trees; lots of trees. His dad took out the cabin's keys, and handed them to Eric, and he signaled him to open the door. The inside was a smudgy looking at its outside. A moldy looking couch, a table and four chairs, a little coal stove, and further inside, the minuscule kitchen, with another tiny table, and two chairs, and even further inside, the bathroom, and the room where-
"Yes, Eric, you will share the room with your sister, and there's no discussing it." His mom snapped, when Eric groaned that there were two beds in the same room, and that he didn't want to sleep in the same room as his sister. His sister threw him a mocking look, and then put an innocent look when her dad called her.
It was about 7 p.m. and Eric was looking through the room for the hundredth time. He knew there was nothing to find here, but it was so bloody boring. His parents and sister were outside, with a fire, singing songs. How could they be outside, when they had a stove inside? Guess they were just too excited they were away from humanity. He wasn't, that's all he knew. He stood up, and meant to sit down on the tiny desk, to scribble a little on his sister's notebook, when his knee accidentally bumped with the desk, and something moved under the desk. He looked and saw that a little trap door had opened under the desk. It wasn't fully open though, so he tried to open it with bare hands, but it was no easy task. He went to the kitchen and looked about for a crowbar. He didn't find any, so he took a knife instead. He reached down, and put the knife inside the crack, and pulled the knife outward. The trapdoor gave in, and opened fully. He reached a hand inside and felt a bump. He grabbed it, and took it out. "Ugh" he thought, because both his hand and the bump, (which was a bundle of cloth) were full of dust.
He looked at the bundle, and just when he was about to unroll it, his sister's shrilly voice surprised him. He rapidly put the bundle inside his bag, and then the door opened.
"What are you-ew! Look at your hand Eric! It's so nasty! What have you been doing, cleaning? MOM, Eric was messing around and got my notebook dusty!" and she jerked the notebook from under his elbow.
"Shut up git, you know I would never clean, lest this place" retorted Eric, as he stood up and went to the bathroom, to wash his hands. The he thought of the bundle. He'd open it tonight, when everybody went to sleep.
He peeked out the door, and made sure that everyone was deep asleep, and then crept outside, with the bundle tight in his hands. He made it for the living room, and closed the sliding door connecting it with the kitchen, so that the light wouldn't wake anybody up.
He sat down on the moldy couch, and began to unwrap the "thing". Finally, he was holding a dusty, leather (small) book. He opened it and saw that it was a diary. He looked in the first page, where a single line read "Property of J. Smith", and then, the writing began. He looked over some pages, and then, found something interesting:
" June 2, 1899, Dear Diary: Today something horrible happened. I found all the members of my family dead, and I don't know where I was last night. I remember so little, it does not fit together. I remember coming out of my bedroom, and seeing the big round moon shining through the kitchen window; then I remember pain like no other, even bigger than the dog bite I got a couple of days before, as you might remember. Next thing I remember was finding myself outside, sleeping next to a tree, under a hillside. Then, when I went back I found all my family dead.
The sheriff came today, and seeing my bite, he thought a common mountain wolf had attacked us all, and that I got knocked over. But I have a feeling I didn't get knocked over by anything. I-I think I killed them! I know it sounds absurd, but if we string the facts together, I didn't get hurt, I was outside safely, and everybody died…I don't know, I think I'm getting sick, but now I'm going to live with Aunt Marge. I despise it too."
Eric had a sudden feeling of being watched, but he shook it off. Then, something outside the window moved. He looked over at it, but saw nothing, and decided it must have been the wind. He continued reading:
"June 12, 1899, Dear Diary: Aunt Marge is a living nightmare, but she got bit today by a dog, or some common animal. Again, I don't know where I was when that happened. All I can picture was us going out by water pipe, and picking up some fresh water. Then, I clutched down, and then, I saw Aunt Marge dead, bleeding by her neck, and Toby, our dog, barking at me.
Uncle George said that Toby must have bumped onto me, and attacked Aunt Marge for some reason. I doubt it. The dog would've never attacked anyone, lest Aunt Marge. I think I killed her too! But every time someone dies, I don't remember anything! What is happening to me?"
Eric had enough of the strange accounts and decided to go to sleep. Then, a picture called his attention. It was an old picture, hanging forgotten, on the wall, behind a curtain. It showed a boy, no older than his age, a woman, probably the boy's mother, and the boy's father. The he realized this boy "J. Smith" must've been the boy of the diary! He yawned, unaware of the time it was, and decided to inspect it tomorrow, with clear day light.
He had heard it! He heard something slither outside their bedroom. Eric looked at the alarm clock and read 4:56 a.m. Whatever it had been, he hoped it was some bird or some weird forest animal, that would hopefully leave him to sleep. He turned on his bed, and then he heard it again, but it was louder. No, now something was walking outside their bedroom. When he was about to get up, he hear a very loud and near by howl, like that of a dog, or a wolf. It definitely came from the other side of the feeble wooden bedroom door.
He stood up, and looked over at his sister's bed; she was loudly asleep, as usual. He sighed, took a deep breath, and walked right up to the door. Suddenly, the steps stopped, as if whatever was on the other side stood listening. Then, Eric gathered the courage that was back at his bed, wishing it was asleep, and turned the doorknob slowly, and noiselessly. With eyes shut, he completely opened the door; nothing happened, so he opened his right eye.
At first, he thought that what he was seeing was some hallucination, but it wasn't. There, in front of him, stood the exact replica of the boy in the hanging picture; dirty blonde hair, brown eyes, and a bleeding wound on the back of his head. He saw this when the boy turned around, and put a hand over the diary…the diary! He had left it there before! J. Smith suddenly thrust the diary backwards, to Eric, and like smoke, disappeared.
Eric, blinking, incredulously from the sight, looked down at the open diary. It was opened on the date of September 23, 1899. He decided to read it since it was a short passage:
"September 23, 1988. Dear Diary: Today, I am going to die. I feel it coming to me, like a shadow. I will die because today, when I went into the forest to gather some wood, I walked right up to the edge of a small cliff, and didn't see it, and I fell. I hit my head with a small rock coming out from the ground, and I feel life leaking out of me. Uncle George can't believe that I can actually write, but sincerely, I have got something important to give notice of. I killed all the people that died. The bite from the wolf affected me somehow, and I am a wolf man! I can't believe it either, but it does not matter any more, for this are the last lines I'll ever write. I wonder how many more people I could hav-" Right there, there was a scribble, a line, which made it seem that he died right when writing that word.
Now it seemed that J. Smith was on the right track when he said that he had killed all those people. He wondered how it felt to change into a wolf. He didn't have to find out any sooner, for suddenly, he turned around, as if something had made him, and saw J. Smith. He looked extremely scary. He had grown fangs, long nails, and lots of hair; his eyes were yellow glowing slits, and he growled. Eric had time for one look outside the window: the full moon.
He took off, not knowing where, and dashed out the door, to the forest. He ran, and ran, and ran, the fierce wolf man behind him. Finally, he took a right turn, and fell down. Down the same cliff J. Smith had fallen years before. He hit solid ground, and before he could even open his eyes, the wolf jumped on him, and his neck was bitten with sharp fangs. Then…he knew no more.
"Eric? Ugh where is he?" asked Lizzie, seeing the light from the living room lamp. She saw the diary on the coffee table, and then saw the door opened. She shrugged and went back to sleep, not knowing that his brother had been killed by the ghost of a wolf man, and that he was probably coming back.
The Diary That Told A Story
Eric covered his face with his hands, and shook his head in pure laziness. The sunlight gleamed through his bedroom's curtains, and he didn't it enjoy it. He desired to go back to sleep, but now he was wide awake. He looked at his alarm clock and it read 6 a.m.
"Eric!! Wake up lazy boy! Get ready or you'll be left here!" echoed his dad's voice.
Eric grunted, and got up. He opened an eye, and sighed. "Why do I have to go to the stupid camping trip?" he thought to himself "I'd rather be left here!"
After he went to the bathroom and got dressed, in his usual punk clothes, he went down. His dad, mom, and sister were hurrying back and forth, from room to room, packing up last minutes needs, while they ate breakfast. His dad almost broke his neck trying to grab some water bottles from a high shelf. He sighed, and sat down, to eat breakfast, in a rather slow way.
"Eric, you're eating all the strawberry jam!" cried Lizzie his younger sister, while she tried to snatch the jar away, with her arms full of clothes. He snorted, and moved the jam jar an inch away from her sister's reach, and continued eating. His sister squeaked, as she tried to reach for the precious jar, when all the clothes she was carrying fell.
"Eric!! Leave you sister alone and help her with the clothes!" her mom barked from the garage.
"How could she know what was happening if she was in the garage?" asked Eric to his contented sister, as he picked up all the clothes. Lizzie grabbed a spoon and dug it inside the jam jar, as she shrugged. Eric stood up and handed his passing by dad the clothes, and he went upstairs to grab his CD's and his c.d. player. He looked at his guitar and he knew that three days in the wildness without his guitar was going to be a living hell.
"ERIC!! Are you ready yet? Come down, we're about to go!!" came her mom's yell from downstairs. He took a last look at his very comfortable, earthly bedroom, and went down.
"Mom, are we there yet?" came Lizzie's monotonous voice from behind him. He didn't notice because he was listening to "The Ramones" and was happy enough. Suddenly, the car stopped abruptly, and his mom turned around, and cried with joy "we're here kids!". Eric cried to himself, because he already missed his computer and instant messaging.
When he got out of the car, all that could be seen was a small, wooden cabin, with two windows, and two crooked chairs outside its tiny veranda, and trees; lots of trees. His dad took out the cabin's keys, and handed them to Eric, and he signaled him to open the door. The inside was a smudgy looking at its outside. A moldy looking couch, a table and four chairs, a little coal stove, and further inside, the minuscule kitchen, with another tiny table, and two chairs, and even further inside, the bathroom, and the room where-
"Yes, Eric, you will share the room with your sister, and there's no discussing it." His mom snapped, when Eric groaned that there were two beds in the same room, and that he didn't want to sleep in the same room as his sister. His sister threw him a mocking look, and then put an innocent look when her dad called her.
It was about 7 p.m. and Eric was looking through the room for the hundredth time. He knew there was nothing to find here, but it was so bloody boring. His parents and sister were outside, with a fire, singing songs. How could they be outside, when they had a stove inside? Guess they were just too excited they were away from humanity. He wasn't, that's all he knew. He stood up, and meant to sit down on the tiny desk, to scribble a little on his sister's notebook, when his knee accidentally bumped with the desk, and something moved under the desk. He looked and saw that a little trap door had opened under the desk. It wasn't fully open though, so he tried to open it with bare hands, but it was no easy task. He went to the kitchen and looked about for a crowbar. He didn't find any, so he took a knife instead. He reached down, and put the knife inside the crack, and pulled the knife outward. The trapdoor gave in, and opened fully. He reached a hand inside and felt a bump. He grabbed it, and took it out. "Ugh" he thought, because both his hand and the bump, (which was a bundle of cloth) were full of dust.
He looked at the bundle, and just when he was about to unroll it, his sister's shrilly voice surprised him. He rapidly put the bundle inside his bag, and then the door opened.
"What are you-ew! Look at your hand Eric! It's so nasty! What have you been doing, cleaning? MOM, Eric was messing around and got my notebook dusty!" and she jerked the notebook from under his elbow.
"Shut up git, you know I would never clean, lest this place" retorted Eric, as he stood up and went to the bathroom, to wash his hands. The he thought of the bundle. He'd open it tonight, when everybody went to sleep.
He peeked out the door, and made sure that everyone was deep asleep, and then crept outside, with the bundle tight in his hands. He made it for the living room, and closed the sliding door connecting it with the kitchen, so that the light wouldn't wake anybody up.
He sat down on the moldy couch, and began to unwrap the "thing". Finally, he was holding a dusty, leather (small) book. He opened it and saw that it was a diary. He looked in the first page, where a single line read "Property of J. Smith", and then, the writing began. He looked over some pages, and then, found something interesting:
" June 2, 1899, Dear Diary: Today something horrible happened. I found all the members of my family dead, and I don't know where I was last night. I remember so little, it does not fit together. I remember coming out of my bedroom, and seeing the big round moon shining through the kitchen window; then I remember pain like no other, even bigger than the dog bite I got a couple of days before, as you might remember. Next thing I remember was finding myself outside, sleeping next to a tree, under a hillside. Then, when I went back I found all my family dead.
The sheriff came today, and seeing my bite, he thought a common mountain wolf had attacked us all, and that I got knocked over. But I have a feeling I didn't get knocked over by anything. I-I think I killed them! I know it sounds absurd, but if we string the facts together, I didn't get hurt, I was outside safely, and everybody died…I don't know, I think I'm getting sick, but now I'm going to live with Aunt Marge. I despise it too."
Eric had a sudden feeling of being watched, but he shook it off. Then, something outside the window moved. He looked over at it, but saw nothing, and decided it must have been the wind. He continued reading:
"June 12, 1899, Dear Diary: Aunt Marge is a living nightmare, but she got bit today by a dog, or some common animal. Again, I don't know where I was when that happened. All I can picture was us going out by water pipe, and picking up some fresh water. Then, I clutched down, and then, I saw Aunt Marge dead, bleeding by her neck, and Toby, our dog, barking at me.
Uncle George said that Toby must have bumped onto me, and attacked Aunt Marge for some reason. I doubt it. The dog would've never attacked anyone, lest Aunt Marge. I think I killed her too! But every time someone dies, I don't remember anything! What is happening to me?"
Eric had enough of the strange accounts and decided to go to sleep. Then, a picture called his attention. It was an old picture, hanging forgotten, on the wall, behind a curtain. It showed a boy, no older than his age, a woman, probably the boy's mother, and the boy's father. The he realized this boy "J. Smith" must've been the boy of the diary! He yawned, unaware of the time it was, and decided to inspect it tomorrow, with clear day light.
He had heard it! He heard something slither outside their bedroom. Eric looked at the alarm clock and read 4:56 a.m. Whatever it had been, he hoped it was some bird or some weird forest animal, that would hopefully leave him to sleep. He turned on his bed, and then he heard it again, but it was louder. No, now something was walking outside their bedroom. When he was about to get up, he hear a very loud and near by howl, like that of a dog, or a wolf. It definitely came from the other side of the feeble wooden bedroom door.
He stood up, and looked over at his sister's bed; she was loudly asleep, as usual. He sighed, took a deep breath, and walked right up to the door. Suddenly, the steps stopped, as if whatever was on the other side stood listening. Then, Eric gathered the courage that was back at his bed, wishing it was asleep, and turned the doorknob slowly, and noiselessly. With eyes shut, he completely opened the door; nothing happened, so he opened his right eye.
At first, he thought that what he was seeing was some hallucination, but it wasn't. There, in front of him, stood the exact replica of the boy in the hanging picture; dirty blonde hair, brown eyes, and a bleeding wound on the back of his head. He saw this when the boy turned around, and put a hand over the diary…the diary! He had left it there before! J. Smith suddenly thrust the diary backwards, to Eric, and like smoke, disappeared.
Eric, blinking, incredulously from the sight, looked down at the open diary. It was opened on the date of September 23, 1899. He decided to read it since it was a short passage:
"September 23, 1988. Dear Diary: Today, I am going to die. I feel it coming to me, like a shadow. I will die because today, when I went into the forest to gather some wood, I walked right up to the edge of a small cliff, and didn't see it, and I fell. I hit my head with a small rock coming out from the ground, and I feel life leaking out of me. Uncle George can't believe that I can actually write, but sincerely, I have got something important to give notice of. I killed all the people that died. The bite from the wolf affected me somehow, and I am a wolf man! I can't believe it either, but it does not matter any more, for this are the last lines I'll ever write. I wonder how many more people I could hav-" Right there, there was a scribble, a line, which made it seem that he died right when writing that word.
Now it seemed that J. Smith was on the right track when he said that he had killed all those people. He wondered how it felt to change into a wolf. He didn't have to find out any sooner, for suddenly, he turned around, as if something had made him, and saw J. Smith. He looked extremely scary. He had grown fangs, long nails, and lots of hair; his eyes were yellow glowing slits, and he growled. Eric had time for one look outside the window: the full moon.
He took off, not knowing where, and dashed out the door, to the forest. He ran, and ran, and ran, the fierce wolf man behind him. Finally, he took a right turn, and fell down. Down the same cliff J. Smith had fallen years before. He hit solid ground, and before he could even open his eyes, the wolf jumped on him, and his neck was bitten with sharp fangs. Then…he knew no more.
"Eric? Ugh where is he?" asked Lizzie, seeing the light from the living room lamp. She saw the diary on the coffee table, and then saw the door opened. She shrugged and went back to sleep, not knowing that his brother had been killed by the ghost of a wolf man, and that he was probably coming back.