Recently my parents had started suggesting that I start a diary because I have not had any friends to talk to since we had recently moved and was clearly stressed out with trying to fit in at my new high school. Supposedly a diary would give me an “outlet” to express my emotions and organize my thoughts. While I did not disagree with the thought, I did not agree with them about it either and left it alone, assuming my lack of interest in the subject would make it be dropped completely; but as always with parents, it didn’t.
It was not long after my parents had made the suggestion for a diary that my step-mother knocked on my bedroom door saying she had a gift for me. Knowing she had just returned from a local thrift shop after looking for bargain deals on great stuff I was eager to see what she had discovered. I practically ripped the door off its hinges to see what she had gotten for me.
She was smiling as she held out something in a plastic bag to me, stating that after they had suggested to me about starting a diary they could at least provide me with one to use. I could feel myself deflate as I realized the gift was just a notebook with another name; I took the plastic bag with a smile and thanked her, not being one to reject a gift or be rude about receiving something I didn’t like.
I reached into the bag, silently hoping the book was at least something plain so I could at least use it for notes at school, and pulled out of it with a pleasant surprise. I had owned diaries before, often just notebooks converted to diaries personally or “official” store bought diaries, but this was a completely different to what I was used to; the diary had a soft, plum colored, leather binding; a matching leather strap wrapped around it and held the book close with a silver buckle.
Surprised at how amazing the cover was, and in great condition considering the source from which it was bought, I decided to open it to see what the inside was like. I slid the strap loose from the buckle and opened the book, the spine of it actually fought with me slightly, almost regretful to be opened, just like with a brand new book.
The inside of the book was just as in perfect condition as the outside, with its pages seemingly untouched by hand or pen, the page edges were lined with silver; the paper was thin and light to the touch, reminding me of the paper you often find in bibles, thick enough for writing on but thin enough that many pages could fit inside the binding without making it bulky.
I could find no faults with the diary, checking it over, no tears or markings anywhere; not even a page removed as a sign in had been used. This made me wonder about the source form which it was bought, I left my room and asked my step-mom if she where she had gotten it but she told me that she had gotten at a thrift store just as I had first presumed. I returned to my room and looked over the book again, it was very beautiful and seemed almost wrong to use for something as simple as a diary or notebook for school. I decided it was best to just put it on my bookshelf to rest until I decided on what to do with it.
It was well over a month before I thought of it again.
I returned home from school one day in a huff, throwing myself on my bed and burying my face in my pillow, I did everything I could not to scream into it. A girl named Betty at school had started spending time with me recently and I had thought we had become friends; it turned out however that she had only been hanging out with me as a way to get back at her best friend and make her jealous. I could still feel the heat on my face from how red it was after her friend came up to us and begged Betty to forgive her for whatever she had done. They made up and left without saying a word to me.
Turning over in bed and I stared at the ceiling in rage, hating everything and everyone around me. As I fumed my eyes drifted towards my bookcase, honing in on the purple leather of the “diary” I had received from my step-mom. I fought with myself for some time but finally got up and pulled the book off its shelf, deciding that writing out how pissed and hurt I was would make me feel better and help me figure out the best way to get back at that lying bitch.
Pulling a pencil from my backpack I flopped onto my bed, slid the strap from its buckle, and opened the book. I began with the common, “Dear Diary,” and began to write. I wrote as if I was speaking to a person, beginning with my tale of horror at the school and ending up with talking about how much I hated the fact we had moved at all and everything else that had been building up inside me since we had first moved.
There were a full nine and half pages by the time the sound of my dad’s voice broke me out of my mental rant, calling me to help with dinner. I finished my entry, feeling better after having cleared my head. I left the book sitting closed on my bed as I went to help out like I was told.
Returning to me room much later, I planned to relax on my computer when I noticed that the diary was sitting on my bed where I had left it, but it was open after I was sure I had closed it before to discourage any passing Fathers of peeking like they were prone to do.
I was about to go throw a fit to my dad about invading my stuff when I noted that the diary was sitting open on the first page, but instead of my writing filling the whole page there was instead just a single sentence written on the first line.
Cautiously sitting on my bed, I picked up the book, and read what was written.
Starting a new life is always hard; having a friend can help...
Looking around my room, I expected my Dad to pop out and yelling in an attempt to scare me. When he didn’t I looked back at the page and a cold chill was sent down my spine. The words had changed.
Would you like to be friends?
I dropped the book in disbelief; the words had changed! As I stared at page in alarm, the words began to change again, being written across the page letter by letter.
My heartbeat seemed to be running a thousand miles an hour in my ribcage. I couldn’t think what to do; my brain had seemingly stopped working. The writing faded and was replaced once again.
Don’t be afraid. I just want to be your friend.
The breath I didn’t know I was holding was finally forced from my body as it could no longer hold it. My brain began to function again, what was I afraid of? It was a book, a magic one but still just a book... I had always had an interest in the magical and if this was real…
I grabbed my pencil and picked the diary back up; I placed it on my lap, the words had again faded and the page was blank. I took a deep breath and began to write.
Are you friendly…?
I would assume so, since I want to be friends.
Why would someone… something… like you want to be friends with someone like me?
I prefer “someone” over “something”, you can call me Sarah if you like, and I want to be friends because you sound like you need one from your first entry and I would like a friend as well…
My first entry?
Yes, you remember, the one where you told me about that bitch at school and moving and… and well everything else you talked about too before you said you had to go help with dinner.
Oh… I... yes I remember… I just didn’t know I would be talking… to someone real.
I know. I didn’t mean to scare you.It has just been so long since I last spoke to anyone, I forgot my manners. I am sorry.
That’s okay… I think I would have freaked out even if you had used your “manners”. It is not every day your diary starts replying to what you are saying.
I guess not. What is your name? If I may ask?
Valentine… and yours is Sarah right?
It can be anything you want it to be, but I prefer Sarah…
Okay, I like Sarah too. So… what are you?
Ha-ha, quick to the point, aren’t you? I wish I could say, but I don’t know. All I know is that I am part of this... diary, as you call it.
So… would you like to be friends with me, Valentine?
Okay, I would love to be friends with a talking book! No joke.
Oh, I like much better! :D
I spoke with Sarah for the rest of the night, enjoying my new found and very interesting friendship.
I had been spending a lot of time with Sarah in my time out of school; my parents were happy that I had taken to the diary and was more relaxed like they had hoped. I hadn’t told them about Sarah, she was my little secret.
We spoke daily, I told her about everything that happened to me. My past and my present, even what I hoped the future would be like. I couldn’t learn that much about Sarah in return though, she was quiet about her past. She did reveal she had had owners before me, something I wasn’t completely shocked about; she had been found a thrift store, but she gave away nothing about them saying that she was a diary; it would break the diary code to give away their secrets. The code part made me laugh, but I understood why she won’t reveal anything.
Each person before me had been her friend; it did make me wonder however just why she had been in a thrift store and not with one of her past owners; something like her seemed like something you would keep in the family even after you died.
It was just a few weeks into my friendship with Sarah when things started to get bad. I had another bad day at school; Betty had been using what she had learned about me during our “friendship” to make me a total school outcast. That day she had chosen to trip me in the cafeteria during lunch as I was going to throw my trash out, unfortunately I had not finished my orange juice and it went all over my t-shirt. I spent the rest of the school day in my gym shirt; smelling like sweat.
Sarah actually “sounded” mad when she learned what had happened.
She’s so cruel to you, Val, I don’t see why you put up with her.
It’s not like there is anything I can do, the teachers didn’t see her trip me and it’s not like I can prove she did it. That is how bullying is now, you don’t see kids getting shoved into lockers anymore, and instead they are made social outcasts and silently tortured.
I don’t mean have the “adults” handle it; I mean you should get back at her. Make her regret ever knowing you.
I’m not like that, plus I’ve never had to deal with this before. I wasn’t a social outcast before I moved…
So you’re just going to take it like a push over? Roll over and let her walk on you?
No… but I won’t stoop to her level…
Let’s just drop it.
It worried me about how forceful Sarah had been about getting back at Betty; she was usually very well spoken but this time... It made me wonder if something had happen to one of Sarah’s past owners because of bullying.
It was about a week later, after another incident with Betty, that I began to notice changes in Sarah. She didn’t comment about something as much, when before she had a reply for everything. As the days passed, almost every day she started asking if I had done something about Betty yet.
She became so insistent about it that I finally did something just to calm her down.
You did something?
Yeah, I talked to her today. After our shared class, I asked her to please just leave me alone. I used reason to explain I hadn’t done anything to her and even told her that I missed actually having her as a friend and wouldn’t mind being so again. I think she’s going to stop.
You still want to be friends with her?!
Well, I did have fun with her when
She’s a bitch! Why in the world would you ever forgive her for hurting you like that?!
I was shocked; Sarah had never interrupted me before and had never spoken to me like that either. I told her that I handled it my way, and as my friend she needed to accept that.
She didn’t reply to me for the rest of the day.
I began blacking out. Not for very long periods of time, 5 minutes at a time so far but it has me worried that I was sick. Sarah said it could just be stress from school. I still felt it is something to go to the doctor about; when I did they couldn’t find anything noticeable wrong and just suggested I relax more. My parents let me stay out of school for the rest of the week to try and relax.
That only made it worse. While before my blackouts were just short flashes of me not remembering where I had been doing the last few minutes, they were now good chucks of an hour, where one moment I would be watching TV then the next I would suddenly be at the computer playing a web game, when a full half hour or more had passed.
My parents said I didn’t seem any different during the times I couldn’t remember, at times I even replied to them but I later could not recall that they had said. I was scared.
Sarah did her best to comfort me, telling me sweet little poems she had learned over the years. It seemed that even though I had no memory of my actions I was no different from my usual self; although I learned that during my black outs I had never spoken to Sarah.
I returned to school, my black outs scared me but had no seeming effect on my personality or actions and I could only stay out of school for so long without a reason; my doctor was baffled as to what the issue was because all my tests showed nothing.
There seemed to be a difference when I returned to school, the other students stopped bothering me or making snide comments behind my back loudly. I realized why when I entered the class I shared with Betty, she looked at me as I entered and smiled, giving me a small nod before returning to her conversation. She had decided to back off.
I had no black outs during school and returned home in excitement, eager to tell Sarah the good news.
She backed off?
Yes! I think I really got through to her. I wonder if she’ll want to be friends again too…
What is wrong, Sarah? Aren’t you happy for me?
Yes... I am just worried that now you’ll start making more friends and forget about me…
...Sarah… You’re my best friend; I would never forget you or leave you behind. … Why would you think that? … Did that happen before?
… You know I can’t tell you that, Valentine.
I was about to start pressing Sarah further when the phonerang, my step mom called out a few moments later, saying it was a girl named Betty.
Hold on a minute, Sarah, Betty is on the phone.
I woke the next morning with no memory of what had happened after hearing Betty had called. With my last memory being me talking to Sarah, I grabbed the diary from its resting place on my night stand and quickly began writing in it.
Sarah, what happened? The last thing I remember is talking to you and hearing Betty had called. After that it is all empty!
I couldn’t tell you, Val… The last time you spoke to me was to tell me Betty had called. This is the first time you spoke since saying that.
I charged out of my room and began probing my parents for any details they had on what happened to me; fearful of what I may have done during my half a day black out. I learned that Betty had called and invited me to hang out, and I had done so. I returned later that night in time with my curfew and went right to bed.
It seemed that the only person who knows what I did during my black out was Betty. I had school that day, so with nothing else to do I did my morning routine and went to talk with Sarah. She seemed in a better mood, responding quicker and joking around with me, like she had before Betty started upsetting her. Perhaps the comment I made about never forgetting her had done the trick.
As I arrived at school, I felt better. I wasn’t as worried about my black out as I had been, I was upset at the lost hours of hanging out with Betty but I had never done anything bad during my past sessions, so I felt there was nothing to worry about.
Sitting on of the school hallways, I waited for Betty so I could talk with her when Jessica, the friend Betty had used me to get back at, came up and slapped me across the face. I was speechless at the action; Jessica went ballistic and told me to stay away from her and Betty.
She was in such a rage that I could get nothing out when I tried to speak and then she left, leaving the air heavy with anger and confusion. I tried to comprehend what Jessica had said. It seems during the time I spent with Betty and her; I had done something that upset them both deeply.
I was in total shock; I didn’t understand what I could have done. I had never caused a problem before during my blackouts. I tried to find Betty to talk, but it seemed she had chosen to stay home and Jessica wanted nothing to do with me.
Just want had I done?
I never learned just what I had done. Betty came back to school after a few days but any time she saw me, she ran the other way; she avoided me so strongly that she even had herself transferred from the one class we shared to a different one.
The one time I was able to talk to Betty was when I actually chased her; she finally stopped and started crying, begging me to please forgive her and just leave her alone. I was so startled by her reaction that I couldn’t talk; I backed off and left her alone after that.
If anything good could be said, it was the fact my blackouts seemed to have stopped.
Sarah had become very possessive lately; she didn’t like me do anything with anyone else, she didn’t even like me leaving her for a while to watch TV or go eat. She threw a fit when she heard I would be going to my project partner’s house to work on my school project; saying she could be my partner. She went silent when I reminded her that she was just a diary.
I was starting to wonder just why she had been in a thrift store.
I had a nightmare. I was sitting at my dining room table but it was a hundred times longer than it usually is, a thousand empty chairs ran long side it, all turned slightly to face me.
A hand was placed on my left shoulder, but I couldn’t move my head to see who it was. In the corner of my eye I saw some hair, as the hand’s owner slowly leaned forward into my view. The hair was a striking red, as red as a fresh rose. As the figure moved forward, my eyes drifted up to see just who it was, as I did not know anyone with such red hair.
What I saw was a leaky figure staring back at me. Although how I knew it was staring at, I am unsure as the face had no eyes, no mouth or nose… no human figures; the only defining elements on it were dents and curves where the eyes would be or the cheekbones were, as if someone had taken some skin and pulled it tight over a human skeleton. Its skin was so black, so dark the darkness of the dining room seemed lighter against it.
The creature lifted its hand from my shoulder and with its long, bony, black finger pointed; my eyes followed the path it pointed to and they came to rest on the table. More so on what was on the table, the diary rest there, open.
Written, in Sarah’s style, were the words,
We’ll be friends forever, right, Valentine?
Next the diary was an old fashion feather quill resting in an inkwell. I reached up and grabbed the quill. I placed the point on the line beneath the question and tried to write the word, yes, but could not. There was no ink on the tip. I dipped it into the inkwell but the tip still came back dry.
Movement caught my eye; the creature now had its hand held out, on its palm rested knife. I understood then that the inkwell was empty and I needed to fill it with my blood. I reached up and took the knife with my right hand, lifting my left hand I placed the sharp edge of the blade against my palm and began to cut.
It was at this moment my alarm clock woke me. As I laid there on my bed, listening to the alarm blare, I could feel the shivers all over my body; I was shaking. I sat up and turned off my alarm clock and started to calm myself down. The dream hadn’t been that scary so I didn’t understand why I was so frightened by it…
I started to place my left hand on my forehand when I noticed the palm stung slightly. Looking it I saw there was a small nick on it, a cut near the part where my thumb curved to my pointer finger; exactly where I had begun to cut my hand in my dream.
I started to get scared of Sarah, ever since I told her about my dream she had been very insistent that it was a sign, a message that maybe I was supposed to agree to be her friend forever in blood; that maybe something would happen.
That is what I was afraid of.
I found something, in the diary. There was a page stuck together with the front one; I carefully eased them apart. On the hidden page, there was print; the first I had seen on the book. Printed on the page were the words, “Property of:” followed by a line for a person to write their name. I wasn’t surprised that there was something written on the line already, what surprised me was the name written, Sarah Buluer, 1854.
Why did Sarah and one of her past owners share the same name? Could my Sarah and this one by the same person? Was Sarah a ghost?
The thought had occurred to me but she didn’t act like she was a spirit trapped in a book; she showed no longing to escape or sorrow at a lost life. I thought for a moment to ask Sarah herself, but I decided first to see if I could something on this past owner on the web first.
I brought up Google and typed in the name, Sarah Buluer, 1854. I had to dig for a bit to find the right person. There were a few other people with the name but none from around 1854. I finally found something fitting the time frame on a web site about unsolved mysteries.
In the mid-1800s there was a twelve year old girl by the name of Sarah Buluer in Louisiana. The early part of her life held no notable events; it was after her 12th birthday that she started changing. She began to talk about an imaginary friend by the name of Bumblebee. For the first few weeks of this friendship it seemed no different from any other child and their imaginary friend; the only part that is really notable is that Sarah and Bumblebee spoke through the diary Sarah had received for her 12th birthday.
It was when I read this part that I knew I was on the right track.
It was a few months into Sarah’s friendship that she began to change. She started having parts of her memory disappear. There were cases of her being violent towards kids in her neighborhood that wouldn’t play with her; later claiming no memory of the acts.
Worrying that their daughter was sick, Sarah’s parents took her to see a doctor. In turn she was given medication, this medicine was supposed to temper Sarah’s violent behavior and have her relax more, supposedly it would also remove Bumblebee, who the parents feared was also part of the issue.
It seemed to work for a while, Sarah no longer had issues with the local kids and she seemed to stop losing her memory. Soon enough though, Sarah began to tale tells of a demon coming to her and trying to convince her to come to hell with it.She described this demon as faceless, covered in black skin, and having long red hair like flowing blood.
I backed away from the computer, everything that had happened to Sarah, had happened to me; the memory loss, the incident with Betty, and now this demon… It didn’t take a genius to figure out it was all connected to Sarah or Bumblebee or whatever that thing in the diary’s name was. I thought for a moment to just stop, take the book, and throw it away and forget all about it as best I could…
My curiosity got the better of me; I had to know what happen to Sarah Buluer, to know what could happen to me. Pulling myself back up to the computer I picked up where I had left off.
As Sarah continued claims of this demon, she stopped sleeping and woke in screaming fits when she did. When she continued to get worse, both on her meds and off, her parents finally took her to the doctor again. In fact, they took Sarah to multiple medical experts, none of which could find anything physically wrong with her. When all physical methods failed, it was finally decided that it was a mental issue.
It was around this time that Sarah had begun violently cutting herself; she denied the acts and claimed Bumblebee was doing it, saying that Bumblebee wanted her blood to take her away. Sarah’s parents had taken away the diary, in which Sarah spoke with Bumblebee, many times but she somehow always found it again.
Fearing for her safety and sanity, Sarah was admitted into a psychiatric hospital, where she would receive the medical care she would need to become healthy again and be watched at all hours to ensure she could not continue cutting herself.
During her stay at the hospital, Sarah starting begging for her diary so she could talk to Bumblebee many times; her request was denied because the doctors felt that Sarah’s mental issues came from her attachment to the diary and this Bumblebee character.
After a few months of treatment, Sarah became better, no longer begging for Bumblebee or having claims of the red haired demon. The doctors felt that she could soon return to normal life with her parents; phoning them and telling them so.
On the day of her release, as her parents came to take Sarah home, she was found dead in her cell. She was against one of her walls, her body covered in gashes and her hands covered in her own blood.On the padded walls, in Sarah’s blood, were the words “Yes.” and “I love you, Bumblebee.” written many times over.
Nothing was found that Sarah could have cut herself with.
No one knows what the question was for the “yes” that was written on the walls but many supernatural fanatics have concluded that the source of Sarah’s insanity was the diary in which she spoke with this Bumblebee person, many more agree that this Bumblebee and the red haired demon are the same person.
The diary, in which Sarah spoke with this Bumblebee, disappeared after her death. Some say that her parents destroyed it; others think that it simply moved onto its next victim.
I felt sick as finished reading; I wish I had stopped when I realized the source of my nightmare was Sarah. I looked my bed, where the diary rested; knowing that a monster was inside it that was going to try and kill me.
I needed to figure out what to do.
I made a mistake, I confronted Sarah.
Hello, Val. Is everything okay?
… No. I need to talk to you about one of your owners, Sarah Buluer.
Where did you find that name?
It was on the “Property of:” page in the front of this book; it was stuck together with the first page.
Oh, is that it?
No, Bumblebee, it is not.
Don’t call me that, I hate that name.
Is that why you took Sarah’s name?
… What did you find out, Valentine?
I just wanted to be with her; we were supposed to be friends forever. Her parents were the ones who took her away from me.
What do you want from me? You are the reason why I had those blackouts, aren’t you, it was you taking over me… Are you trying to steal my body from me?
You read too many stories, Val, I don’t want your body or your life, I was just helping you… I took care of Betty for you.
What did you do to her!?
Nothing, I just said something to her to make her back off.
She already had. You just didn’t want me to have a friend.
I am your friend, Valentine.
No, you’re just a monster.
I threw the book away after that.
I never should’ve told Sarah I knew, I should have just tossed the book and left it at that.
She’s started appearing in my sleep again, offering the blade to me and trying to get me to write in my blood. I fight it and wake up, but she’s becoming more forceful.
The diary came back, I thought at first my parents were returning it to me but they both denied it. I thought about telling them, getting them to help but I didn’t; they may think I was crazy or Sarah might start going after them too.
I did whatever I could to get rid of the book, I shredded it, burned it, tossed it in a lake. Nothing worked, every morning it reappeared on my nightstand with the words,
I just want to be with you forever, Valentine.
How many before me had she killed? How many were trapped with her in that book? How could I stop her from making me her next victim?
I saw her, while I was awake. Not the diary but her true form, the black skinned, red hair demon. I was at school, coming back from the bathroom while a storm was raging outside, when there was a power outage. It wasn’t just in my mind, because I heard the students in the classrooms scream in surprise.
I could see somewhat, but not much, being in a part of the school where there wasn’t that many windows. I decide it was best to wait for the power to come back on instead of trying to blindly find my classroom. I sat down on the floor, leaning against a wall. It wasn’t long until the lights came back. I stood up and brushed myself off, about to head back to class when I noticed a flash of red in the corn of my eye
That is when I saw her… it. It stood at the end of hall near the bathrooms I had come from. Unlike in my dreams, I could see her full form now. She was only about 5 feet tall, but the way she stood and the length of arms that reached past her knees made her seem much taller. She wore no clothes, her black skin stretched tightly; I could see her ribs against the skin, as if she had nothing underneath the skin but bone.
She stared at me with that face without figures; it sent chills down my spine. I didn’t move and neither did she. I did not know what to do, what would she do if I ran? How was she even here?
She moved, lifting her arms and held them out to me, as if asking for a hug. I felt drawn to her; for some reason she reminded me of a child, scared and alone, in need of comfort. I found myself walking towards her; I caught myself and stopped. This upset her and she lowered her arms.
Suddenly she slammed her hands on the ground and dug her fingers into the tile, she started forward, piercing the tile again and again as she clawed her away towards me on all fours. I turned to run, unsure of where I would run to, I just needed to get away from her. As I turned I slammed into someone, a teacher.
She looked at me in surprise, and asked me why I was standing in the middle of the hall. I looked behind me, but of course Sarah was gone, no sign she had even been there. The teacher walked me back to class, making sure I wasn’t stuck in the hall again if the power went out, I was thankful, but not for the reason she thought.
She’s been appearing more, outside of my dreams, every time she wants me to hold her or pointing towards the diary, which magically appears. Always when I am alone; I’ve started spending as much time I as can with my parents so she’ll stay away. They’ve noticed; they had been noticing my changes, how I keep looking over my shoulder and not sleeping.
They asked if everything was okay, I told them a half-truth; that I have been having issues fitting in at school and it has been causing me issues with sleep. They seem to believe me, thinking my clinginess as a way to not feel lonely.
My step-mom is going thrift store shopping again, I asked her if I could come, if we could go to the same store where she got my diary. She was happy to take me; I was hoping I can find out how the store got the book maybe they could describe the person who gave it to them. Maybe I could find someone to help me.
I didn’t find anything at the store; they couldn’t describe the person who brought the book in because it had been in a box of stuff that was dropped off in the donate area of the store.
My nightmares are getting worse; she’s been cutting me herself and trying to force me to write. I wake up in screaming fits. I started to have cuts appear on my body, I cover them but my parents have started to notice, both the coverings and that I am become sickly due to me lack of sleep.
I am afraid of when they will start asking questions, I not sure I can keep lying to them. I am afraid of what they will do if I tell them what has been happening. I am afraid the same thing that happened to Sarah Buluer, will happen to me.
I need to do something, I can’t keep ignoring her.
I spoke with Sarah.
Leave me alone, Sarah, please.
I love you, Valentine. I am your friend. You said you would never leave me, never forget me.
I won’t forget you, I can promise that. Please... let me go.
I don’t want to be alone. I want you with me forever. Stay with me, Val.
No, never, Sarah. We aren’t friends anymore.
No, Val, we will be friends forever.
I have no memory after talking with Sarah. I woke up in the hospital many days ater.Sarah, it seems, took over me again. She tried to write in the diary in my blood, I guess she can’t force someone to write in the diary, it must be is why she kept trying to scare me into doing it… it was to be willingly.
My parents found me passed out from the blood loss in my room. If they had been even a minute late, I would be dead.
I think Sarah thinks she killed me. I was in the hospital for a few days, she didn’t show up in my dreams or when I was alone.
I think I am free.
I wrote this tale down, describing my experiences, in parts so I wouldn’t go crazy as I wrote it, and made it public because… I gave the diary away.
My parents decided to move back to our old home, they felt that it was the best for me and my health. I never told them what happened. As we were driving home, through some random town, I noticed a donate drop off for a thrift store. I had my parents pull over.
I dug the diary out of one of my bags, having been unsure what to do with it, and put it in the drop off.
I don’t know how the last owner had been able to get rid of her; maybe she had been lucky enough to trick her also. I hoped so; I didn’t want to think that perhaps she had been given to the store I got her from because a loved one had lost someone.
The diary hasn’t appeared since I put it in the drop off. I don’t think it will, I hope it won’t.
I want the world to know what happened to me, because of my guilt that there is, or will be, another person out there who will become Sarah’s next victim, and it was because of me.
Perhaps they will be lucky enough to see this, and will know there was a survivor from Sarah. Maybe this will help them escape too.
For the safety of myself and those involved in in this story, all living person's names have been changed.
The names Valentine, Betty, and Jessica are all false names given to protect the person from other people and certain... things.