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My Sister's Journal

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My sister, Alyssa, loved to write. Everyday, after school, she'd run off to her room and write in her journal. She never showed her book to me, she always said she wanted to keep her stories and entries secret. I didn't really get why at the time, to be honest. At least not for a while.

My sister died a few years ago. She said she was going to the a friends house, and was reported missing by my parents the next morning. Within a few days, they found her in an abandoned house down in the nearby forest, impaled. I didn't get to see her body, and frankly, I didn't want to. I just had what the cops told me.

My parents told me a little while ago we we're moving across town, just for the sake of me being closer to the high school. Once school began next season, we didn't want to be city length away from the high school I'm enrolled in. we were going to be moving to the new place in 2 days, so we were spending the days before packing.

I was told to package stuff in the basement. There was barely anything there, except old sculptures my dad made and work tools. When I went down, There were a couple boxes of old antiques. "Well, that's one less job for me", I thought to myself. I reached over and grab a box. As I turned, something pink caught my eye.

My sister's journal.

It'd been a while since I even laid eyes on it. It even had her title page she wrote when she was 7. It's "Sekret no 1 comes in here!!" Sprawled across the page. I couldn't help but smile, it was nice to see a piece of her again. It actually took me a little while to realize I was staring at it. It was so interesting. I thought "I could see what my sister thought about the last 6 years of her life". But at the same time, did I really want to know? Was it so private that I would hate it? Worse yet, would it make me hate her?

Whatever. I had to read it.

"Sorry, sis." I mumbled as I picked up the book and flipped it open. She treated it like a novel. It had the same title twice on different pages. On page 3, however, was her first little entry. Talking about how happy she was with the journal mommy got her. That was it, repeated 5 times in different ways. It ended in a giant "BYE" sprawled across the lower half of the page. Girls, right? The first few years were the same, talking about hanging with friends and freaking out over boys glancing at her and stuff like that. She even included drawings on some pages to. Man, she was quite the artist. Too bad she never showed any of her work to anyone.

But this is when things began to get weird. When she was 11, there was an entry that was a series of hexadecimal numbers. They covered the whole page. I thought they could've been part of a code but I didn't know. The next week, there was an entry from her, it looked like there were dried tear spots on the page.

It said that she went out with a friend to the woods one night while she was grounded. Her name was Cassie. I remember Cassie, she died years ago. The same date as on the journal entry with all those numbers. I was a bit concerned at this point, but I kept reading. She said that they went out because she said she saw something outside her window she was interested in.

They went out while me and our parents were asleep to look for whatever it was. After a little while, they were certain they were lost. Then, they somehow got separated. After 10 minutes of calling Cassie's name, Cassie screamed loud and clear. She ran toward the sound of the scream, to find Cassie impaled on a freshly grown tree. Alyssa immediately chose a direction and ran till she was out of the forest.

She never told me that. She never said she was there. She acted calm that morning, and looked devastated when she heard the news. Why was she hiding it? I had to keep reading. There must be a connection between those numbers and Cassie's death. I felt like there had to be.

There were no entries for a month. Then she wrote one about a 'stalker'. Once again, something she never mentioned. Every night, she would look out her bedroom window to the glare of a faceless man. It didn't have eyes. but she could tell it was just staring at her. It was driving her insane to the point where she started screaming at it. Which was weird, my bedroom was close to hers, how could I not hear her?

There were entries just like this for a few months. Each one having gradually worse handwriting. I remember during those months, she was always sick. She always had a cold that kept her out of school, or a flu that got so bad to the point she puked. Occasionally the vomit had blood mixed in as well.

The lightbulb above me flickered a bit. I thought nothing of it as I forced myself to read ahead. The next couple pages were blank. Then, there was a drawing, but unlike anything of her style. It was a man. A man with tentacles sticking out of his back. It was crudely drawn, as if someone pushed on the pen to the point of nearly ripping it apart. Around it were seemingly random placed lines. At this point, I wanted to recycle the book and not think about it again. But I had to keep reading.

The next page startled me so badly I threw the book on the ground. It was a photograph. Of Cassie. Dead. Shoved on the tree. The face was scratched out. but I could recognize her from the blonde curls and Billabong t-shirt. The yellow one. She loved the yellow one. In the top corner, finely cut into the picture, was a sentence. It was barely readable, but it looked like it said "YOU DESERVED THIS".

What the hell did Alyssa get involved in? What was she hiding? What was this man? What connection did he even have to Cassie's death? And if he's connected to her death, could he be connected to Alyssa's? I didn't want to find out. But I had to.

Next entry didn't mention the last 2 pages of her book, just that she worked out the numbers in her journal she found yesterday. It apparently translated to "TME IS LIFE LOST". She didn't know what to make of it, and frankly neither did I. She also said that the last few days have been quiet. No sign of that man anywhere. She was also just generally feeling better.

Least for a few days. On the next page was the man again, only closer up, and with a badly drawn smiley over top of the area where his face should be. Right next to him, it said 'NO ESCAPE'. In the bottom corner was another series of numbers.

The next entry I remember the date of well. We thought she had been cutting. Dad noticed her scars on her arm. Fine slits in her wrists that could only be from a knife or pair of scissors, and even one or two gashes that looked like craters. My parents sat her down and told her that she shouldn't hurt herself over anything. She said it was because of bullying in her school, but the entry said otherwise.

She said she had been waking up continuously in the middle of the night bleeding for the last few days. She didn't know what it was from. She also said that she stayed up late one night to find out what it was that was doing this thing to her. Up until 3am, nothing happened. She figured she'd just go to bed and check in the morning, until everything in her room turned off. Her lights, her DS screen, everything. She was scared.

She went downstairs to see if a fuse had blown, but when she hit the staircase, she looked down to see an arm. A very long arm, even taller than her. At the end, almost touching the floor, was a white hand that looked to be incredibly boney. She was freaked. She tried to run to our parents room, but she was beginning to feel sick to the point where walking was toil. When she got there, she shouted that there was an intruder. But there was no one in their bed. She checked mine and I wasn't there either.

I have no memory of leaving bed. Nor of my parents leaving bed either. So this thing didn't just mess with her, it could've messed with all of us.

She spun around to see him standing just a few feet away. The man that had been stalking her for over a year and a half, right in front of her. She began to puke again. That's all she remembered. The next morning, there were massive gashes along her arm, as well as the back of her hand. She even took a picture. They looked just like the ones we thought were self-inflicted. I felt horrible. I knew I couldn't have done anything, but I wanted to at least tell her that I was there.

The next page had tear spots as well, but they were mine. I regretted opening this book so much. I wanted this to be over. I wanted to put the book down and burn it. I wanted no one to know what I'd been reading. I didn't want anyone to feel what I felt. And yet, somehow, I had to keep reading. I felt I wouldn't feel complete until i finished this.

I didn't remember much of her between when she got those gashes and her death. The next entry explained why. She had gone to those same woods everyday for the last 6 months of her life, waiting for whatever this thing was to hurry up and kill her. She was done with the man. Done with this torture. Done with everything. She went everyday, hoping the man would be there, and that he would kill her. But he never did. He only watched from far away. And when she saw him, she'd run towards him, and then she'd trip every time. She'd look up every time. He'd disappear every time.

The same entry seemed to repeat over the 6 month period. She said sometimes that there would be mass changes during her time in the woods. That she'd trip in the morning and get up in the evening. That's why she wasn't home for her 13th birthday. Or for Christmas. She wouldn't be home for week long periods at some points. My parents thought she was just being a "little shit". The entries were mixed with crudely drawn images, just like earlier. Saying things like "Can't Run" and "It's Too Late Now". I could barely keep my breath steady at this point.

The last page. Dated with the same date she died. All the pages in between the 2 last entries appeared to be ripped out. She said she was going back to the forest. When she got there, she'd take her dad's gun and turn it on herself. She said she wouldn't let the man have his satisfaction any longer. The man that murdered Cassie. The man that tortured Alyssa for the last 2 years of her life without any of us knowing. She was going to end the whole scenario in the woods with a bullet to the head.

The last page. The last entry. The last time Alyssa ever mentioned the man in a spot other than her mind. What happened after that isn't written. But I know what happened. That fucker killed my sister. She didn't get a chance to turn the gun on herself. She couldn't have that satisfaction. He stabbed her into a pole in that house. The one abandoned for years. He murdered my sister. He took away part of my family from me. Question was, why? Just the mere thought made me burst into tears. God damn it, Alyssa. I can't believe you had to go through all that. No one should ever live through anything of that sort. Ever.

I was ready to throw the book into the fireplace. I didn't want to look at it anymore. I felt horrified because of Alyssa's life. Sad because of my sister's fate. I didn't really know what to feel at that point. But yet, I turned the page. On the back cover of the page is an image I won't get out of my head ever again. Alyssa. Impaled onn a pole in the middle of the house. Looking extremely pale. She was turned upside-down, the blood dripping up her face. Right below, there was a sentence.

"You shouldn't have done that, Alan."

That wasn't my my sisters handwriting. It must have been the man. It had to be. How did he know my name? I couldn't handle it any longer. This fucker killed my sister. He killed her friend. For all I know he could've still been stalking us. Looking in our windows every night, looking for someone else to haunt. I threw the book and screamed at the low basement ceiling. My sister is dead because of that man. I picked the book back up after I spent some time in the fettle position and started to make my way back up the steps.

That's when I saw it. An arm. A very long arm, even taller than my sister was. at the top of the staircase. A blast of fear and anger rushed through me. It was the arm of the man. I could tell. I wanted to run up to him and hit him in a blind rage, but I could barely walk. I felt like I was ready to vomit.

It's him. He's doing this to me. He's doing what he did to my sister, and now it's happening to me.

I turned around and made my way to the small windowed area by the antiques boxes. I ripped an old Russian doll from one of the boxes and smashed the window with it. I tossed out the journal first, then I reached both hands up. I placed one hand on a shard and scraped it. There was a massive gash in my hand. But I had to keep moving. I turned back. He was there. Staring at me with where his eyes should be. Right behind me. He just stood there. Doing nothing. As if waiting for me to get my hopes up.

I didn't care anymore. I had to try. I shoved myself up with the windows frame and began to force myself through the tiny area. It had gotten really dark, really fast, somehow. All of a sudden, I felt tugging. But it wasn't tugging from hands. It felt more like tentacles. I became frantic, clawing at the grass and screaming for help. I threw my legs around till I made contact with what I assume was his head. He loosened his grip for a split second, just enough for me to squeeze through the rest of the window. When I was out, I couldn't help but lie down. I could barely move. I barely had the strength to. But I had to run. I reach over and grabbed the journal and walked down the road slowly. I was screaming my full head off a few seconds ago and no one even noticed or turned on a light.

I kept walking. It didn't matter where I went. And It still doesn't. It's been 2 years since that experience. The experience with my sister's killer, who's still after me today. I've been on the run since then. I've been moving around constantly. Town to town. I'm sure my parents are still worrying about me, but I can't go back. If I go back, I could risk their safety to. I don't want them going through what me and my sister have dealt with.

It's all been happening to me, to. The gashes, disappearing for weeks at a time, random codes left on sheets beside me, I've even seen a couple friends on the news, recently, reported missing or dead. All impaled. I know it's all him.

That's why I'm writing this. I'm following my sister. I'm accepting my fate. I'm killing myself tonight. I have a knife I found on the side of the road in the country a few days back. I'm going to end it all. If he takes it and kills me first, so be it. All I know is within a couple hours, I will be dead. I want everyone to know the pain we've been through. And I want you to know that if you ever see him, and stuff like this happens to you, don't draw it out. He won't stop. Not until he has you in a state where you barely care about living anymore. Save yourself like me and my sister failed to do.

And sis, I don't know if you can read this, but I love you. I spent the last few years of my life wishing you were here with me. I miss you so much. I wish I knew for sure we could be together again on the other side. But I can't know for sure.

I love you.

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