Police are investigating the death of a teenager named Elli Porter when they find her diary. They flipped through the pages. ———————————— Dear Diary, Today was horrible! My friends wouldn’t play with me and it made me feel sad. I thought they were nice. -Elli Porter, Age 6

Dear Diary, My mom got angry at me and started hitting me. Really hard. I have a bruise. I have a headache from the hit. -Elli Porter, Age 9

Dear Diary, A boy at the school punched me. Then he put me in my locker and colored on it in permanent black marker. Then I got detention for missing my classes. -Elli Porter, Age 12

Dear Diary, My mom attacked me. She was drunk and beat me up. I am dripping blood and will probably get a few scars. -Elli Porter, Age 15

Dear Diary, Goodbye. -Elli Porter, age 16.

Dear Reader, I assume you’ve found this house abandoned and are full of questions as to why. Remove those questions from your mind and listen to my advice: Turn back and don't play sleuth. You do not want to know what has happened here. Leave. - Jane

Dear Reader, you’ve found my second letter which means you haven’t taken my advice to leave. A most unwise decision but typical of a curious sort which I can only assume you are. In this assumption, I placed this note in plain sight knowing someone like you would go straight to the coffee table to look for clues. Once, I admired curious minds but now I abhor them. Again, I ask, no I beg you to turn back. Please. - Jane

Dear Reader, I see you didn't listen to my advice. You’ve probably spent minutes searching for some big clue and haven't yet noticed the front door you left ajar is now closed. Forever locked. Don't bother trying to open it because well, you’re trapped. Also don't feel hopeless about this current circumstance as you aren't a prisoner of this house because I will guide you to freedom. My only request is you kill your curiosity as it will only grant you misery. Stop seeking answers! Now, if you’re keen on getting out of here, I advise you to try the window on the second floor. It’s open and your only chance out but only if you’re quick. Hurry! -Jane

Dear Reader, I see you didn't take my advice again and so you’ve found my fourth letter. I hid it amongst my personal belongings and I must ask you if you would like it if someone went through all of your stuff? I’m guessing you’d be appalled and feel quite violated. You’ve probably taken a look at my diary and wondered who Ivan is. I ripped out the pages of all my personal moments with him to stop prying eyes from knowing too much. Those pages were burned so you’ll never know. Now, I know I told you there was but one other exit and that exit is probably locked now but don’t worry as there is another means to escape. Go to the attic and if you're as savvy as you think you are you’ll find a hidden door. Once you find it, leave and never look back. — Jane

Dear Reader, you are still here I presume as you’re reading my fifth letter that I hid away under the kitchen table. Why? No, that is not a rhetorical question, I need you to tell me why. Why are you so interested in uncovering this mystery?

                                    -Jane 

Dear Reader, you’ve found my sixth letter and I presume you found the key along with it. This key will unlock an answer but not a fulfilling one. I beg you, do not use this key. Find a way to escape! Anyway, you can, please just free yourself! Step away from the allure of unraveling a mystery and dance in the joy of freedom. I know I wished I enjoyed my freedom more. -Jane

Dear Reader, you opened the trunk and found a body. It belonged to a woman whose curiosity was a blazing fire. Her name was Jane. It is my body that you’ve found. I was killed by a ghastly entity, who took the shape of a man I thought I loved. Ivan. I used to speak his name over and over as I wrote of our whirlwind romance in my diary. Our love ended on the coldest night in winter when our last date ended up with me dead and stuffed in a trunk. After I died, he inhabited my body. You see, Ivan never had a physical form when we met so to me he was just this beautiful man who haunted my attic. A ghost. When he spoke of life he spoke of it as something he never wanted to have again but it was all a lie. He didn't stay in my body long and when he found his ideal body I was stuffed back in this trunk. I wrote these letters with the help of the one who came before you. They were a vessel I couldn’t hold onto for long but you…you are perfect. I warned you so many times to free yourself. You cannot hate me for what you’ll experience next. You've probably noticed you've been experiencing headaches that grow in intensity the more you explore this house. I am the source of those headaches and well, the longer you stayed the weaker you became so I could so easily take over you. Become you.

I warned you. I didn’t want this, but thank you for giving me a new chance at life.

— Your new inhabitant, Jane.

March 6th 1992

I heard the noise again, I don't know what it is but it appears to be coming from the attic. This is the second night that I have been woken up by it, when I asked Mom and Dad about it they laughed and said I was probably dreaming. I pinched myself to make sure I was awake and I definitely was. The noise is a very light scratching, but not like from an animal or anything but as if something large and slow was trying to move around. It seemed to have stopped for now...i'm going to get some sleep.

March 14th 1992

The noise hadn't happened for a while now but it came back last night. It seemed to be coming from the attic again, which is right above my bedroom. It was also different somehow it was more frantic and almost sounded like there was multiple of the same noise. I'm thinking of going up to the attic tonight, my parents say it's just a raccoon and to stay out if I don't want to get rabies.

March 15th 1992

I woke up last night to the sound of muffled crying, I grabbed my flashlight and the butter knife I left on my plate from my after dinner snack as a weapon in case I ran into anything. There was a lock on the attic door, I don't ever remember it being there before but I was able to get it open using the bobby-pin that was holding my bangs out of my eyes. I don't know what I was expecting to find but it definitely wasn't 4 children chained to the walls each with their own mattress. It smelled of fecees and the air was hot and thick. Some of the kids where sitting some barely looked alive, They looked at me with terror in their eyes and started make frantic noises. I couldn't understand them at all and noticed their mouths were sewn shut. I slowly back up and ran out the door locking it again behind me and jumped into my bed to process what I just saw. I'm still trying to process this, I can't stop crying...I think one of the kids is a missing boy from last year...oh god oh god I need to lay down.

March 17th 1992

I spent yesterday avoiding my parents and trying to figure out what to do, why are they keeping the kids up there? They were so malnourished and some of them were missing limbs that had been haphazardly sutured closed. I need to come up with a plan something to save the kids...

March 18th 1992

Holy fuck, I need to get out of here I need to get to a police station. I think I know why the kids are here, my dad has been making these new recipes all summer and feeding it to our family, I knew I didn't like the taste, it was gamey and tough but he just kept saying that's what fresh meat tastes like....my parents are slowly eating the kids in the attic....limb by limb...oh my god...I can't stop shaking I think I'm in shock.

Shit my dad just called me to help him grab something from the attic, does he know I know?! He is going to kill me isn't he, if I don't make it out alive whoever finds these letters please share them with the police...wish me luck. I'm sorry I couldn't help the children...

January 2nd 2023 

"Hey Jessica, I found these weird letters stuck in the floor boards by the air vent", "it may be from an old owner, let's take a break from carrying all these boxes in and have a drink". Paul yelled from upstairs, "great idea" Lexi yelled back, "bring the letters and we can read them".....

All letters written by Brenda a 11 year old girl who lived in the Malory house with her family in 1992, several children's bodies were found the following summer along with two adults. The authorities deemed it as a house invasion with the killer at large, no killer was ever found the truth remained a mystery...until now

December 8, 3750

Dear diary,

It’s been 16 months since I was kidnapped and taken to the white room. I don’t remember who I was nor my life before the white room. My life is the white room, everything I love is the white room…..

December 25, 3750

Dear diary,

I am alone, completely alone. Today a man in a black robe came to see me. He took my hand and stared deep into my eyes for a long time. His flesh and eyes didn’t seem human. His hand felt cold to the touch, and it seemed like there was no sanity behind those cold dead eyes. After that, it was just me and the white room again. The white room is all i have, however, sometimes I think the white room wants to kill me. I trust no one.

January 7, 3751

Dear diary,

I don’t know if anyone will see this, but if anyone does, be aware of the men in black. No matter how much you cry, beg, or bleed, they will not stop. I don’t know how I ended in the white room, but never go in the white room. I heard screaming from down the hall, it was #18690. They were nice, they talked to me a couple of times. I was upset for a few seconds, but after some time in the white room, you learn to not get attached to people. The men in black tortures the ones that try to seek happiness.

February 15, 3751

Dear diary,

Everyday is getting worse. I constantly hear the ticking of a clock, the sound makes me want to rip my ears off, the noise just won’t stop. Sometimes the ticking of the clock speeds up.

February 27, 3751

Dear diary,

The men in black visited me again. They said that I am well-behaved, I try not to talk just in case the men in black decided to torture me. The void of the white room is horrible, I can’t think straight. I see things, awful things, things no one should ever see. The ticking is still there, it’s slowing down now.

March 23, 3752

I can’t take it anymore. The voices in my head are saying horrifying things. The screaming of the others are haunting me at night. If you ever see the men in black, run as fast as you can, and never look back.

I won’t be writing anymore…..it’s too late for me, but not for you.

Goodbye to who ever is reading this, good luck.

CONTENT WARNING: Suicidal thoughts, and depression. ——- November 17, 1880

Dear Journal,

The men in white say I should write my days down in you. They say it will help me keep my sanity. I don’t believe them, they lie. They told me a hundred and twelve days ago that I’d see my family again. I haven’t, instead all I see the plain white walls and the needles that put into my skin.

Instead, I write in you, so that one day when my mind is lost someone may know the truth. Every night I pray someone may know the things they do here.

The girls here; they do not belong. They are gorgeous young ladies, ladies that should be dining at partys. But instead there are here.

Their screams wake me in the middle of the night, as I’m sure mine do to them. It’s not their fault though. It’s the men in white.

November 18, 1880

Dear Journal,

I’m sorry. I do not mean to get your pages wet, but it is near impossible to hold in my tears. The three men had come in again.

The Bearded One had grasped my arm. The Man Who Spat told me to calm down, his spit flying very which way. The third, No Shower, injects the cloudy liquid into my arm.

I had felt my self collapse, unable to move, though still conscious. They laughed, knowing all to well I was helpless.

The men in white doesn’t see me as another human, just an empty shell who sits on the corner of the Holding Cell. This is what hurts the most.

November 25, 1880

Dear journal,

The men stop coming in to give me their drugs. Almost as though they given up on me. Just as I’ve given up on myself.

Mabye the Men in White know that they’ve broken my spirt, perhaps that’s why. But my spirt isn’t broken, no, not the way they think.

I’m going to die, rotting away, if I do nothing. If I do nothing those men will live, and I will die. If I do something, the only thing I can do, I will die; but so will the men.

November 31, 1880

Dear journal,

We only just meet, and I’ve grown rather attached to you. It pains me to say goodbye.

In my left hand I hold a pen, in my right I hold a match. At my feet, a trail of gasoline. I am sick of the horrors that have conspired here, the Men in White do not deserve to live, but neither do I.

So as I drop this match, I want to thank you. Thank you for giving me your pages so I may tell the truth.

——

1995

The charred journal thuds to the ground. Horror overcoming me.

The abandoned Asylum becomes nothing more than a small dot on the horizon as I run away from it. Away from its ghost that haunt it. Far, far away from lingering stench of death.

1872 I write today to you Mr. Lawson, for a very particular reason. One of the properties my husband recently acquired seems to have come to us filled with mystery. I will not keep you too long with this, so I will make this brief. Enclosed, I have sent numerous letters Jensen and myself have found in increasingly odd places, not limited to: Under a floorboard, behind two broken mirrors (only enough, both mirrors were facing directly towards each other), and even one hanging from a piece of twine in the attic. It would be greatly appreciated if you could look these over and do try and come up with some explanation. With love, Addeson.

	1734		
It is so cold. So very, very cold. He likes the cold. Ma and Pa left for the evening and I am alone. I hate being alone. He scratches only when I am alone. He comes down from the attic only when I am alone. He is big and I dislike him very much. He makes me have bad thoughts. He pounds at my door at night; rattling the door frame until it quite nearly comes down. He leaves only when the warmth of daylight returns. He looks like a big goat, eyes like a-  

	1737
Ma and Pa do not believe me when I tell them of him. When I tell them he comes into my room at night, his throat making sounds like rusty gears grinding. The say he does not exist. Yet I know he does.  He does. He does. He does. he does I swear he does. I swear I am not crazy. I swear it, I swear it, I swear it, I swear, I swear, I swear, swear, swear, swear, swear, swear, swear! I see him. I hear him. I see him when he moves my mirrors so they may face each other. He scratches at them, just as he did before he was brave enough to open my door. He seems to talk to them. Ma and Pa do not believe me when I tell them of him. When I tell them he comes into my room at night, his throat making sounds like rusty gears grinding. The say he does not exist. Yet I know he does.  He does. He does. He does. he does I swear he does. I swear I am not crazy. I swear it, I swear it, I swear it, I swear, I swear, I swear, swear, swear, swear, swear, swear, swear! I see him. I hear him. I see him when he moves my mirrors so they may face each other. He scratches at them, just as he did before he was brave enough to open my door. He seems to talk to them. Ma and Pa do not believe me when I tell them of him. When I tell them he comes into my room at night, his throat making sounds like rusty gears grinding. The say he does not exist. Yet I know he does.  He does. He does. He does. he does I swear he does. I swear I am not crazy. I swear it, I swear it, I swear it, I swear, I swear, I swear, swear, swear, swear, swear, swear, swear! I see him. I hear him. I see him when he moves my mirrors so they may face each other. He scratches at them, just as he did before he was brave enough to open my door. He seems to talk to them. Ma and Pa- 

	1742
Ma and PA have finally seen him. They finally have sene him. They’ve seen him. I knew they would. I knew they would have too! They have seen him. They know him now, just like I do. However, now they lay still. Ma looks pale, her skin seeming to melt right off of her petite little body.  A look a terror was etched across her face, a very similar look to Pa. He caressed Pa’s face, leaving Pa’s face all bloody, bloody and nice looking. AP always looked good in red. Now that they have met him, I wonder if they will finally believe me. I hope they do. I cannot stand how cold the house has become. 

	1750
He has returned after a long period. I found myself missing him. I like him. I like him when he is here. He placed a rope around my neck last night. He told me tonight I would fall and d-

November 12, 2021 Dear Diary I made a big mistake. I lied told a friend I liked her I’m not sure why, she hates me now. I hope she can forgive me

April 23, 2022 Dear Diary, Why. I keep asking myself why did I change my mind. I’m a horrible person.

Entries lied scattered on the floor a notebook a few meters away. Jackie looked at her best friend “What are these.”

September 28, 2022 Dear Diary, Today is my birthday and I hope someone finds you one day, I can tell them these pages are filled with regret, my mistakes. Pain sadness, and hell

I ducked into the abandoned house as another bomb landed a few miles away. Too far off to find another place to sleep. But too close to stay in the house for long. Though from the wings marking the door I knew it would be standing long after the war ended. Which was probably why she suggested it. Though it had been years before I could get here. Moving some debris, I flopped into a chair. But something crinkled underneath me. I shifted, pulling out a piece of paper. It was torn and aged, but the black ink was familiar. It was written in Kalten a language long banned due to the war. “…forgiveness. I understand why you want to retaliate. No. Why you need to. I know you will need my gun more than my love. And for you I will become a sinner. Only for you will I start this war.” I flipped the page over but there was no more. And the chair held no more fragments. But to know the reason why this war started would be invaluable. If only for my own sanity. So, I searched the house until I came upon an open envelope wedged under the fridge. I ripped the paper out but was surprised to see that this was written on the official stationary of the saints. The Arkens most treasured warriors. But it was in the same handwriting as the first. “Dear Prince Calien Of Kalte, “This house has been bequeathed to you as a show of good will. However, if you deem to leave the grounds our treaty shall be void. I shall visit regularly in case your answer has changed. But if you do accept the proposal please send a letter through the proper channels. “Faithfully, “Saint Haziel of the West.” Haziel! I looked down on the wings tattooed on my wrist. And remembered when I’d been admitted as one of her angels. Biting my lip I began to search for more. I found another letter under a floor board. This one was stained with tears. But it was her handwriting. And it was in Kalten. “Calien, “I went to see them today. The so called sinners. Your people were in such bad condition. And the angel over them… “I should’ve believed you. But what can I do? All the angels look up to me. If I leave what will become of them? “I’m sorry, I can’t leave them.” I ground my teeth together. Where were the letters he sent her? Where were the arguments to start the war? To leave us angels to fall? I searched the closet. And I found another letter in the pocket of a coat. This one was crumpled into a ball. “Haziel, “I understand your position. I never would’ve asked this favor if it weren’t important. But the fate of an entire race is on the line. And I will not watch my people die. “No matter what my answer shall remain the same. But I have a question in return. Do you want to just survive in this backwards world? Or do you want to live? I shall await your answer, “Forever yours, “Calien.” I flipped the page. “Survive.” Was written in shaky handwriting. Haziel’s writing. Blinking I let the paper go as Haziel’s last words came to mind. “I want to live, not just survive.” Poor Haziel. To have been torn between duty and love. But if the saints knew of her infraction they’d never take her back. Did she even want to come back? There had to be another letter. Just one more to explain what she did. Why she started this war with him. I found it under the mattress. This one was about to fall apart at the seems. But the Kalten was still legible. “Calien, “These past few days have opened my eyes. The way they treat people is horrible. They’re nothing more than an experiment. “You’re right this can’t continue. If they are doing this to your people it’s only a matter of time before it spreads to the angels. Maybe it has already. “Maybe I’m a dreamer but I think this war would help our people. Free them from these constraints. And live.” So that’s why. I sank to the floor. And I laughed. The only way to live was to fall. I grabbed my shotgun as another explosion lit up the night sky. Now it was clear what I was fighting for.

September 9th, 2000 It’s my birthday today. Meaning just another handful of people saying happy birthday and giving me presents that I might even barley use. Mom says she has a big suprise. Geez I wonder what it is.

September 10th, 2000 It’s there worst suprise ever. Moving it to a new house. I hate it. There are vines everywhere. The walls. The whole house was a plant. Covered with weeds. The inside is even more worse than the house on Eastwood Drive. The wallpaper is ancient. And the air was suffocating. I ask my mom why we couldn’t stay. “Because of a new exprience.” Bullshit. I’m trying to not laugh over the sentence. I go behind the house and grab one my cigerates out of my pocket and light it. I hear something in the trees. Like if it were to talking to me. A loud boo comes from behind me. It’s my brother Matthew. I’m completely pissed off. I give one of my signature stares. He starts laughing “Well shit. I’m sorry scaredy cat.” I give him a punch in the shoulder. “You asshole.” we both laugh. He looks at my hand which is holding the cigerate. “ Can I have one?” he continues to look at my hand. I reach in my pocket and grab my last smoke. Me and him start puffing And we both cough at the same time. Something gives me weird feelings.

October 10th, 2000 Mom has been acting weird lately. She looks different. She is mumbling words that I can't understand. Some nights I hear thumping in her room but if I to check everything is fine. I don't know where Matthew is. None of us do.

October 31st, 2000 Holy shit Holy shit! I can't believe I did that. Mother please forgive me. She just acted crazy! Her eyes were pure white and her voice was nothing normal. The... Just. I can't believe she is dead. I have to hide.

May 6, 3428

The journey is going well, Richard has gone into the cryogenic sleep as planned. The Edison is running exceptionally well, it is projected we will make it to Andromeda in 30 years.

May 7 3428

I have successfully checked all of the systems. The rest of the crew has already enter cryogenic sleep, I will be joining them.

January 5, 3458

The Edison has woke me up early. All of the crew is dead. We are still on course.

January 7, 3458

I commanded the Edison to change course, it did not respond. I believe it has developed a consciousness and for some reason demands to go to Andromeda.

January 12, 3458

The Edison’s voice has come back online and it has started to referring to me as the fatted cow. We are still on course.

February 28, 3458

Edison has prevented me from recording my diary entries. I do not know why he has let me now. He is treating me well and has allowed me to enter dream state. I have been dreaming about being home with my family on Christmas Day. I will continue to record. Diary entries daily as long as I am able to. We are still on course.

March 1, 3458

We are near days away from Andromeda. Edison has begun to refer to it as his dearest. I have continued to be in my dream states. We are still on course.

March 2, 3458

There are 4 days left until we reach Andromeda and I have spotted some alien creature inside it. It appears to be the size of Jupiter.I believe Edison would like to sacrifice me to that thing. We are still on course.

March 3, 3458

Edison seems to be sacrificing me to the thing I spotted yesterday in a religious manner. This is the type of things the great writers of thousands of years ago could see only in their nightmares. We are still on course.

March 4, 3458

There are only 3 days left until we reach the thing. I have observed all that I can. This is my final diary entry. I will be living my last few remaining days in the bliss of my own home back on Tera with my family. Goodbye Jane, I will miss you.