The staircase I stepped onto, I feared would cave in. The dark wood had grown furry mold, and seemed brittle.

I sighed in anguish. Of all people, why did it have to be me to go down into the basement. Maybe it was the funky smell, or pitch black darkness lurking at the bottom, but I absolutely hated the whole aura of that cellar.

I began to grow weary of carrying this massive cardboard boxes. Dad had thrown them into my hands to bring down, unaware they weighed about a ton each.

I felt red on my bare neck. I felt so hot, even though I was only wearing a pair of denim shorts and a t-shirt.

Taking the leap of faith, I put my first foot down. The stair creaked under my weight and I winced, taking the next step.

Squeaking all the way down, I made it to the bottom without falling through the rotten staircase ; luckily.

I let out a gasp of relief as I threw the boxes down onto the concrete floor, and pulled my flashlight from my back pocket. The likely hood that the lights in here actually worked was little to none.

The basement was relatively empty, a couple wood shelf’s hung limply onto the hard walls, a desk tipped over in the right hand corner.

I subconsciously tip toed over to it, kneeling down to open the shelves.

I will admit, I was anxious that something would jump out at me or creep up on me from behind, but thankfully all it contained was a small leather bound journal.

It shone brown as I felt its bumpy surface, worn and dirtied. It seemed at least 30 years old if not more, the pages yellow and water damaged. A bright red ribbon hung from the top.

I flipped to the first page, revealing childlike handwriting. The first line read

‘Dear diary, it’s me Daisy. Today was a rather unpleasant day.’

I rolled my tired eyes, and flicked ahead a couple pages. It all just seemed like a little girls diary entries. Suddenly I stopped, shocked. My mouth slowing opening as I felt my blood run cold.

Blood was splattered up the page I had landed on. A drawing of what looked like a dead dog was scrawled across one page. Manuscripts of the drawing on the blank one.

‘Dear Diary, it’s me, Daisy. Today was another awful day. Mom says that Dog died last night. I cried and cried an cried. As you’ve heard i loved Dog so so much. He was the best pet a girl could ask for. I thought it was strange since he’s only 6 years old, and I found him in her and Dads bed room. Why does this keep happening. I think I’m going like aunt Lucy. I don’t want to be sent away, I’d rather be at home with nightmares and screaming fits than in a dark cold hospital. Dead people are just so scary. The worst one was my brother. He just looked so pale. I don’t know how many bodies Mom and Dad have now. From what I see that makes ten. What if I’m next? I don’t want to go crazy either. I’m not crazy. I’m sane. I’m normal. I’m ok’

Beyond that, it becomes unreadable, just a messy scrawl. I felt queasy, sick to my stomach. My hands were slightly shaking. I felt a clamp on my throat.

A cold breeze ran through the room, and tickled my cheek. I yelped out in fright, on edge.

Turning around sheepishly, that’s when I saw it. My hair stood on end as I stared at the apparition, the ghost, with curly blond hair and a pink pin form dress. She was crying.

All I could was scream.