Journal Entry
The woman found the box in the attic today. It looked oddly out of place, perfectly clean and tied with a neat bow, as if it had been placed there just for her. The woman stared at it for a long time before finally opening it, lifting the lid slowly, almost reluctantly. Inside, there was a small journal. The woman picked it up, and for a second, her fingers trembled. When she opened the cover, her face changed—her eyes widening, her lips parting in shock, as if she'd seen something meant to be hidden.
Later, the woman tried to sleep but kept tossing and turning, her breaths shallow, head turned toward the mirror across from her bed. The mirror itself seemed strange, as if shadows were gathering at the edges of the glass. The woman looked at it like she expected something to happen. She finally drifted off, but not for long.
In the dead of night, the woman woke up with a start, gasping. She reached for the doorknob, maybe to leave the room, but when her fingers touched the metal, she jerked her hand back with a strangled cry. She stared down at her palm, a faint red mark appearing, like she'd been branded. She rubbed her hand, looking over her shoulder as if sensing she wasn't alone.
But then, when the woman looked back at the door, the mark was gone.
The woman stayed awake after that, pacing the floor, glancing at the mirror now and then, as if waiting for something to reveal itself.
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her palm. The mark was still there, and now it was darker, almost like a bruise, its edges jagged, raw. A deep, gnawing pain radiated from the spot, like the skin was being pulled tighter with every passing second. It felt hot, almost as if something beneath the surface was pressing outward, demanding attention.
The woman's breath caught as she rubbed the mark, trying to soothe it, but the pain only intensified. It spread up her fingers, creeping like vines winding through her hand. A cold sweat formed on the back of her neck as she stared down at it in disbelief. What had happened to her? Why did it hurt so much?
The pull of curiosity was strong, as it always was with the house, but this time, the dread that settled in her stomach was too overwhelming to ignore. Something was changing, something dark and suffocating, and she couldn't tell whether it was the house or something inside her.
She needed to leave. The thought came to her with sudden clarity, sharp and urgent. She couldn't stay here anymore—not with this mark, not with the feeling that the house was watching, waiting for her to make a choice. The pain in her hand intensified, as if urging her to make a decision, a choice that would determine how much longer she would remain.
The woman stood, swaying on her feet as the pain in her hand flared again. She staggered toward the door, her fingers trembling on the knob, but as she touched it, the burning in her palm became unbearable, shooting up her arm in waves of heat. Her body screamed for her to run, to get out before it was too late, but something else—something invisible—was holding her here, keeping her locked in place, forcing her to face whatever was coming next.
She couldn't stay, but the house wasn't going to let her leave that easily.
The Journal Ended
YOU ARE READING
Veil of Shadows
Paranormal--The world fell into darkness as she called to it, her voice swallowed by shadows before her words even reached her lips. She fell, hands dragging her downward, as if they would finally end the desire, she felt for the creature that had tormented h...
