Gates to Hell

1.Diary

Part 1~

Other schools have the comforting luxury of warmth when you arrive, a noticeable increase in temperature once you step into the school building full of radiators and heat, to escape the cruel frost outside. Our school, on the other hand, stays in its usual freezing state, indoors and outdoors, which is why most of us wear warm cotton clothes. Some of the stylish, popular girls, like Ashley Gold, tried to show off their summer outfits, but never for a second time. Of course, that didn't stop them from complaining about how cheap the school was, and how there were never any radiators anywhere.

Except the Library.

That was the only place I found comfort in, where I didn't have to live up to anyone's expectations, where I could just get lost in a book and forget all my worries. There was nothing better than getting lost in someone else's life, savoring their triumphs, and breaking in their pains. Unless, like now, I was there for a homework assignment.

The Libary was an extremely large room, filled with endless shelves of books, from leather bound hardbacks embossed in gold lettering, to tattered, torn and dilapidated paper backs with dog eared pages and stains, to brand new thick books, full of crisp, cream pages filled with the smell of ink.

I remember my first time here. I had literally gotten lost between the dozens and dozens of towering shelves, trying to locate a Shakespeare book for my reading assignment. It was only when I was found by Ms Serin that I was rescued.

Now, however, I knew exactly where to find Shakespeare books. They were at the bottom half of the 5th shelf from the left of the entrance door. But if you wanted to find plays written by other authors, you would have to go to the middle shelf on the 4th row, for the summaries and notes that came with them as well. I wasn't headed to either of those places, now, though. Today, I was going to get this History assignment done, no distractions, no sidetracking, so that I could have a free day to sink into a nice, long book. I'd even come an hour early to school for this

... which meant I was probably the only student here.

A chill swept down on my spine as the true meaning of this dawned on me. I was probably the only 14 year old in this school right now.

Maybe I'm not, I thought suddenly, as I selected a large book titled "Murdock Manor: A History Revealed", as well as a handful of other, thin, glossy brochures. Maybe some of the teachers here have kids with them...or maybe... maybe one of the ghosts haunting this place are my age as well. I shuddered, but maybe that was because my fingernails had accidentally scraped against the brochure pages (Am I the only one who feels that?). After all, the ideas of actual ghosts are ridiculous. Ancient though this building may be, it's not haunted. Those were mere rumors, hushed and muffled whispers that were secretively passed on, and more often than not truth would merge with fanciful fiction, before distorting completely and finally disappearing with the wind forever...

"Stop scaring yourself," I told myself firmly. The last thing I wanted to do was become paranoid and keep looking over my shoulder while I was supposed to be scribbling down my history homework. So I banished any ridiculous thoughts of ghosts from my head, and sank down into one of the overstuffed armchairs to begin my homework.

Doing my homework was much quicker than I thought. As I finished my last sentence, I let out a long sigh, and leaned back on my armchair. Rubbing my eyes, I checked my watch. I even had time to pick out a long, thick book, and maybe even finish it. I should do this more often.

As I put the Murdock Manor book back where I found it, I noticed something. It's another leather-bound book, plain brown, where black letters printed a simple word: Diary. But what's it doing here, if it's not an information book on the history of Murdock High? Maybe it was put in the wrong place... I checked the label on the inside cover of the book. No label. Curious, I flip through the pages.

A flurry of black, cursive writing, brown, tattered pages and ink blotches. Clearly, this book was written in the style of a diary from the past. It looks so realistic, but... It can't actually be a diary from that day and age, it would have been ruined, torn and disintegrated. There was no way it could hold together that well if it had been that old. Then that meant that this was a book written in the style of the past. Now this was something I wanted to read.

In fact, if I started reading now, I would be able to finish it by the time the first bell for classes rang. And it was one of my favorite genres of books...

I sank back into my previous armchair, and began to read.