Suicide House

Chapter 8

James seemed sad most of the time now but he managed to get a job at a shopping center not too far from our house.

I had become more adventurous in our house, it was even bigger than I first thought. There was a downstairs and a crawlspace, the crawlspace was small and dark but fairly warm, it was sort of a bunker, completely cement. I would sit down there for hours and write, work on my homework and essays. It was also very nice due to the fact that winter was coming and it still stayed around 77°f (25°c) even when it was cold outside.

I made that spot into my hideout, I piled blankets and pillows down there, I found an extension cord that was long enough to reach an outlet and still made it all the way down the stairs so I could charge my computer. It was a very nice little place, it's wood floors were nicely polished and there were no bugs.

I would hideout down there for hours on end, James didn't know exactly where I was and the ghosts never followed me. Although Maria knew about my spot she kept it secret and would bring me cookies and milk every once in a while. She was a very nice person.

One day I found a small nick in the wall, more of a scratch really, but as I looked at it I noticed a bit of an outline, sort of rectangular, about the height of a book… I tugged on it. The rectangle of cement came out.

Sitting in the cleft was a small book, leather by the looks of it. Perfectly preserved but the dark and the stone. What was it?

I turned it over in my hands, trying to find an indication of what it could be. However all I could see was the plain leather covers and a small delicately decorated spine.

I opened the front cover, inside was curvy handwriting that simply stated, property of John Laurens.

John. It was his. I flipped to the next page.

I was told to write all my thoughts in this book. I don't really know why but sure. I'll do it. Today was pretty uneventful, I mean, being 15 isn't very different from 14. I suppose I should be happy but I'm not. Is that a crime? In my father's books probably. Well I dunno. This world is weird. Ok night.

So it was a diary of some sort. I flipped ahead to about the middle of the book, i kept going until I found one that seemed to have blood or something on it, dark splotches covered the page. Terror grasped me but I shoved it down. I needed to know the truth.

Well hello there. I suppose I've pissed of my father yet again. I told him I liked boys and he laughed, then he looked at me and said “you're serious?” And I nodded and he hit me. Then he punched me and before I knew it he had a knife and he was cutting me. I'm sorry, there's blood all over this page but… I can't help it.

This was the start. I went a little farther ahead until I found one with three simple words at the top of the page. I killed them.

I stared in shock at the book and flipped to the next page.

I've killed my father and sisters. My mother was killed at my father's hand, my sister had just gotten home from the hospital. My father edged me on until I just killed him. My sister screamed and dropped her son, killing him instantly, she was only sixteen. The same age I had been when I came out to my father. She cried at screamed at me, then she stabbed me in the shoulder. I killed her. My youngest sister had seen it all and screamed at me. She's only seven. Too young, but then I killed her. All the carnage. The damage I had caused. I hid the bodies, no one will ever know where except this diary. I buried everyone except my father outside under the big tree, he got hidden in the darkest place I could find. It’s still in the house but out of reach of anyone. I'm going to hide this journal and kill myself. It's only fair.

“But look at where it got me.”