The silence of the house felt oppressive, like the walls themselves were holding their breath. Emily's mind buzzed as she paced back and forth across the living room. The diary still sat on the table, its presence a reminder of the darkness that had already begun to bleed into her life. But now, there was a new mystery: where had it come from?
She had to know. She had to trace the origins of this object that had somehow become the centrepiece of her unravelling. The answers were buried somewhere in her past. She just had to dig them up.
George sat across from her, flipping idly through a magazine, his usual calm demeanour a stark contrast to her frantic pacing. He noticed the intensity in her movements, but instead of offering a joke, he simply set the magazine down.
"You're not going to find answers by wearing a hole in the floor," he said, his tone softer than usual. "Maybe you should start by asking the people who actually live here."
Emily shot him a frustrated look. "My parents aren't here, George. I don't even know where they went when they disappeared. But I'm starting to think that the only way I'll figure this out is by looking at their old things. Maybe they knew more than they let on."
She stopped pacing and turned to the bookshelf against the wall, where family photos and old trinkets sat in rows. Her fingers brushed against the spines of old books, each one a relic of the past. She never thought much of them before, but now, each book felt like a clue—each photo, a window into something that had been kept hidden.
"What do you think?" Emily asked, turning toward George. "What if this diary was from someone they knew? Someone who knew what this curse could do?"
He raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. Instead, he stood and walked toward a nearby shelf, his fingers trailing over the surface of the books until he paused at one in particular. It was an old, leather-bound volume with no title on the spine.
"That one," Emily said, her voice tight with a sudden surge of instinct. "That book. I remember seeing it in my dad's study."
George pulled it down and handed it to her. She opened it slowly, her heart beating faster as she flipped through the pages. At first, it seemed like just another collection of boring, forgotten texts. But then she saw it. Tucked inside the back cover was a faded card with strange markings—a gift tag, perhaps.
The name on the card hit her like a punch to the gut.
To Michael, from your old friend Robert. Found this at the site. Thought you'd appreciate it. Enjoy the read.
Michael. Her dad's name.
"What the hell…" Emily whispered, her fingers trembling as she read the note aloud.
George leaned over her shoulder, his face serious now. "Robert? Who's that?"
Emily shook her head, but her thoughts were racing. Robert. That name was familiar, but she couldn't place it. She had heard her father mention it once or twice, but only in passing. She couldn't remember anything significant about him.
But the note—found this at the site—that part stayed with her. A site? An abandoned place? Was it possible that this was where it all began?
Without thinking, Emily grabbed her coat. "We need to go to the site," she said, the decision slipping from her lips before she could second-guess it. "If this Robert found the diary at an abandoned site, we have to see it for ourselves. Maybe that's where the curse started."
George blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting such an immediate shift in her mindset. "Are you sure about this? You're going to chase down the source of a curse that's already wrecking you?"
Emily turned to him, her jaw set. "I need to know, George. I need to understand what's happening. I can't just sit here and let it take me. It started somewhere, and I need to find out where."
George sighed, but there was a spark of something else in his eyes. Maybe it was his usual sense of humour trying to push through, or maybe it was something else—something deeper. "Alright, I'm with you. Let's find this site. But if it involves anything dangerous, I'm not going in with a flashlight and a prayer. I'm just saying."
"You're coming," she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the door. "I need you there. I'm not doing this alone."
The journey was quiet. The roads grew narrower, winding through areas Emily didn't recognize. The closer they got to the site, the more she could feel the weight of the air pressing in, the sense that something was off. It wasn't just the unfamiliar terrain—it was the way the landscape seemed to shift around them, the subtle unease that gnawed at her insides.
The site itself was nothing more than a forgotten stretch of land on the outskirts of town. It was overgrown with weeds, the remnants of what once might have been a building now hidden beneath a blanket of moss and debris.
George stepped out of the car first, his eyes scanning the area with curiosity and scepticism. "This is it, huh?"
Emily nodded, her heart pounding as she stepped out of the car, feeling the cool air against her skin. She had to trust that this was where everything started. If the diary had come from here, if Robert had brought it back from this abandoned site, then there was a chance—just a small chance—that there was an explanation hidden somewhere in these ruins.
They made their way deeper into the site, Emily's steps slower than she wanted them to be. The place felt haunted, like the past was alive here, lingering in the air. Every creak of a branch, every rustle of leaves, sent a shiver down her spine.
"There's something… off about this place," Emily whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Yeah, no kidding," George replied. "Could've sworn I saw a face in the trees. Or maybe that's just the curse getting to me."
Despite the humour in his voice, Emily could sense the nervousness beneath it. He was just as unsettled as she was, but neither of them spoke of it directly. They had more pressing matters to uncover.
Suddenly, Emily's foot caught on something—she stumbled and looked down to see a rusted metal object half-buried in the ground. She knelt down, brushing aside the dirt and leaves to reveal an old, tarnished lockbox. Her breath caught in her throat.
"This is it," she said, her voice steady despite the thrill coursing through her veins. "This is where it all started."
George bent down beside her, his face shadowed by the uncertainty of what they were about to uncover. "You sure about this? Could be just some old junk."
But Emily didn't care. She had to know. She opened the box with trembling hands, and inside, she found what they were looking for. A stack of old letters and papers, a faded photograph of a man standing in front of what looked like the same site they were standing in now.
And there, at the top of the pile, was another diary—exactly like the one that had brought them here.