It must have been abandoned by the last owners of the house.
I should have called it quits.
But I was feeling antsy, restless, on edge.
Mat Reding
I wanted to keep myself busy.
So I climbed into an attic my family rarely used and cleared out the cobwebs.
I threw out old dolls, old toy boxes, old throw pillows.
Then I found a diary.
It must have been abandoned by the last owners of the house.
It didnt bother me.
My father passed away at our childhood home.
It didnt stop new people from moving it.
I never thought about it again.
I coughed while clearing away the dust from the front cover.
Unfortunately, the pages were impossible to read.
They were yellowed and curled with age.
There were even edges that looked like they were burnt with a lighter.
Plus, the words were written in the key in of script you rarely see anymore.
I couldnt make out a word.
It was meant for scribbled doctors notes and love letters written in loops and swirls.
The app kept popping up with a warning saying writing was not identified.
But I kept flipping through.
I kept my phone camera aimed at each page.
And, finally, one of them worked.
It was the very last page in the diary, the cleanest one, still crisp.
It said: It doesnt matter what I do to this thing.
I cant burn it.
I cant tear it.
I cant toss it away.
Theres nothing else I can do, so Im hiding it deep in the house.
Up in the attic.
Im hoping the next owners dont get a look at it.
Im hoping I did enough damage to the pages before this.
Dont let your curiosity get the best of you.
Dont make the same mistakes as me.
The next day, it was sitting on the mattress in my bedroom.
I dont know how it got there.
I dont know what it meant.
But, because of the damn boredom, I ignored my warning and started to do more research…
