The diary’s last days (standard:horror, 3592 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: Apr 12 2010	Views/Reads: 3065/2026	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A library assistant reads a student's diary. He should have left it well alone.

What follows are the last few pages of a student diary discovered
recently I think for us to find. When I say us, I mean normal people, 
because as a library assistant, I discovered the entire diary just 
lying on an empty part of the shelf in the romance section. It's all 
handwritten, decorated in glittery stickers with fancy doodles spread 
throughout. I've read it all, and I thought I would tell you the last 
of it, of what happened to the person who wrote it, and of what is 
happening here, now, in this day and age, because this diary is last 
dated yesterday. 12th of October this year. 

Her name is Charlotte Meredith, aged 23, a student of business
management with sociology at the local university. I'll begin the diary 
towards the end, when she moved to the small village, two miles away 
from the campus, because all the student accommodation was full, and it 
was the only place near enough that she could find. It was the only 
empty apartment in the village having recently become vacant. She would 
cycle to the university, fully intending one day to own a motorcycle. I 
intend also, once I leave this library, to give my job up, and go to my 
flat, lock myself in, and take the pills I have accumulated from my 
previous addictions. I did at one point take a lot of them in a suicide 
attempt. My parents died, you see, and I couldn't cope. I ended up in a 
coma for five months. That was six years ago. After reading this diary, 
I'm going to make sure that I succeed. 

October 7th. 

Well I finally moved into my apartment, and now I can't wait to get out.
What a paltry little dump of a place. There are cracks in the walls. 
The furniture comes straight out of the seventies and the bathroom is 
unbelievably tiny. Other than that, it's my home for the next year. I'm 
scared to sleep on the creaky bed with paper-thin sheets. It's tempting 
to bike down to Lizzie and Susie's place by the uni. I'm sure they'll 
let me kip with them on the floor or something. No, I'm out here in 
some little village, which to be quite honest, doesn't seem all that 
bad. Still though. I'd rather be with my friends. 

October 8th 

Well what a day that was, or should I say, what a night? One thing's for
sure, I'm getting out of here. I tried to sleep on the bed, and I'm 
sure even the most evil of criminals would have been in more comfort in 
some prison. There I was at one in the morning trying to get some kip 
when shadows started flashing-by on the curtains. They didn't close 
fully anyway, so I got up to see what it was and saw that there were 
people walking along the road. Some were coming out of their houses and 
joining them. They were all heading in the same direction. No-one 
seemed out of the ordinary. Couples, families, all dressed up as if 
they were all headed to a theatre. Everyone seemed happy, and I 
wondered just where on earth they were going. I had to find out. I was 
wide awake. So I dressed  and left, reluctant to ask what was going on, 
instead simply following everybody to this event or whatever it was at 
one in the morning. There was no moon that night, and streetlamps lit 
the way. I was surprised when I followed people away from the village 
an onto a field. Lights had been rigged up periodically and I struck up 
courage to ask a happy looking old man who was near me. ‘It's Patrick's 
transformation' he said. ‘His first step to becoming a man. How did you 
not know?' he asked me, racing ahead as if to get a good seat. I had no 
idea what he meant, but still, I'm sure I walked about a mile into a 
valley, passing happy families and running children. I realised that 
this must be some sort of village tradition. Something they must have 
every year. I thought it strange that it should be this time of the 
morning, but then decided that maybe it wasn't, because village 
traditions are usually bizarre anyway, so I went to see this one, and 
saw people congregating in the valley, sitting on the hillsides, 
looking down at a fairly flat field. It reminded me of a football 
ground. It looked as though every single villager was there. The place 
was crowded. After half an hour or so, when everybody had arrived, a 
hush descended and what must have been floodlights were turned on and 
lit the field. A man walked into the middle wearing what I can only 
describe as a tribal costume, with the make-up to go with it. He looked 
as though he came from Mexico or Brazil, as he had their suntanned 
complexion. He also held a wireless microphone. ‘Ladies and gentlemen', 
he said. ‘Thank-you for coming. You know why you are all here'. He 
gestured to a boy walking towards him. ‘This is Patrick', he said. I 
think he was a teenager. He was also naked, and looked local, or 


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