Horror · Short Story

Diary Entry 4



I didn’t write that last part. I didn’t. I did not do it. yOu I checked and rechecked and I am going crazy. I don’t know what’s real anymore.

Someone is playing a cruel joke on me, and I have no idea why, or how. No one’s been in the house except me. I even checked the security feeds; the motion activated ones? Nothing. Just a dark house for hours. Just me.

But the noise. Oh God, the noises. Am I dreaming them? Because I don’t remember sleeping at all the past few nights. I nod off during the day, sure, but I’m just so tired. But could WiLL I be just half-asleep, and imagining them? I’m working too hard. My project is suffering for it.

Chittering, scampering, giggling. Up and down the hall, inside the walls, random and so loud I can feel it in my chest. That’s not the foundation or the furnace. But what is it? What the fuck is making that awful noise?

And I keep misplacing things. I keep forgetting what I was doing when I walk into a room. I can’t find my cell phone, or my car keys SlEeP. I’ve looked for the past two days, but nothing. It’s probably dead, by now. And I know—I KNOW I put that damned creepy elf away, but I’ve tripped over it in the hall and living room twice now!

Did I just dream that, too?

Did I open that previous diary file and type out that nonsense?

We don’t have a land line, so I can’t even call my family to check in on them. The fact that they haven’t called makes me believe that Sheila’s a lot angrier with me than I previously thought. I wish they could read this, right now. I just want to hold them. I want them to know how sorry I was that I lost my temper. I want them home.

I want to know that this is all in my head.

I want the noises to stop. I want to sleep. Fucking God in Heaven, I am exhausted.

I’ll finish this later. There’s someone at the door.




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