The Lost Journal

M Mehran

Aisha never cared much for antiques, but when she inherited her uncle’s house, she stumbled upon something she couldn’t ignore.

In the back of a closet, hidden beneath moth-eaten coats, she found a leather-bound journal. The cover was worn, the pages yellowed, but the handwriting inside was neat and deliberate.

At first glance, it looked ordinary—a man’s thoughts about his daily life. But as Aisha read deeper, she realized this wasn’t just a journal. It was a confession.


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Chapter Two: The Confession

Her uncle’s words spilled across the pages:
“I see the boy every night at the edge of my bed. He doesn’t speak. He only stares. I know he’s real, though everyone says he’s only in my mind.”

Aisha frowned. Her uncle had lived alone for years. She flipped to another entry.
“The journal keeps him away. When I write, he disappears. When I stop, he comes closer.”

The hair on her arms rose. Why had her uncle never mentioned this?


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Chapter Three: The Pattern

Curiosity turned into obsession. Aisha read for hours. Every entry described the same boy—pale, silent, with dark hollow eyes.

Her uncle detailed a chilling pattern: the boy appeared when he stopped writing, always growing nearer, as though waiting for the chance to finally reach him.

The last entry stopped mid-sentence:
“He’s here at the—”

The pen trailed off. No more words followed.


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Chapter Four: The First Night

That night, Aisha couldn’t sleep. The words of the journal looped in her head.

Sometime past midnight, she felt it—a presence. The air shifted, heavy and cold. Slowly, she turned toward the corner of her bedroom.

A small shadow stood there.

Her chest tightened. The room spun. But when she blinked, the shadow was gone.


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Chapter Five: The Urge to Write

The next morning, Aisha sat at the kitchen table with the journal in front of her. She wasn’t sure why, but she picked up a pen and began to write.

“Last night, I saw him. Just a glimpse. But I know he was there.”

As soon as the words hit the page, the heaviness in her chest lifted. The house seemed lighter, less suffocating.

For reasons she couldn’t explain, the act of writing soothed her fear.


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Chapter Six: The Return

Days passed. She told herself it was nonsense, but every time she put the journal aside, the presence returned.

One night, ignoring the urge to write, she woke up to see the boy again—closer this time. His eyes met hers. They weren’t just hollow; they were hungry.

She scrambled for the journal, scribbling furiously:
“I see him. He’s closer. Please stay away.”

The moment her pen touched the page, the boy vanished.


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Chapter Seven: The Realization

By the seventh day, Aisha was writing constantly. Work emails went unanswered, calls ignored. She stayed by the journal, pouring her thoughts onto its pages.

And yet… a question gnawed at her: What happens if the journal runs out of pages?

She flipped to the back. Only ten blank sheets remained. Her stomach knotted.


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Chapter Eight: The Last Pages

One evening, desperate, she searched the house for another journal but found nothing. She tried writing in a modern notebook, but it didn’t work. The boy appeared anyway, standing at the foot of her bed, watching, waiting.

The leather-bound journal was the only one that kept him away.

With shaking hands, she counted the pages again. Seven left.


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Chapter Nine: The Choice

On the final night, only one page remained. Aisha sat in her room, staring at the boy who now stood inches away. His lips curved into something like a smile.

Tears blurred her vision as she wrote:
“I don’t want to end here. If someone finds this, keep writing. Don’t stop. Please. He’ll take me when it ends, but maybe… he won’t take you.”

Her pen slid off the paper. The page was full. The ink bled into the last line.

And then silence.


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Epilogue: The Inheritance

Months later, the house was sold. A young couple moved in. While unpacking, the wife discovered a leather journal tucked into the kitchen drawer.

She smiled at the beautiful binding, flipped to the first page, and began to read.

That night, she swore she saw a boy standing in the corner of her room.