The Old Diary

In a quiet neighborhood, surrounded by towering trees and whispering winds, Rima moved into her new house. It was old but charming, with creaky wooden floors and faded wallpaper. She had gotten it for a surprisingly low price, and though the house felt a bit cold, she shrugged it off.

One evening, while cleaning out a dusty shelf in the attic, Rima found an old leather-bound diary tucked behind a loose wooden plank. The cover was worn, and the pages inside were yellowed with age. Curiosity got the better of her, and she took it downstairs.

Sitting on her couch, she opened the diary. The first page read:

\"This house is cursed. If you\'re reading this, it\'s too late.\"

Rima frowned and laughed softly. Probably just some old joke, she thought. Still, she kept reading.

The entries were written by someone named Clara. Each page described strange things — footsteps in empty rooms, whispers in the dark, and shadows that moved when no one was there.

Rima closed the diary. “Just a creepy story,” she muttered.

That night, as she lay in bed, she heard faint footsteps outside her room. She froze, holding her breath.

Step... step... step...

The sound stopped right outside her door.

Rima shot up and flicked on her lamp. The hallway was empty. She forced herself to believe it was her mind playing tricks.

The next morning, she opened the diary again. Clara’s next entry described hearing footsteps in the hallway at night.

Rima’s heart pounded. “No way...”

She closed the book and tried to forget about it. But things only got worse.

The following evening, while brushing her hair in the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of something in the mirror — a figure standing in the hallway.

“Hello?” Rima called out. She stepped into the hallway, but no one was there.

Panicked, she grabbed the diary again. Clara’s next entry mentioned seeing a figure in the mirror.

“That’s impossible,” Rima whispered.

That night, the air in her room felt colder than usual. She pulled the blankets tightly around her and tried to sleep.

Around midnight, she woke to the sound of soft whispering. At first, she thought it was the wind — but no. The whispers seemed to come from inside her room.

“Who\'s there?” she asked shakily.

The whispers stopped.

Moments later, something brushed her arm — cold and damp. Rima shot out of bed, flicking on the light.

No one was there.

The diary’s next entry warned Clara not to go to the basement.

Rima stared at the basement door. It had always been locked since she moved in. But now... it was slightly open.

“Don’t,” she told herself. “Don’t be stupid.”

But something compelled her forward. The air turned icy as she reached the door. She grabbed a flashlight and stepped inside. The stairs creaked under her weight.

The basement smelled damp, and old furniture was piled against the walls. In the corner stood a wooden rocking chair... rocking slowly on its own.

Rima’s breath caught in her throat. Suddenly, the chair stopped.

Then, a whisper brushed against her ear.

“Get out...”

Rima bolted upstairs, slamming the door behind her.

That night, she barely slept. When she did, she dreamed of a pale woman with hollow eyes standing at the foot of her bed. The woman’s lips moved, but no sound came out.

The next morning, Rima flipped to the diary’s final page.

\"If you see her... it\'s too late.\"

Rima’s heart pounded. “I’m leaving,” she whispered.

She grabbed her keys and rushed to the door. But as she reached for the knob, a cold hand grabbed her wrist.

She spun around. No one was there.

Shaking, Rima backed away and tried again. This time, the door wouldn’t budge. She pulled with all her strength, but it refused to open.

“Let me out!” she screamed.

The house groaned, and the lights flickered. The air turned icy cold, and footsteps began pounding down the stairs.

Step... step... step...

Rima ran to her bedroom and slammed the door shut. She grabbed her phone, but the screen was black.

The footsteps stopped outside her door. Then, a faint whisper echoed through the room.

“Rima...”

Her name.

Rima’s chest tightened as she pressed herself against the wall. The door handle began to turn — slowly, then faster.

Suddenly, it stopped.

Rima waited for what felt like hours before creeping back to the door. She placed her ear against the wood — silence.

Summoning her courage, she cracked the door open.

The hallway was empty.

But then she noticed something on the floor — the diary. The final page now had new writing scrawled across it:

\"She’s inside now.\"

Rima gasped and staggered back. A shadow stretched across her room, creeping closer.

“Please...” Rima whimpered.

The shadow moved to the corner, taking shape — the pale woman from her dreams. Her hollow eyes locked onto Rima’s.

The figure whispered again, but this time Rima could hear her words.

“You let me in...”

Rima lunged for the diary and hurled it into the fireplace. The flames roared as the pages curled and blackened.

The woman let out a piercing scream that shook the walls. The shadow twisted and shrank, but before it vanished completely, the woman’s face twisted into a grin.

“You can’t run,” she hissed.

The room fell silent. The air cleared, and the cold faded. Rima stood frozen, staring at the ashes.

The next morning, she packed her things and left the house for good.

Days later, as she unpacked in her new apartment, Rima felt calmer. She convinced herself that she had escaped whatever haunted her old house.

But that night, while brushing her hair in the bathroom, she froze.

In the mirror — faint but unmistakable — was the pale woman, her hollow eyes staring back.