When we first moved to this town, I thought the worst things I'd have to deal with was the loneliness and silence.
Back home, there was always noise—cars rushing down cracked streets, children screaming until their throats hurt, music blaring from someone's window even at midnight.
Here, the air felt too clean, too still.
It was the kind of silence that presses down on you, as if it's waiting for something to happen.
I didn't want to move. My parents called it a "fresh start." but i called it a grave.
The first week at my new school was unbearable.
Everyone already had their circles.
Laughter bubbled between people who had known each other since birth.
And there was me, standing in hallways, clutching my books like a shield.
That's when I met Perry.
She found me outside the library, sitting on a bench, pretending to be busy with a book I wasn't reading.
She had hair the color of autumn leaves—bright, fierce, almost too alive for this sleepy town.
She sat beside me like she'd known me all her life.
"You're new," she said simply.
I nodded, unsure.
She smiled. "You'll get used to it. You can sit with me at lunch."
That was it. No hesitation. No hesitation in me either.
Maybe because I was desperate, or maybe because Perry's presence was like gravity—warm and inescapable.
We became inseparable.
Every teacher started to call us twins.
We shared lunches, secrets, laughter and for the first time in months, I felt like I belonged.
So, when she invited me for a sleepover, I said yes without thinking.
Her house was large for this town, an old thing with wooden beams and narrow staircases that creaked like they were whispering.
Perry showed me around proudly, pointing out paintings on the wall, photographs of her family, her cat asleep on the couch.
We settled into her room, which looked nothing like mine.
Where mine was a plain box with stacked moving cartons, hers was alive. Posters lined the walls, fairy lights tangled above her bed, and books were scattered everywhere—on shelves, under pillows, spilling onto the floor.
We talked about school, music, silly things.
When Perry said she was going to grab some snacks from the kitchen, I nodded because i was too content to move.
But the silence came back.
Not the comfortable kind.
The kind that creeps under your skin.
I got bored and wandered to her desk, where piles of books leaned against each other like drunks at closing time.
That's when I saw it—small, black, leather-bound. A diary.
The name on the cover was in silver ink.
Perry's Diary.
I hesitated. My parents always taught me to respect privacy. A diary was sacred. But the thought lodged itself in my mind like a splinter: What does Perry write about? About me?
I told myself I'd only glance. Just one page.
Just to know her better. Just to confirm she wasn't hiding the kind of secret that would make me regret trusting her so easily.
I opened it.
And i froze.
The first entry wasn't about her.
It was about me.
"Ava moved into town today. She's standing by the bench outside the library, pretending to read. She feels out of place. I'll go sit beside her now. She won't say much, but she'll nod. That's fine. By next week, we'll be best friends."
My blood turned cold.
I flipped to the next page.
"At lunch, she'll laugh at my joke, even though it isn't funny. She'll be relieved when I invite her to sit with me. By next month, the teachers will start calling us twins."
The words swam before my eyes.
These weren't guesses. They were… exact. Every detail matched.
My hand trembled as I turned more pages.
"Ava will say yes when I invite her to sleep over. She'll notice the creaking staircase. She'll like my cat. She'll think my room feels alive. She'll feel safe."
Safe.
I dropped the diary onto the desk as if it burned me.
My chest tightened, my pulse racing.
This wasn't possible. She couldn't have known all of that. Unless…
Unless she was writing things before they happened.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to keep reading.
Then I found it. The part that shattered me.
"Tonight, Ava will betray my trust. She'll open this diary while I'm in the kitchen. She'll hesitate, but curiosity will win. She'll flip through the pages, her eyes widening with horror. She'll realize the truth. And then… she'll learn about tomorrow."
My heart stopped. I wanted to slam the book shut, to run, but my hands wouldn't obey.
I turned the page.
"Tomorrow, Ava won't go home. She'll never leave this house again."
I stumbled back, the diary slipping from my hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
My body shook with cold sweat. Every hair on my arms stood up.
That's when the door creaked open.
Perry stood there, holding a bowl of popcorn, smiling.
"You found it."
Her voice was soft. Too soft.
I stammered, "W-what is this? How—how could you—"
She set the popcorn on the bed and walked toward me slowly, her eyes never leaving mine.
"You weren't supposed to read that yet," she whispered.
I backed against the wall. "Is this some kind of joke? Did you—did you write all that after it happened just to mess with me?"
Her expression didn't change. "Did it feel like a joke?"
My breathing was shallow, ragged.
I wanted to scream, but my throat closed.
She picked up the diary, flipped to a page somewhere near the end, and turned it toward me.
Her finger tapped against a line.
"Ava will try to scream. But the sound won't come out."
And it was true. My mouth opened, but no sound escaped.
She tilted her head, almost pitying. "You see? It's already written."
I don't know how long I sat there, paralyzed by fear while Perry talked.
She explained things in a calm, almost loving voice.
She said the diary had always been with her, that it whispered to her when she was young.
That it never lied. That sometimes she hated it, but other times… it made her feel powerful. Safe.
"And now," she said, stroking the cover, "it gave me you."
I shook my head violently. "Why me?"
The words finally forced themselves out.
She smiled. Not cruel. Not mocking. Just… certain. "Because the diary wanted us to be friends."
"Friends don't do this to each other!" I snapped, my voice breaking.
Her smile faltered for the first time.
A shadow crossed her eyes. "You think I wanted this? That I chose it? You don't understand, Ava. The diary doesn't ask. It commands. I write, and then it happens. If I don't write, I don't know what will happen. Sometimes I think it's protecting me. Sometimes I think it's punishing me."
Tears blurred my vision. "Then stop. Stop writing about me. Stop controlling everything!"
She hugged the diary to her chest. "I can't."
The silence stretched between us, thick and unbearable. Finally, she whispered: "Tomorrow is already written."
That night, I didn't sleep.
I lay beside her in bed, staring at the ceiling while her breathing slowed, steady and peaceful.
I couldn't close my eyes. My mind kept replaying the words: Tomorrow, Ava won't go home.
I thought about running. About sneaking out in the dark.
But what if the diary had already written that too? What if every step I took was still just part of its plan?
When morning came, Perry greeted me like nothing was wrong.
We had breakfast with her parents, who seemed oblivious, cheerful even.
I forced myself to smile, to laugh, while inside I was screaming.
The moment I stepped outside, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe it was all just paranoia. Maybe Perry was lying. Maybe I was safe.
But then, I heard her voice behind me.
"See you tonight, Ava."
I turned. She was standing in the doorway, diary clutched tight against her chest.
Her smile was gentle. But her eyes were… knowing.
And that's when I realized.
Even leaving wasn't really leaving. Not if she had already written my future.
*********
Days passed. Weeks.
I tried to avoid her, but she was everywhere—at school, waiting outside my house, calling me.
And every time, she'd mention something I hadn't told her, something I had thought, something I had done when I was alone.
I stopped sleeping. Couldn't eating.
My parents thought it was stress. Maybe it was. Maybe it was more.
Sometimes, I'd wake up and see the diary on my desk, even though I knew I hadn't brought it home.
Sometimes I'd hear Perry's voice in my head, repeating lines from it.
Sometimes I wondered if I was going mad.
The worst part? A piece of me still clung to her.
Still wanted her as my friend.
Because Perry had been the first person to sit beside me, to make me feel less alone.
And I hated myself for wanting that.
One night, I dreamed of the diary. I dreamed of opening it and finding the last page.
In it, Perry had written my death.
When I woke, the words were still carved into my mind.
And I wondered:
Was I dreaming of the diary…
Or was the diary dreaming of me?
**********
That was the last thing I wrote. I don't know why I'm writing this now.
Maybe because if I put it into words, it'll be real. Maybe because if someone finds this, they'll understand.
Or maybe because Perry already wrote that I would.
Either way, tomorrow's already written.
And I don't think I'll ever go home again.
Stream Commentary; Tape #37. "Perry's Diary".
[The screen flickers. Kai's hooded face leans closer, goggle glinting as static crawls across the feed. He breathes in slow, as though weighing what he has just read aloud.]
(He then bows, voice low and dramatic)
"Ah… Perry's Diary.
A tale ink'd not by hand alone, but by fate's merciless quill.
Did you feel it, my dear audience? The chill when words were no longer mere scribbles but shackles, binding Ava to a tomorrow she never chose?
Aye, methinks the diary was less a book, more a tyrant.
[@Ovesix: A tyrant, yes. But tell me, master… what's crueller? Perry, who obeys the cursed diary, or the diary itself that feasts on the illusion of choice? Methinks both are puppeteers, yet only one wears a human face]
[@Jaija:Ooooh, I liked it! So spooky! But poor Ava, poor silly Ava—didn't anyone tell her curiosity killed the cat? She peeked where she ought not, and now the cat's dead! Or perhaps… still twitching]
[@642: Fie upon this Perry! Fie upon her diary! A so-called friend who clutches ink over flesh, prophecy over compassion. A Judas with a smile, binding loyalty with lies. I say—burn the book, burn the house, burn the memory, burn the witch!"]
[@Enchomay: Nay, I pity Perry. For she too is chained. The diary was not her toy, but her master. And to befriend Ava was not kindness… nor malice… but destiny's cruel stage direction. What tragedy, when even affection is scripted by a page unseen.]
[Kai straightens, his voice swelling with theatrical weight, almost Shakespearean.]
"Alas, poor humans! Forever they chase the promise of control, yet tremble at the thought of predestination.
Mark me, friends: whether it be diary, law, or society's whisper, how oft do mortals think they choose—when truly, their roles are rehearsed long ere they walk the stage? Ava's plight doth mirror thine own,
O audience!
How many of you live your lives by scripts writ not by your hand, but by custom, by fear, by duty?
Aye, methinks more than you dare admit."
[He pauses, leans forward, his voice lowering into a warning tone]
"Heed this moral, Curiosity is a blade—sharp, tempting, double-edged.
To wield it is to seek truth, aye… but truth oft hungers.
Beware the books you open, beware the friends too perfect, and beware most of all the futures promised in ink.
For once you read your fate, you can ne'er unread it."
(whispering)
"And you, dear reader… you watching this screen now… would you dare peek into a diary that bore your name? What would you do if tomorrow was already writ?"
[He straightens suddenly, laughing]
"But enough of ink and doom.
A new play begins, a fresh curtain rises.
For the next tale… ah, yes, it smells of dust, wood, and secrets long forgotten.
We go now to Grandpa's House."
[@Jaija: Grandpa's House? Ha! I bet it's full of cookies and candy! A rocking chair that creaks by itself! Oh-ho, I can't wait!]
[@Ovesix: Old men, old houses… both hide rot beneath the paint. I say there will be blood between the floorboards.]
[@Enchomay:Or perhaps… not blood, but memory. For every house remembers, and some memories refuse burial]
[Kai chuckles, spreading his arms theatrically.]
"Come then, dear audience.
Let us knock on grandpa's door. And pray he does not answer."
STREAM ENDED