The Journal
What would you do with this power?
I admit it was handy at first. My friend, Roger, and I found it at a thrift store while looking for retro game consoles it might possibly have. I happened by the book section and noticed it sticking out. I decided to grab it just to have something to jot notes in. Once I bought it along with an old N64 and a copy of gauntlet legends we headed home.
“You down to play?” Roger asked.
“Yeah, give me a sec,” I replied, putting the journal on a table.
Roger picked the red warrior while I picked the blue wizard. A few hours into playing we heard a thud as if something had fallen. We looked to see the journal on the floor.
“Huh, weird,” I said. “I could’ve sworn I didn’t set it on the edge.”
I stood up and went over to it.
“While you’re over there, can you fix something to eat?”
“Yeah sure, let me see what we…”
“Is something wrong?”
“There’s writing in this journal.”
“I thought you said it was blank?”
“I did. I flipped through it and didn’t see anything but now something has apparently been written on the first page.”
“Well, what does it say?”
I began reading the journal. To our surprise, it described exactly what we had been doing.
“Did you write that?” Roger asked me.
“How could I if I was playing Gauntlet the whole time?”
“Then who did?”
“Beats me. Let me see if anything else is written in it.”
Turning to the next page showed me another written section. It said that lightning would strike the tree outside and cause it to fall on our neighbor’s truck. I told Roger this.
“It is overcast out but the chances of that happening probably isn’t very…”
A loud crack of thunder shook the house. This was followed by another cracking sound. It was of the tree I mentioned falling. We heard it land on our neighbor’s truck. This caused sounds of all the windows shattering at once and its alarm to go off. We went outside to confirm this and saw that the truck had been flattened underneath the tree. Our neighbor came out of his home and upon seeing his truck began shouting a series of curse words at the top of his lungs.
“God damn,” I said. “I guess that means the journal is supernatural or something?”
“Don’t jump to conclusions. The tree falling could’ve been a coincidence.”
“I say we test it somehow then. If the next thing it predicts comes true, we’ll know it’s for real.”
The next thing the journal predicted was that the package Roger ordered from Amazon would arrive at exactly 2:00 the next day. Sure enough, it did.
“Victor, the journal’s legit,” he said, opening his package to reveal a new PC controller.
Even knowing Roger I still found it strange that his package arriving as predicted was more proof to him than the falling tree incident. Nonetheless, I wanted to investigate the journal further.
“Alright so magic notebook or whatever,” I said. “ Do you think it causes things to happen or just predicts them?”
“How am I supposed to know that? Wait, I got an idea. Can I see the journal?”
I handed it to him and he grabbed a pen. Then wrote in it a question asking it if eating the leftover burrito in the fridge he forgot about a couple weeks ago would make him sick.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “It’s not a magic eight ball.”
Just then we saw a word form in the journal. It said yes.
“You were saying?” Roger asked me. “Anyway, I need to throw away that burrito.”
He handed me the journal and his pen and went to go do so.
“So this thing’s sentient then?” I wondered out loud.
“Looks like it. Try asking it something.”
“Alright, I got a good question in mind.”
I asked the journal what the winning lottery numbers would be. It didn’t give me the answer I wanted.
“The hell? What gives?” I asked.
“What is it?”
“It’s just saying to ask another question.”
“Really? Ask it another one then. Maybe it’s because that question has more weight to it.”
The question I asked it this time was when endless shrimp would be back at Red Lobster. Again the journal said to ask another question.
“Maybe it can only answer yes or no questions?” I suggested.
“Alright then. Let me see it again.”
This time Roger asked it if he would get a pay raise or a promotion at his job. The journal answered that it didn’t seem likely.
“This is some fucking horseshit,” Roger grumbled, tossing the journal onto the couch.
I checked the journal again.
“Hey, I see other paragraphs in here,” I said.
The paragraphs read that I would die the next day due to a car crash on my way to work. It also said, as a result, Roger would be unable to afford to live at our home and end up homeless a month later. After that, he would wander around for a few months and join a gang. Eventually, he was to get tired of doing what he did and enlist in the military. Naturally, I decided to call in sick and sure enough, we heard about a four-car pile-up on the route I take to work.
"Holy shit. I really would have been killed if I had gone to work this morning,”
“Victor?"
“Yeah?”
“Your hands are shaking.”
I glanced down and sure enough, they were. Roger informed me that they had been trembling for the past two minutes.
“Sorry, I guess I’m having trouble processing all this,” I said.
“I would too and since that was true that means all the stuff the journal mentioned happening afterward would’ve been too. Glad I dodged that bullet. Thanks for that by the way.”
“No problem. Actually, I was just thinking about something.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s going to sound far fetched but it’s in regards to what was supposed to happen to you.”
“What about it?”
“Is it just me or did that sound kind of like well...a character arc?”
“Now that you mention it, yeah. Does this mean the journal is creating the future then?”
“It would appear that way..”
“Well since we avoided that, what will the journal say now?”
I checked it. The words on the page mentioning what happened to Roger and I had changed. Reading them made me worry.
“What’s the matter?” Roger asked.
“Um...Now it’s saying I’m going to die again but this time it’ll be from a car hitting me on my walk tomorrow. It also says that the same things I mentioned before will happen to you.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Then go out tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.”
The next day I spent inside playing games. We heard the sound of a car crash from outside. Checking it out showed that a driver had gone over the yard and smashed into a lamp post. We guessed that this was the car that was supposed to run me over.
“Another bullet dodged,” Roger said.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
“What do you mean?”
“The words changed to another scenario involving my death. Do you remember how I said what was supposed to happen to you sounded like a character arc?”
“Yeah?”
“That leads me to believe the journal has caused us to be trapped in a story.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, why else would skim on the details between the months between me dying and you enlisting? That would explain why it didn’t give much detail on what you did between losing our house and enlisting in the military. It probably wanted to cut down on the filler or bring up what you did later.”
“Then that would mean as long we’re under the journal’s curse or whatever it’ll keep trying to kill you and make those things it mentioned about me happen?”
“Afraid so.”
“God damn it, I don’t want to join the military. How do we stop it?”
“Good question. It would appear the journal is bound by some rules. Otherwise, it would’ve killed me with a heart attack or something that could get me in our home.”
“Why doesn’t it just try to start a house fire then that traps and kills you then?”
“I think it’s because you would be there as well. Those two events that were supposed to involve my death took place during times we were separated, Therefore if it were to try killing me via house fire it might end up killing you as well, thus ruining the story.”
“Alright, so how should we go about getting out of the story?”
“Sometimes the simplest of solutions work the best. Grab your matches. I’ll get the lighter fluid and a pot from the kitchen.”
Once we had all those we went outside to our backyard. I placed the journal in the pot and doused it in lighter fluid. When it was soaked to my linking I placed it a good distance from our house. Roger struck a match and dropped it in the pot, making sure to back up as soon as he let go of its handle. When the match landed on the book it lit up in flames.
“Welp, guess that takes care of that,” Roger said.
“Let’s wait for it to burn out.”
When the flames dissipated we went to retrieve our pot. To our surprise, however, the journal was unharmed.
‘Fuck,” I said.
“Okay, fire doesn’t work. Should we try something else?”
“Yeah, maybe something else will do the trick.”
Roger picked up the journal from out of the pot.
"Uh, Victor?” He asked.
“Yeah?”
“I think it’s angry.”
“What makes you say that?’
He handed me the journal. To my surprise, I felt it trembling.
“Okay, I see what you mean now. Honestly, I’m afraid to look inside it again.”
“It probably won’t be that bad given the type of story it’s trying to write.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. After all, since it appears to be trying to start a military drama there aren't too many things it can…”
My palms began to sweat as I stared down at the page in front of me.
"What does it say?” Roger asked hesitantly.
“You’re not gonna like it.”
In the journal were not words but a drawing. It showed both of us standing on the edge of a cliff. Something was reaching down towards us. I can only describe it as having the shape of hand made out of tangled fleshy wires.
“Okay, what in the fuck is that?” Roger asked.
His face had taken on a paleness similar to how I imagined mine looked at the time.
“How do you expect me to know? This is some eldritch looking type shit.”
“I thought you said it can only use things within the realms of possibility given the story we’re in?”
“That’s what I thought, at least at first. I don’t understand what’s going unless…”
“What?”
“Oh no, we must’ve changed genres," I exclaimed.
“It can do that?”
“How else do we explain it?" I asked. "You son of a bitch. Are there any tricks you won't scoop to?”
I yelled that last part at the journal which I'm sure caused people to give us weird looks.
“Well, is there any way to avoid whatever the hell that thing is?” Roger inquired, trying to ignore the gazes of passing neighbors.
“That, I don’t know. Let me see if there’s anything on the next page.”
I turned to it. All it said was that we defied the path laid out for us and would have to face the consequences. Kind of a catch 22 given our path involved my demise and Roger ending up homeless.
“Welp, I think it’s accurate to say that we’re fucked,” he said after hearing that.
“Don’t give up, Roger. I know the hand in that drawing is more than likely attached to something was never meant to be seen by the eyes of even the most advanced of mortal beings throughout the galaxy let alone those of human beings. With that said, though I will be damned if we don’t try everything we can to avoid the fate laid out for us in this journal.”
“Victor, could you please let go of me?”
“Huh?”
I looked down and realized I had a hold of his shoulders and had been digging my nails into them.
“Oh sorry,” I said, releasing my grip. “So, what do you think?”
“At the very least it’s better than waiting patiently for it to take us away. Let’s go back inside and get started on it.”
Our second method of destroying it was attempting to rip out its pages. In hindsight, we probably should’ve tried that first instead of lighting it on fire. However, we figured that fire would’ve been the quickest method to destroy the journal. Not that it mattered though, seeing as how neither it or tearing out its pages worked. Every time we tried doing so new pages would grow back.
“I don’t think this is working,” I said, out of breath from our attempt to rip out the pages faster than they could grow back.
Roger was in similar condition to me. A pile of discarded pages lied at our feet.
“Yeah, um let’s try water next,” Roger said.
“Speaking of which, I could use something to drink.”
“ Same here.”
I ran the journal underwater as Roger some bottles from the fridge. This also proved ineffective as it appeared to be water-resistant. When that didn’t work we tried boiling it for an hour on high heat. That method also failed.
"Got any other ideas?” Roger asked.
“I don’t know. This thing seems to be indestructible. Wait, I may have an idea. Is the thrift store open today?”
“I’m pretty sure it is. Why?”
“The way I see it, all our problems with the journal started when we became the owners of it so I’m thinking if we return it to the store, it’ll free us from its curse.”
“What if it tries to kill us with something along the way?”
“It shouldn’t. The events that are written in the journal or drawn in this case always happened a day after they were, therefore, we should still have a good sixteen hours before we’re supposed to deal with weird sky hand.”
Roger drove us up to the store. When we arrived we noticed something odd. The place was devoid of customers or workers yet the store was unlocked.
“Where is everybody?” Roger asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe the place is actually closed and they forgot to lock up?”
“No, the sign definitely says this place is open.”
“Maybe they’re in the back then. Come on.”
Nobody answered when we knocked on the employees only door.
“So what now?” Roger asked. “Should we try leaving it here?”
“We’d still technically be the owners of it even if we did that.”
“Fuck, how about giving it to someone?”
“I dunno. That seems like a shitty thing to do.”
“Not if we give it to the right person.”
“Eh...I guess we could give it a little thought. Well, I guess nobody’s showing up. It’s stuffy in here. Let’s go back outside.’
We made our way to the exit only to find it locked.
“The hell?” Roger said. “It wasn’t like that before. What gives?”
Something in my head clicked and flipped through the journal.
“No,” I said softly.
“What’s the matter, Victor?”
“The pacing. It changed the damn pacing,” I said frantically, pacing around.
“Huh?”
I held up the journal open to the page I was on. It showed us going into the store. Roger’s eyes grew wide upon seeing it.
“We need to get the fuck out of this place,” he said.
"Agreed, Break the window. Future charges be damned,” I declared, grabbing a chair from a kitchen set.
Before we could break a window, however, something happened. This black inky stuff began spreading over the windows. In defiance, we tried breaking one of them anyway only to find our efforts to be fruitless. It was like they had become made of steel. Shadowy hands pressed through the glass and into the inside of the store.
“What do we do?” Roger asked in a tone that sounded on the verge of panic.
“I don’t know,” I replied in a similar tone.
Luckily the hands didn't seem to be actively trying to harm us. As we stared at them I felt the journal vibrate again. I glanced inside of it to see new words. This time it was asking us something.
“Would you like to speak with the author?” Was the question written in it.
I told Roger this.
"I mean, I guess?" Roger said. "What's the alternative if we say no? Being trapped here?"
I shrugged and wrote yes under the question. When I did the hands shot forward toward us. We tried running but the hands seemed to be able to stretch forever or at least far enough to reach us. The sensation I felt upon being touched by them is hard to describe. It felt like my body was alternating between extreme cold and hot in the most split of seconds.
Roger was feeling a similar way judging by the expressions on his face. The hands yanked us back. When they did we felt ourselves get yanked from our bodies. We saw ourselves lying on the shop floor. The hands pulled upward.
"What's going on?" Roger asked, attempting to break free of the hands’ grasp.
"I don't know," I replied, frantically trying to yank the hands away from me. "I think we're dealing with some kind of astral projection type deal."
"Oh well, that's just fucking great. We're probably going to end up being dragged to another dimension or something."
Roger turned out to be... kinda right? By that I mean the location we got taken to, we recognized. However, it seemed to be a different version of it. The place was a lake we used to go swimming in more often. A cliff overlooked it which the hands put us on top of and left after that.
"We tried avoiding this place, yet here we are," I said.
Truth be told we had an inkling the cliff in the drawing was the one we visited sometimes. Knowing this it didn't take us long to realize that not going to it would be a good idea. Needless to say, that didn't work out.
"So I guess all we can do is wait for that thing to arrive. Man the sky's really weird looking," Roger said.
Indeed it was. Over us, the sky appeared to be overcast. The peculiar thing about it, though, was the colors it was. The clouds had the color of vibrant rainbows. They almost seemed to pulse the longer we viewed them. It wasn’t only the sky, however.
The trees and even the water itself looked different. They were similarly colored to how they usually were but different shades of those colors. The leaves on the trees were no doubt green but even if you put a gun to my head I would not be able to discern what kind of green it was. As a small aside, I’ve tried finding that particular shade and have been unable to. The best description I can give to this kind of green was that it had a jewelry-like quality to it, even more so than flawless emeralds do.
Anyway, Roger and I didn’t have long to take in our surroundings before it showed up. It, being the fleshy wire hand. Roger was the first to notice while I was looking down at the lake which was abnormally clear. In fact, it was so clear that even from how high up we were and in spite of how deep the lake was I could see the bottom of it from where I stood. I felt Roger shake my shoulder a little. I checked to see what he wanted and he pointed to the sky.
A faint shadow vaguely resembling that of a hand was present on it. Soon it grew darker. I realized that I was looking at it breaking through the clouds to reach us. My flight or fight response kicked in almost instantly. We averted our gaze from it seeing as how it wasn’t like we could run from it. When it arrived, it spoke in a voice akin to a choir made up of multiple nationalities I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“Look at me,” It said.
Even though we didn’t want to, pissing it off didn’t seem like the wisest of decisions. It goes without saying that it or rather its hand looked even more disturbing in person. It had the appearance of a body part that by all known measures of anatomy should not have been able to function, yet somehow did. The wiring that bonded it together seemed to have a mind of its own that I feel was similar to that of a beehive. I was the first to speak to it.
“Can...We help you?” I hesitantly asked it.
“As a matter of fact, yes. I have a vision in mind for the story I’ve been trying to write and you two have been interfering with it.”
‘Wait, so you’re the author?”
“Indeed and I have brought you both here due to your refusal to cooperate.”
“What choice did we have?” Roger yelled. “If we followed the story you laid out it would’ve led us to ruin.”
“That was how I wanted the story to play out. Characters are not supposed to defy the future their author laid out for them.”
“We’re not characters. We’re real people. How did the journal get in the store anyway?”
“I’ve put ways of trapping characters in different places and times.”
It snapped its fingers. The clouds began changing shape until they formed what looked to be some kind of screen. In it, we saw different events play out. They showed different people in different places and times finding something that would be considered the norm to write on during those periods. An Egyptian man who most likely lived in ancient times based on his clothing had found something sticking out of the sand. He yanked it out to reveal it was a blank stone tablet.
Even though he looked confused as to how it had gotten there he decided to take it with him. I hope it didn’t give him too hard of a time. Another man who I believe was Chinese found a blank scroll amidst some tall bamboo. Those were two of many people we saw. There were some that were undoubtedly not human with complex languages and technology light years ahead of ours that they used for transcribing information.
“Now do you see who you are dealing with?” The author asked. “I’ve been at this longer than you can possibly comprehend. It doesn’t matter the place, time, or even species. As long as a strong imagination exists stories will always be a necessity.”
“But why us?” I replied, starting to get a headache from looking at the author's hand.
It was like staring at one of those magic eye pictures with the exception of a brutal death and or torture if we looked away. I've heard of people freezing up in the midst of extreme fear. Although the fear I felt was intense, this was not the case for me. I wanted to get as far away from it as possible. Only by sheer will power were Roger and I able to control our survival instincts and stay in place.
“Probability, you two were the ones who found the journal so you became my characters," the author said.
“Take us out of the story then. We don’t want to deal with all this horseshit,” Roger screamed, clearly at his breaking point.
Truth be told, I wasn't far behind.
“You should think twice before taking such a tone with me. However...If you want to be excluded from my story I can grant your request, in the same way, I did the ones before you who refused to be part of my story. First, I’ll shatter your imaginations.”
Something else started pushing through the clouds. It was the shadowy outline of a face.
What seeing it would’ve done to our mental health I do not want to think about. No word in the English language can fully describe the dread that was running through me at that moment. Before it could fully come into view I spoke up.
“Wait, he didn’t mean,” I yelled, prompting the author to pause. “Right, Roger?”
I glared at him. My heart rate felt like it had quadrupled. Roger’s body was trembling so badly I thought he would collapse at any moment. Somehow, though he managed to stay on his feet.
“Y-yeah, I’m sorry,” he said meekly.
That was thankfully enough for the author.
“That’s what I thought,” It said.
I saw the faint outline of its lips moving as it said this. It pulled its head back, sparing us from seeing its face.
“So I take it you two will cooperate then?” It asked.
It seemed as if we had no choice but to go along with the story. Otherwise, we would have to face a psychotic break followed by total annihilation. Fortunately, an idea popped into my head at that very instant.
“Wait,” I said. “Is there any way you could...pick someone to replace us?”
The author didn’t answer for a couple seconds. Finally, he replied.
“That isn’t something I do very often. Those who find the items I drop into your world are bound to them and that is usually final. With that being said, though if you could find a suitable replacement or replacements I can make an exception.”
“That’s going to be kind of hard given the story you’re trying to write,” Roger said weakly. “We don’t really know anyone that would be right for that particular genre.”
“That’s unfortunate. I guess you two will have to remain my characters then.’
“Hang on,” I said. “What if you changed the kind of story you wanted to write?”
"And why exactly would I do that?”
“Well, not that I’m trying to harshly criticize you but when was the last time you wrote a story that was funny?”
“Hm, it has been a while since I did now that you mention it. My stories have been on a bit of a drama spree lately with some occasional horror. Very well, if you can find someone who is suitable they will replace both of you. When you have chosen that person or people simply relinquish ownership of the journal over to them. Also don’t think about returning it where you got it. Doing that will only make it reappear to you.”
“Alright, thanks. How long do we have to decide?”
“I will give you 24 hours your time starting from when you wake up.”
“Wait. so this is like a dream then?”
“It sort of is at least you. As for those like me, the line that separates dreams and reality is a very thin one. Space and time are meaningless concepts to me. “
“So this place is like the dream version of the lake we’d normally visit?”
“It’s more accurate to say that where you are right now is how it would look at its fullest potential. For the sake of simplicity, however, it's technically correct to call it a dream version of the lake you seemed to be fond of. Now, with all that said, I’m sending you two away. Remember that for you, the clock moves fast.”
"I have one more question."
"What is it? You're trying my patience."
"Are you a god?"
The author laughed at that. The fact that I had apparently struck the funny bone of a being like it had shocked me enough. What rivaled that feeling was the sensation akin to spiders crawling in my ears I felt upon hearing the sound of its laughter. The sound of a wounded macaw would've been preferable in comparison.
"No, gods want to be worshipped. I simply want to entertain myself."
The author then snapped its hand. This caused the hands to shoot from the ground and thin air. They grabbed us again and began dragging us back where they had taken us from. The sensation I felt being touched by them wasn’t as bad the second time so I guess that’s a silver lining. Roger and I were taken back to the shop and the hands put or rather slammed us back into our bodies. Doing so caused us to wake up with the manager poking us with a broom handle.
“What the hell are you two doing taking a nap in the middle of the floor?” He asked, clearly annoyed.
“S-sorry,” Roger told him. “We were actually waiting for someone to speak with and fell asleep.”
“In the center of the store?”
“Yeah.”
“What is that you needed?”
“We were going to see about returning something but it turns out we don’t really need to anymore.”
The manager stared at us for a few minutes. Then pointed at the door with the broom handle.
“Get out,” he told us.
“Alright, so we should probably think about potential replacements. Remember, we don’t have long to pick them,” I said, once we had stepped outside.
“Who are we going to anyway? The idea of passing the journal onto someone doesn’t sit well with me.I'm going to see it until my death and probably for sometime after.”
“It doesn’t sit well with me either. The issue is what’ll happen to us if we don’t.”
“I know but there’s nobody we associate with that deserves…”
A look came over his face. Based on it he must’ve had the same thought I did. The person we decided to give the journal to was our Boss, Drew. Put simply, he was a dick. He was the kind of manager who’d get on you about being a few seconds late when he’d come in usually half an hour after he was supposed to.
He was also known to leave work early and make the rest of us handle things which meant an eight-hour shift might turn into a ten hour one. He’d also call us in constantly to deal with things he forgot to or didn’t feel like handling. If we kept our phones off he’d get onto us about it and how we should be grateful to have a job in the first place. To add more salt to this wound, he never gave us raises even once despite how much we worked so we didn’t exactly feel bad for him when he got the journal.
We sat in Roger’s car for a bit to think about it. I admit there were second thoughts. Sure he was the worst boss we’ve ever had yet we weren’t sure if even he was deserving of such a fate. That all changed when we got a call from him. My phone rang, showing his number which I answered.
“Hello?” I said.
“Victor, is Roger with you?”
“He is.”
“Well, I’m going to need you both to come in tomorrow. I have an out of town appointment.”
That was basically code for “I’m going to enjoy myself while you dumbasses pick up my slack”.
It took a large amount of effort on my part to keep from sighing. I told him that we’d be right in. Roger was close enough to pick up on the conversation. His face had a sour look on it.
“So, want to give him the journal?” I asked.
Roger nodded and cranked up his car. A short drive later took us to our workplace. I was the one who presented the journal to him. I told him it was a present in case he wanted to maybe jot down anything noteworthy. Not being one to decline something that was free he accepted it. After wishing him good luck with his ‘appointment’ we left.
“That takes care of that,” Roger said.
“Yeah, wonder how the story he’s going to be in will play out.”
“Beats me. Hey, are we shitty people for doing this?”
“Nah.”
We haven’t seen Drew since we gave him the journal and neither has anybody else for that matter. The consensus regarding his disappearance was good riddance. His replacement is a lot more reasonable than he was. As for everything that happened, I thought it was behind us. That is until this morning.
I was out to get our mail when I noticed something by the bushes. It was a book that had Drew’s face on it. His expression was that of someone who had been working so much they were on the brink of collapse. He seemed to be doing a dance of some kind. Tears were visible on his face and he wore a smile that looked forced.
It was as if someone had frozen his face into that position. The background showed the outline of the author’s face as we had nearly seen it. “Jester,” was the name of the book. There wasn’t a name on it. That didn’t stop me from knowing who sent it, especially considering that there was a note attached to it.
“Thanks for the suggestion. I hope you enjoy the read,” was all it said.
The sensible part of me knows it would be smarter to leave the book alone. I don’t want us to meet it again. The fact beings like it are out there doesn’t sit well with me and I occasionally find the author in my dreams, writing his next story. Roger also thinks we should just leave it alone. Well. he did at first. There is a growing curiosity we’ve felt and seeing exactly what happened to Drew is something we’d like to know.
So, I’ll leave it to you all. Do you think reading the book left for us is worth the risk?
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