1,99 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: BookRix
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
The Diary She Was Never Meant to Find
When Claire discovers a mysterious diary in her basement, she expects a glimpse into her teenage daughter Lily’s thoughts. But the handwriting belongs to a woman far older than Lily—and the entries reveal memories Lily has never lived. At first, Claire thinks it’s a bizarre coincidence, until the diary begins predicting events that haven’t happened yet… including the day Claire herself is marked for death.
As shadows creep around the house and a relentless stalker closes in, Claire must unravel the diary’s terrifying secrets. Who wrote it? Why is it filled with warnings from the past? And can she survive the horrors it foretells?
A chilling story of family secrets, lingering trauma, and a mother’s fight against a danger that refuses to stay buried. Every page brings suspense, every entry a warning—and every revelation closer to the truth that could save or destroy them.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
Ähnliche
The Diary She Was Never Meant to Find
Oludotun Coker
The Diary She Was Never Meant to FindWhen Claire discovers a mysterious diary in her basement, she expects a glimpse into her teenage daughter Lily’s thoughts. But the handwriting belongs to a woman far older than Lily—and the entries reveal memories Lily has never lived. At first, Claire thinks it’s a bizarre coincidence, until the diary begins predicting events that haven’t happened yet… including the day Claire herself is marked for death.As shadows creep around the house and a relentless stalker closes in, Claire must unravel the diary’s terrifying secrets. Who wrote it? Why is it filled with warnings from the past? And can she survive the horrors it foretells?A chilling story of family secrets, lingering trauma, and a mother’s fight against a danger that refuses to stay buried. Every page brings suspense, every entry a warning—and every revelation closer to the truth that could save or destroy them
Chapter 1 — The Diary in the Dust
The basement had always been Claire’s least favorite part of the house. Even in the heat of summer, it remained cold—too cold—like the air held onto memories the way old walls held onto mold. She descended the creaking wooden steps with a broom in one hand and a bucket of cleaning supplies in the other, determined to clear the space she had been avoiding for months.
Lily’s voice floated down faintly from upstairs, humming to whatever song she had on her headphones. A normal Saturday. Normal chores. Normal life.
But the moment Claire stepped off the last stair, she felt it—the faintest ripple of something unseen. A tension in the air, like someone had just left the room.
She shook it off.
“Just a basement,” she whispered. “Just clutter.”
The space was a maze of old cartons, childhood toys, broken lamps, and stacks of books Claire had meant to sort years ago. Dust coated everything like gray snow. She pulled on her gloves and began clearing a path, dragging boxes, sneezing through clouds of dust, until one particular box caught her eye.
It wasn’t like the others.
Old boxes had water stains, tears, crumpled corners. But this one… this one looked recent. The cardboard was firm, the tape clean, almost new. Yet she didn’t remember bringing anything down here recently. And Lily was never one to store things neatly—her room upstairs was proof enough.
Claire knelt and brushed the dust off the top. The moment her fingers touched the box, a shiver traveled up her arm. She froze.
“What on earth…?”
The tape peeled off too easily, as if someone had closed it gently, not sealed it. Inside, beneath an old sweater she didn’t recognize, lay a small navy-blue book. A diary. Hardbound. Crisp. Clean.
And on the cover, written in silver cursive:
LILY ANDERSON
Her daughter’s full name.
Claire’s breath caught. She frowned. Lily was fifteen. She didn’t own any diary that looked like this. Hers had cartoon hearts and purple butterflies.
This one was elegant. Mature. Like something a grown woman would carry.
Claire hesitated before lifting it. The book felt surprisingly heavy—as though the pages inside were holding secrets instead of words.
She flipped it open.
The first entry was dated Twelve Years From Now.
Claire blinked. The date—bold, clear, written in black ink—made no sense. She read it again. No mistake.
The handwriting was beautiful, too sophisticated to belong to a teenager. Looped letters, confident strokes, every sentence clean and precise. Not a single scribble or mistake.
And the voice… oh God, the voice in the writing.
It was Lily’s name at the top of the page. But the tone was older, worn, almost haunted.
Claire’s hands trembled as she began reading:
“I don’t know when things began to go wrong. Maybe it was long before I was old enough to understand what danger feels like. Maybe the house was already whispering to me. Maybe Mom already knew.”
Claire’s mouth went dry.
Mom.
Me.
She turned the page.
“I think this is the last place she ever felt safe. The basement. That’s why I came back. That’s why I hid this diary here. If someone finds it—if I find it—maybe I can change what’s coming.”
Claire jerked backward so suddenly she hit a stack of boxes behind her. Something clattered to the floor, but she hardly heard it over her own pounding heartbeat.
“This is a joke,” she whispered. “A prank. Lily, this is—this is…”
But even as she said it, her voice lacked conviction.
She flipped another page, driven by a force stronger than fear.
This entry was worse.
“Mom doesn’t believe me yet. She thinks the warnings are harmless dreams. But the danger gets closer every day. I keep hearing footsteps at night—footsteps that don’t match hers. Or Dad’s. And yesterday, I saw him. Watching.”
Claire’s stomach twisted.
Who was him?
She swallowed hard and kept reading, unable to stop.
“If she doesn’t find this diary in time, everything will happen exactly the way it did before. The fight. The screams. The last day I saw her alive.”
Claire’s blood ran cold.
Saw her alive.
That sentence echoed through the basement like a whisper from the walls.
“No…” she murmured, clutching the diary to her chest. “No, no, this can’t be happening.”
She wanted to drop the diary. Walk upstairs. Throw it in the trash. Pretend it didn’t exist.
But another voice whispered inside her mind—soft, trembling, young.
Mom… help me.
Her hands trembling, Claire turned to the next page.
One sentence waited for her, written alone, centered, as if the writer wanted her eyes to land on it instantly.
“This is the day everything starts again.”
Claire’s breath froze in her throat.
Another faint noise drifted from upstairs—a creak. A footstep. But not Lily’s. Too heavy.
Claire looked toward the basement ceiling.
Was someone in the house?
She snapped the diary shut, heart pounding so loudly it echoed in her ears. The basement suddenly felt alive, the shadows shifting, the cold air wrapping around her like fingers.
The diary rested against her chest, but she could swear she felt a heartbeat inside it—steady, rhythmic, waiting.
Claire stood slowly, listening, the silence too deep, too expectant.
Whatever this diary was… whoever had written it…
It wasn’t meant to be found.
Not yet.
But Claire had found it anyway.
And the moment she opened the first page, the past—and the future—shifted.
Something had begun.
Chapter 2 — The Impossible Voice
Claire sat at the edge of her bed with the diary balanced on her knees, the house around her unusually quiet—too quiet. Down the hallway, she could hear faint music from Lily’s room, upbeat pop muffled behind a closed door. A normal sound. A comforting sound. But nothing felt normal anymore.
The diary felt heavier than it had in the basement, as though the moment she carried it upstairs, something inside it had awakened. Claire hesitated, fingers grazing the cover. Her name wasn’t written anywhere in it, but the words inside felt like they were meant for her. Or aimed at her. She wasn’t sure which terrified her more.
She told herself she would read just one entry. One. Enough to understand what she was dealing with. Enough to decide whether this was a prank, a strange creative project, or something far darker.
She opened it.
The ink seemed more vivid than before, as if drying only moments ago.
The entry at the top of the page was dated three days from today.
Claire swallowed.
“Mom doesn’t know it yet, but Thursday will be the day we fight. It starts because she’s stressed about work, and I forget about my math exam again. She tells me I’m careless. I tell her she’s controlling. Neither of us means what we say, but it still hurts.”
Claire’s breath caught.
A fight?
She closed her eyes, trying to convince herself this was coincidence. Teenagers fought with their parents all the time. Maybe Lily would forget something. Maybe Claire would snap at her after a long day.
But as she forced herself to read on, the next lines hit harder.
“I’ll storm off to my room and slam the door. She’ll follow but decide not to knock. That’s the moment everything shifts. I’ll cry into my pillow, and she’ll stand outside my room for a full minute before walking away.”
Every detail felt too intimate, too specific, too painfully real.
Claire lowered the book and stared at her bedroom wall, mind racing. This didn’t feel like guessing. This felt like memory—someone’s memory. Someone who had lived that moment already.
“Who wrote this?” she whispered.
Her throat tightened. She refused to believe this came from Lily. The handwriting wasn’t hers. Lily’s penmanship was messy, full of doodles and ink blotches. This was… adult. Deliberate. Polished.
She turned the page.
A new date. Tomorrow.
“Mom reminds me of the math exam during breakfast. She’s trying to be calm, but she keeps tapping her thumbnail against her mug because she’s worried. I pretend not to notice.”
Claire looked down at her left hand.
