Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 104

Jacob whipped his head up, beads of sweat on his forehead. It felt like the fire had occurred in his room. The sun
shone on his forehead. It was the first time in hours that he had felt the comforting warmth of sunlight against his
pale skin. He opened the diary yet again and read the final entry. The handwriting was scrawled, as if the writer was
attempting to communicate through hieroglyphics. Jacob could sense raw emotion through the words.
After I locked away my greedy brother, I saw in the window his blasted daughter looking at me maliciously, as
if I was the one who was wrong. Your father was the one tried to assault me…
He decided that the diary was the main cause of all his troubles. He thought to himself “No one should endure this,
the past should stay in the past and nobody should know about this story of pain and death.” He travelled back to
the burnt down house, the last one he was going to visit for a very long time. He intended to place the diary back
where it belonged and leave it be.
He approached the same stone that he had found the diary under, but when he lifted it, the ground collapsed
beneath him, revealing an unknown cellar below. Jacob fell into the dank cellar where the whole house began to
collapse on top of him entombing him in the house itself. As Jacob was repeatedly pelted by rubble, in the distance
he could hear someone giggling, the giggling of a young child...