At first this diary seemed to bring joy to my life, but then I began to notice strange things.
The first incident took place when I wrote about a city full of clocks, and I specifically described a very grand clock tower in the middle of the town. But the very next day, I woke up to the soft Sunday sunlight and saw my parents sitting outside on the table eating breakfast, "Hey, Nova, let's go out somewhere today," said my father with a soft smile.
We went to a small town, and there it was— the same clock tower I had written about.
Every stone and curve etched into it seemed strangely familiar. It was as if my story had come out of the page and stepped into the world.
That evening, I felt a strange fear in my heart, and decided not to describe a place anymore.
I couldn't take that risk.
So I wrote a tale based on two teenage twins named Ellison and Orion Ashford. It was a tragic story about how both brothers were separated from each other.
*Ellison had a small scar— two lines that crossed each other —on his cheek.*
I wrote this so that I could clearly distinguish his appearance from that of his brother's.
I smiled brightly at my work, and I felt the same quiet satisfaction as I always did after describing a gentle life in that journal.
I grinned as I placed it carefully under my pillow and drifted off to sleep. That night, though, I had a really strange, and awfully vivid, dream.
I was walking in a street lined with houses, each one with a gleaming clock placed above its front door......
I knocked on the door of a red-roofed house at the edge of the street with a sign that read:
**Ashford house**
The name felt strangely familiar, but I couldn't place it...
The door opened with a soft creak and two young boys wandered out. They both seemed like they were about fifteen...
They both glared at me with an unreadable expression.
Disappointment, maybe?
I focused on their aquamarine eyes, but then I noticed the cheek of the first boy.
He had a scar.
*The same scar.*13Please respect copyright.PENANAFuwIbqhIWm


