"We all have our own secrets. Some of which are pleasant while other are unpleasant but they are ours to keep. Until when..."

Doorbell rings.
A white girl of Indian decent opens the door, she finds a parcel with no name but just a symbol similar to two squares trapped in each other. She takes a look around but no one was there so she takes the parcel and shuts the door.
Inside the parcel, there she finds an old diary but to her surprise, it was empty even the map in the diary was empty with no directional symbols. As tired she was,
she tucks it under the pillow and sleeps.

A Dream undesired....

She hears a shallow voice as it was coming from distant.
Ridhi: "Hello! any body there?!"
Again, the voice becomes more distant.
Ridhi starts to follow and as she was walking towards the voice, it was becoming darker and darker. And then she suddenly falls.
And wakes up before a gate. The gate had a face but it was more like alive for her. She was scared but curious. She steps towards the gate and again, she hears a voice "Ridhi..."
it was the face on the gate uttering her name constantly. She gulped and asked, "Who are you? How do you know me?"
The face on the gate again utters her name in a creepy way. She takes a pebble and throws at the gate. And the pebble returns and hit herself in the head and she faints.
Next, she wakes up in the bed while breathing heavily. Ridhi refreshes and goes to write this nightmare in the diary of hers but she remembers the other diary she found in the parcel. She thought to wrote the nightmares in that diary, it was indeed an old creepy looking diary. As she opens the diary, she saw a drawing which was not there last time she checked. It was the gate with a face from the dreaming and there was also a key more like soaked in blood.
She creeps out and burns the diary to ashes and throws away the key...
Ridhi comes back home from work.
She refreshes and sleeps. Next she found herself before the gate with face. But this time, it was staring at her without making any sound...

...Will be continued...

© Alwin Sunil