Congratulations to Shelby who won a $15 iTunes gift card for her entry into the Scary Story Contest! We had a lot of entries, and after reading them all and careful deliberation, hers was the one that sent shivers down our spine. Read Shelby’s entry, The Diary of Elaine Morris —->
The following is an account from the secret diary of Elaine Morris, 1891-1927, found locked in a chest by her great-granddaughter, named after her. The aforementioned woman, when autopsied, was found to have killed herself with a self-injected poison. Her family believed Elaine to be cursed in some way, as they believed she would never have done anything of the sort, and so never spoke of her again – locking her presence away in the attic and refusing to even speak her name. There was one woman, however, who sought danger in its truest forms, and so named her daughter Elaine Anne Morris, never explaining why at family reunions, the girl was called by her middle name. The mystery haunted Elaine the younger for twenty-two years, until she picked the lock of an old and dusty chest sealed in the depths of her grandmother’s attic, and her fingers ran along the red leather casing of a journal. It was in the stuffy caverns of that attic where she read the diary, using the flashlight feature on her phone for a book light and skipping through all of the things Elaine deemed unimportant. In the last few pages, she found this:
May 27, 1923
It’s getting worse – the whispers. At first I thought I was schizophrenic, but the test came back negative. I can’t make out what the whispers are saying. It all just sounds like when a group is huddled and whispering, and the only thing you can hear is psst psst psst psst psst. There’s no logic, no rhythm, no pattern. It’s driving me crazy.
April 30, 1924
I went to a specialist today with my husband and my mum. Nick held my hand, and Mum sat silent next to us, her lips pursed. I don’t really think the specialist helped any. He said all of the things previous doctors said, and didn’t speak any new revelations. He told me to call him again if things get worse. I know they will, but I won’t call him.
July 14, 1924
Lately I’ve been getting really bad headaches, and they seem to correlate directly with the whispers. As the voices get louder, my headaches worsen. The thing is, though, the whispers seem to remain whispers no matter the volume. It’s as though a soft song is played loud – there isn’t more clarity; it’s just louder. I still can’t decipher what’s being said to me.
October 11, 1927
Oh my dear reader (if there is a reader, in which case I most sincerely hope there isn’t), I am so very sorry for the damage I’ve caused you. I’m not sure where this journal will end up after I die, but it is cursed by some form of black magic I hope is never encountered again. You see, the pages of this diary are full of the evil intentions of those who wish to hurt others. Their souls have been devoured by the pages of this book, and are eating away at my life. I was finally able to decipher their whispers, and they mean to possess me once they have enough strength. I’m sorry to have passed on their intentions to you, dear reader, whom I do not know but care so much about. I’m afraid it’s too late for you; they’ve already taken hold of you, and as I write I do not know how much time I have left. I’m going on a journey soon – far away, to never return – and I regret to tell you I cannot take them with me. I only pray you find a way to end this; to save yourself from the fate I’ve unknowingly inflicted upon you. Good luck, my dear, and may God be with you.
Elaine closed the diary, very aware of her heavy breathing, and looked around her – as though the evil spirits her great-grandmother had spoken of would be sitting next to her, silently waiting to be noticed before closing her eyes in terror. It was then that she heard it: a faint and distant laugh inside her own mind, sending chills to her core.