Diary of the Dead

DIARY OF THE DEAD 1 It all started on my 17th birthday. I had been waiting for my birthday for so long, and now it was finally here. I woke up that morning and sat on my bed trying to wake up completely. I rubbed my eyes and then turned to my calendar. "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!" I screamed. It echoed throughout the entire house. I ran down the stairs as fast as I could into the living room. My dad was adjusting the camcorder on it's tripod and my mom jumped off the couch as soon as she saw me. "Happy Birthday Matt!" She shouted, as she walked by me and to the closet. "Thanks mom." Dad smiled and turned on the camcorder. Mom pulled open the closet and pulled out a couple presents. I was saddened when I opened all of the presents and didn't get what I really wanted. I loved to write scary stories and show them to my friends. But handwriting the stories was beginning to become a pain for me. I thanked my Mom and Dad for the presents and started picking them up to take them back to my room when Mom stopped me. "Sit back down, I have a surprise present." Mom told me happily. I sat back down and could hardly sit still. She pulled a large briefcase from the closet. She carried it to the coffee table sitting in front of me and layed it down. "Open it!" She motioned toward the leather briefcase. Trembling with excitement, I managed to open the lock. I looked into the briefcase, and there sat a typewriter. "OH MAN!" I screamed as I began to close the suitcase. I jumped up from the couch and carried it up to my room as fast as I could, leaving the other presents behind. I pulled out some blank printer paper and carefully placed it into the typewriter. I scanned the keyboard of the typewriter and saw that it had hundreds of functions. I pressed the center button and the ink cartridge moved to the center of the page. I typed the title of my newest horror book and pressed return. The letters typed in the center of the paper before I could even

blink. 'Wow, this is fast!' I thought. I read the title aloud. 'School Spirit.' I smiled and tried to remember the plot I had thought up for the story. "Hmm..." I sat back in my chair and searched for the plot in my mind. Suddenly I heard a tapping noise. I sat up and looked around my room. The tapping stopped for a second, then began again. My eyes fell on the typewriter. The keys were slowly pressing in, as if being typed by some invisible force.

2 I shook my head in disbelief as I tried to find an explanation for the typing. Suddenly the typing stopped. I waited for it to start again, and when it didn't, I tugged the paper out of the typewriter. I slowly read the paper and didn't understand what it said. "How could this be true?", I asked myself. I read the paper again. It was the first paragraph of School Spirit that I was getting ready to write. It read: “It Was Matthew's first day of school. Matthew rode with his mother to Eastside High School. As they reached the front driveway of the school Matthew couldn't believe his eyes... the school looked like an old abandoned warehouse.” I realized that everything on that paper really was true, except none of it had happened yet. Tomorrow is going to be my first day of school, and I AM going to go to Eastside. I reread the paper again and then put it back in the typewriter. I started to type paragraph two when I suddenly lost control of my typing! The button's I touched stayed stiff and didn't press in. Nothing was typed on the paper. I tapped the H key three times, but it stayed stiff. I sat back in the chair and watched as the typewriter began typing by itself again. I trembled as I watched it creepily type the next paragraph. It typed for a few seconds and then stopped. I made sure it wasn't going to type anymore and then rolled the paper up to read it. Now the paper read: There was police caution tape hanging from the dead bushes in front of the school. All of the school windows were boarded up. The grass was covered in trash, and the school sign was missing letters and read "W LCOME TO EAS SIDE HIGH SCHO L". And

on top of all that, Matthew appeared to be the only kid going to the school. This is nothing like how I had planned School Spirit to be. I pulled the paper out of the typewriter and slid it through my shredder. I watched the paper be cut into many tiny strips. I turned back to the typewriter to give it a closer look, and in the paper feed sat the paper I had shredded seconds ago, and the typewriter had began typing paragraph three.

3 This is impossible, I thought. I hadn't even seen this kind of weird stuff in the movies. Nothing like this. Except...In those poltergeist movies. Where the poltergeist controls objects, but it can't be seen, like a ghost. But that couldn't be right, nothing had ever happened like this in our house before. The typewriter didn't type anymore that night, or at least I thought it didn't. I went to sleep for only a short while before I heard a tapping noise. I sat straight up in my bed and struggled to see the typewriter in the darkness. It sat still, and the tapping had stopped. I woke up the next morning to find the first page of "School Spirit" completed... It read: Matthew walked into the school and found his first class. He sat down beside a strange boy named Cliff. He acted like he really wanted to be friends with Matthew, but Matthew was a bit scared of him in a way. Cliff was a very large boy, bigger than all the other kids in the class. He told Matthew that he had been studying witchcraft on the Internet, and he had learned a few spells. The page continued with: Cliff invited Matthew to come over to his home after school. When Matthew went to Cliff's house, Cliff showed him some Witchcraft websites and told Matthew about his plans on using Witchcraft on other kids. He forced Matthew to help him use the spells on other kids at school that he didn't like. I set the disturbing School Spirit paper down and grabbed my book bag. Mom called me to come downstairs and we left for school. When I looked at the school, my heart begun to beat rapidly. The school was exactly the same as the paper had said it would be. The sign was

missing letters, the building was old, and it had police tape hanging from it's bushes. I pretended to be sick and asked my Mom if I could just stay at home. She said she wasn't falling for that line and drove away. I walked into the school and found my first class. I went to the back of the room and spotted my name taped to a desk. My seat was beside a tall boy. He was staring straight toward the front of the class with his eyes narrowed angrily. I quickly glanced at the name tag taped to his desk and almost fell out of my desk. It read: Helms, Cliff.

4 I gasped when I read the name-tag that was taped to the kid's desk. It was Cliff Helms. Exactly like the typewriter had 'told' me it would be. I gulped and turned to the front of the class, but as soon as I did Cliff spoke up. "Hey, is your name Matt?" Cliff asked. I shook my head yes and he kept talking throughout the class. I didn't get any work done! The entire day, Cliff had every, single, class with me. I couldn't get away from him. He even sat with me at lunch. That's when he told me something that my creepy typewriter had written he would say. "Hey man, do you have a computer? I've been on some cool websites about witchcraft for a project in History class, and I learned a bunch of spells and stuff! Want to help me try them out on some people at this school?" I tried to tell him no, but he followed me all the way home, and he begged me to come to his house. I finally gave in when I reached my house. He wanted to come in and see my room, but I refused and agreed to go to his house. I certainly didn't want the boy coming in my house. I was really scared of him. He ran all the way to his house and kept urging me to hurry up. We finally got there and he pulled me up to his room. "Watch this!" He told me. I watched as he pulled a doll out of his desk drawer. I looked at the face on the doll, and it was a photo of Larry, a boy in one of our classes. "Oh no..." I instantly recognized the doll as a voodoo doll. I had heard terrible things about voodoo and witchcraft, and I wanted out of Cliff's house right then and there. I backed up to his door, but he stopped me. "Hey, where are you going?" Cliff turned around from looking at the doll. "Um, I just

remembered that my friend was coming over at 3..." I lied. "Wait, just watch this, then you can go." I gulped and kept trying to leave. "I really need to go, he can't get in to my house, and..." I lied again. "NO!! YOUR NOT GOING ANYWHERE!" Cliff suddenly screamed. He reached back into his desk drawer again. "YOUR STAYING HERE...unless you want to be next..." He pulled out a picture of me from his desk and hurriedly cut out the face. "NO! No, I don't want to be next, I'm sorry, please, just don't hurt me..." I said as he began taping my face onto another doll. He set the doll aside. "Good. Now watch." he said in a horrible voice. He took a nail from the desk drawer and picked up a hammer. The nail pierced the heart of the doll as he nailed it to the wall. He picked up the phone and dialed Larry's number. He handed me the phone and Larry's mom answered. "C-Can I speak to Larry?" I asked his mom. "He, he can't talk right now, we just called 911, he can't breath. I have to go now..." The phone line then went dead as I stared at Cliff. An evil smile spread across his face.

5 I ran home as fast as I could when Cliff finally let me go. But as I left he told me that he wanted me back at his house tomorrow. I knew I had to find some excuse not to go, or he would come after me with his sick spells. I finally got home and ran up to my room. I threw my bookbag to the floor, and sat down at my desk to type. I had forgotten all about the cursed typewriter. Writing stories always took my mind off of things like what had happened at Cliff's house. But this typewriter wasn't designed for me to type scary stories with. It was built to scare me to death. It was making my life a scary but true story. As I looked at the typewriter I immediately remembered what it had been doing. There was a paper sitting in the paper feed again, waiting to be read. I sighed and picked up the paper to read it. Dear Diary, today I went to this boy at school's house. His name is Cliff. He likes Voodoo and weird stuff like that, and I think he may have hurt Larry on purpose. I'm really scared of him and I am afraid of what Cliff might try to do

to me. I sat the paper back in the feed and I just stared at it, still trying to find some explanation for what this typewriter had been doing. I had a sudden urge to take the typewriter to the trash can and get rid of it for good, but just as I stood up, I felt sharp pains in my chest. It felt like something or someone was stabbing me in the chest. I staggered and fell to the floor, struggling to breath. I could taste blood on my tongue and I couldn't stand back up again. But suddenly the pain just disappeared. I sat up on the floor in dismay. Where had the stabbing pains come from? I pulled up my shirt and gasped. Blood was dripping from three deep gashes on my chest. I slowly stood up to go clean the wound's and bandage them, but as I did, I heard the familiar typing sound of the typewriter. I spun around and ran to the typewriter. I pulled out the paper as soon as it was finished and read it. Dear Diary, Last night, I had aching pains in my chest. It felt like someone was stabbing me. I got cut up really bad in the end, but I have no idea how. Today at school, Cliff brought his voodoo doll with him, and it had a cut out picture of MY face on it! He told me he had stabbed me with a pencil the night before, and he was just seeing if it worked. Then you won't believe what he did to me... That was all it typed. I didn't find out what was going to happen to me the next day until that morning...when I received another diary entry from the typewriter.

6 I could hardly sleep that night. Every time I heard a noise, I immediately jumped out of my bed, grabbed the flashlight and shined it on my typewriter. It was driving me crazy. I finally dozed off after reading a couple pages in my book. I was awoken the next morning just on time to get ready for school. I got dressed and packed my book bag. I reached for a pencil off of my desk, and stopped when I saw another paper in the paper feed. "AARG!!" I yelled and grabbed the paper. I accidentally crumpled it with anger. I smoothed it out on my desk, sat down and read the paper. ...What he did to me then was the most

terrible thing. First he asked me to come over to his house that night, and when I refused, he got really angry. He threatened to hurt me just like he did Larry. I still refused and got up to go throw my lunch away. I walked out of the cafeteria and to my next class. I was walking down the stairs in the hall, and on the top step, my left leg felt like it had turned to Jello. Next my right leg cracked and made me lose my balance. I couldn't stop myself until it was to late. I fell down the stairs and landed on the floor. Head first. My skull cracked and I fell unconscious. My Mom came to the school and took me to the doctor. He couldn't explain what had happened, but he said that I would probably be fine. I sat the diary entry down and I refused to believe that was actually going to happen to me today. It was impossible. It was probably just a coincidence about Larry and his voodoo doll. But what about what happened to me... I hurried downstairs and Mom took me to school. I didn't tell her about what had been going on lately, because I still wasn't sure myself. I tried to sit in seats away from Cliff all day, but he was the second or third one to enter all of my classes, and chose to sit beside me. I went to lunch, and ducked behind things so Cliff wouldn't be able to find me. He eventually did though. "WHERE have you been?" He asked as soon as he found me. "Right here." Everything happened just like the diary entry said it would. I had to take the stairs after lunch, and I tried to go down them as slow as possible, but I didn't have a choice. I was being controlled by Cliff, and I am certain he was trying to kill me. I stepped over the top step, but as soon as my right foot touched the tiled step, My left leg buckled, and my right leg made a sickening crack. I cried out in pain and I stumbled down off of the step and rolled down the stairs. When I reached the end, I tried to cover my head, but it was too late. It smacked down hard against the floor, and everything went black before I could even try to stand up.

7 I think my mom took me to the hospital after that. I can't really remember what happened, it was all a blur, but I'm sure it was exactly what my typewriter said would happen. I

had no idea how the typewriter could tell the future, and how it could type by itself, with no assistance, but I knew the typewriter was somehow involved in the terrible things that had been happening lately. The next day I was supposed to be home resting, but I got out of my bed anyway. I flipped my typewriter over and searched for the store that it had been bought from. I found a tiny blue sticker with: Cash Pawn Shop and an address written on it. I had seen it before, so I got dressed, stuffed the typewriter in a paper grocery bag, and snuck out the back door. I rode my bike for about two miles before I turned onto Leolilly Lane. The road was lined with small old shops of all kinds. I passed by a costume store, a antique and collectibles shop, and found Cash Pawn at the end of the street. I looked in the dusty windows and saw that the lights were on. I pulled on the door, and it swung open. A bell hanging from the door ringed as I walked in. I looked around at the old stuff for sale. I spotted a bicycle, radio, computer and telephone. I could hardly walk to the front desk there was so much clutter in the way. I stepped up to the front desk and waited for an employee to come out. I pulled the typewriter out of the bag and set it on the desk. I spotted a bell sitting on the desk with a sign that said RING FOR SERVICE. I reached over and tapped the bell twice. An old, chubby man walked out. "No refunds, sorry." He informed me before I even spoke, seeing the typewriter. "Actually, I just wanted some information about this typewriter my mom bought from you." He glanced at it and shuddered suspiciously. "I don't know anything about it, sorry." He turned to go back behind the wall. "Sir, please, do you at least know who sold you this?" "I told you already, I don't. I don't know about anything in this shop, I just buy junk and sell junk. I can't help you son." He walked behind the wall, and I heard him turn a television on. I looked down at the typewriter and noticed a pile of papers beside the cash register. I picked one paper up and tried to read it. My head still hurt badly, and the letters were blurry, but I read at the top of the paper: Sellers. I scanned the paper and saw that all of the people had something they had sold to him written beside their names. Under the item column I found Brother 230 Typewriter.

It was sold to the pawn shop from a man named David Westerley. It had his home address also. I picked up the typewriter and headed toward the man's house. I was determined to figure out what caused the typewriter to predict the future, and possibly even tried to kill me...and nothing was going to stop me from finding out the truth.

8 I left the Pawn Shop in search of David Westerley. If he was the last person to own the typewriter, he had to know what was going on. I followed the address to his house. The address looked so familiar, but I couldn't figure out whose address it was. I wasn't very familiar with all of the streets were I lived, there were lots of gravel side streets. I rode my bike down the street that was written on the paper. I pulled into the driveway listed and read the address off of the porch. I gaped when I saw the house. It was HUGE. But at the same time, it was old and rotting. The grass looked as though it had never been cut, it was up to my waist. I walked carefully down the concrete walkway that led to the front porch. It was cracked and broken into tiny pieces scattered on the ground. I stepped up onto the front porch. The wood creaked as I made my way to the door. A rocking chair was rocking silently in the wind. I knocked on the screen door. There was no other door inside it, and I could see into the house. I saw flashing lights coming from behind a wall across the house. It looked like a T.V. was on. I opened the door and walked in. "Hello?" I yelled. No answer. I walked toward the room with the flashing lights. A T.V. was on. It was on mute, and someone was sitting with their back toward Me. They were watching the history channel. I walked up to the chair slowly. "Hello, are you David Westerley?" I asked an elderly man that was sitting in the chair. He sat facing the television and ignored me! "Sir? I got this typewriter from Cash Pawn, and you sold it to them. I just wanted to talk with you about it." The man instantly looked up at me. "T-Typewriter? GET THAT THING OUT OF HERE NOW!" The old man yelled at me. He wasn't getting me to go away that easy. I tried again, "Please, I just need to find out why this is telling me what's going to happen in the future... I think it is

making up bad things to happen to me. Do you know anything about it?" The man stared at the typewriter and shivered. "I thought I had gotten rid of that thing, and then you bring it back into this house." The man scoffed at me. "Listen, I found the typewriter in my attic. It used to belong to my wife, but she died a month ago. She was a writer, and she used to write horror stories with my grandson, Cliff..." "C-Cliff, how old is he?" I interrupted. "About your age, he's 14. Anyway, I think when my wife died, she left a curse on the typewriter. It was ruining my life, so I had to get rid of it." "Also, Cliff says he sees her every night, and he believes she is still alive, he refuses to believe she's dead. He says she is teaching him voodoo curses to get back at all the people she hated when she was alive, and I have tried to tell him that he doesn't need to be messing with that kind of stuff, but he doesn't listen to me. So, I had to get rid of this typewriter. It was what had been causing all of our troubles. I'm sorry that you bought it, but I would suggest that you dispose of it as soon as you can, before it does any more damage." 9 The man was obviously telling the truth, his story was very convincing, so I took his advice. I immediately went straight home and took the typewriter into my garage. I grabbed a hammer and started breaking the typewriter apart. It was barely denting. I found a screwdriver and tried to unscrew it and take it apart. But the screws were rusted, and wouldn't move. I searched for something else to use and found a crowbar. After a few minutes I finally managed to pry the typewriter apart. It came apart in two pieces. I crouched down and began looking through the parts of the typewriter. I saw a piece of brown wilted paper stuck in a part of some type of motor. I pulled on the paper and it ripped in two. I unfolded and read it. "I am Ann Westerley. The typewriter you have been using has a curse that plagues anyone that uses it. I received this typewriter from an evil aunt for my Christmas present." "She, as I have determined through my studies, was very intuitive and knew many terrible curses. She put one on it just before she gave it to me, and I believe it is withering me away as I speak. I wrote this so anyone that would receive this typewriter after my death that will

ultimately be soon, will know what to do with it. I am sorry you were put through this, but I am too weak to get rid of the typewriter myself. Behind the ink container you will find directions for how to finally end the curse." I hurriedly yanked the ink bottle out of it's socket, spilling ink all over the floor. I grabbed the directions and read them quickly. I followed the directions by first setting a fire in the fireplace. I read the next line. It said to wrap the typewriter's pieces tightly in a sheet or bag and throw it all into the fire. It then said the curse would finally rest. I ran upstairs and grabbed a bed-sheet from the closet. I glanced into my room and saw the papers that the typewriter had left for me. I grabbed the papers and stuffed them in the bag along with the typewriter. I ran back downstairs, and crossing my fingers, I threw the bag into the fire. It flamed up instantly. But as I watched the flames rise in to the chimney, a ghostly white spirit rose with the fire. It was an old woman who squinted down at me with pure hate in her eyes. She then smiled creepily as she disappeared into the chimney. I gulped as I realized the curse had ended. I turned to get water to put the fire out when suddenly a small paper ball fell out of the fire and rolled next to my shoe. I reached down and grabbed the paper. I shuddered as I unrolled it. A chill had fallen over the room. I then read the message that would change my life forever.

'FOR WHOMEVER THINKS THAT THEY HAVE ENDED MY CURSE, LET IT BE KNOWN THAT YOU HAVE NOT...THIS IS ONLY THE BEGINNING. WHAT LIES AHEAD IN YOUR LIFE WILL BE MUCH WORSE THAN WHAT YOU HAVE RECENTLY FACED. REST ASSURED, IT WILL NOT INVOLVE SOME SILLY TYPEWRITER NEXT TIME. NO, WHAT YOU WILL FACE WILL BE AN EVIL THAT CANNOT BE CONTAINED. TRY AS YOU MAY, YOU WILL NEVER DEFEAT ME NOR MY CURSE. LET THIS BE A LESSON TO YOU, YOU FOOLISH HUMAN BEING, GIFTS DO NOT ALWAYS BRING HAPPINESS, AND THIS GIFT IN PARTICULAR ATTESTS TO THAT.'

FEAR Series: “Diary of The Dead”” WRITTEN AND I LLUSTRATED BY: MATTHEW WATTS Visit the FEAR Website at http://www.fearbooks.com For all of the books in the series plus many extras!