BDark
Three Thousand Club
It was my birthday; the day I found it and the day it started.
I reached home after a long school day and it was raining outside. It was the fifth of October: my birthday. Not much happened that day until the birthday party. Until I opened the box wrapped in brown; the one which I didn't know who sent.
It was a monkey toy...holding cymbals. I left it in the box and decided to check it later, but it was my first mistake because after the party the box had stayed there, opened, and empty. Someone probably took him, I thought to myself, Good. Then after dinner, I slid into bed.
That's when I heard a loud noise coming from the kitchen. I rose from the bed and noticed something in my dark room. I turned around, and the monkey was there, its bloodshot eyes staring into mine deeply and its grin was even more twisted. It wasn't there before. I ignored it and ran to the kitchen, only to see the sight of a bloody knife on the ground in a puddle of blood, I looked behind the counter, and Biscuit was laying there in his own blood, whimpering, dying. I turned around quickly and it was there. The monkey, standing there on the ground, blood splattered on it. I didn't know what to do. Its eyes seemed to be watching me. I ran past it, kicking it away, to my mum's room.
Inside it was an old paper, I picked it up, and it said that the monkey has to be passed from one house to another and never ignored or it shall kill. I had to find the monkey and pass it on; I had no other choice.
There was no sight of it, no matter where I looked, for several days. I thought it just left, but I was wrong. I was asleep, then the loud noise of screeching and cymbals slamming together woke me up. The monkey wasn't visible, but I knew he was near. I rose from bed slowly and looked around, and it was standing there, banging its cymbals together on the shelf above my bed, shaking violently, but the noise seemed to come from every direction. I grabbed it violently, holding its arms apart to prevent it from making more noise, and tossed it into the box, wrapped the box, and got on my bike. I tossed it into the sea, and the box sank.
I'm Nathan Strickland, fourteen years of age, and I live in an asylum because people don't believe my story; they believe I killed my parents and the old family dog.
___-___-___-___
17th of November, 2014.
Dear diary,
Today I just turned sixteen. It was my best birthday yet. I went on a date with Jane and we had dinner at the new restaurant. We then went to the movies.
Also, there's this creepy monkey with cymbals and what looks like blood on his coat, probably some prank from James... It seemed to activate on its own though, kinda like it sensed me, and its eyes seem like they follow me wherever I go....
Okay, it's totally NOT James. The monkey disappeared, and there's blood everywhere... The house is strangely quiet. There's a fucking dead bird on my bed... Should I call the cops ?
It's...playing again, the noise is coming from everywhere... The noise isn't stopping! Please...let it stop.... I can't hear my own thoughts... The screeching... The banging....
Until next time... I guess....
~Gabriel F.
I fucking hate this shit