Book Reading Journals Novels & Stories

he declared, determination shining in his eyes. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the book. Its ancient pages seemed to pulse with a life of their own, the faint glow from its pages making the shadows dance unnaturally. The air felt heavier, thick with dark magic, as though the book itself were watching us, waiting for us to make a mistake. I don't know if it's really my father's journal or some magic. The transcript of my father's innermost thoughts and secrets is within its pages.

Once we settle in and she seems more calm, I give her a gentle reminder that she and I still need to talk about what happened the previous night. She sets her burger down and brushes the crumbs off of her fingers. “Hold on, let me get my book.” She climbs off the stool and hops off to her room. She comes back quickly with a ragged, thick blue book with bits and pieces of papers sticking out of it and climbs back onto the stool, facing me. “I'm so glad Mom put this in my bag. She remembered how important it is to me. This isn’t just a notebook, Keller. It’s kind of like a diary, I guess, or a journal? I’ve been trying to figure out the difference. And depending on the website you refer to, I

The book opened. Even expecting it, he still looked disturbed by the way it yielded only to blood. I could not blame him. It felt more intimate the second time. More deliberate. More like my mother had hidden a piece of herself in something that would never answer anyone else, no matter how much they begged or demanded. I turned the book toward him. “It’s her journal.” Ronan’s eyes moved quickly over the first visible page, then to me. “You read it?” “Some of it.” “How much?”

he said. “By about four days,” she said. “I checked against the journal.” “You keep records,” he said. “I keep records,” she agreed. They stood for a while. “The book is doing something,” he said. “The reader messages.” She’d been sharing some of them with the household — not all, some were private in ways that the sharing would violate, but the ones that were about the quality of the book rather than the specifics of the readers’ lives. “Yes,” she said.

Nearby, an old phonograph stood as a testament to the music that once filled the air, its dusty needle poised mid-spin. Curiosity led them to a collection of weathered journals on a nearby bookshelf. Carefully opening one of the journals, they discovered handwritten entries that chronicled the lives and thoughts of previous occupants. These intimate accounts offered glimpses into the joys, sorrows, and dreams of those who once sought solace within these walls.

Jace DAYS BEFORE The bed creaked in protest as I reached for the leather-bound journal which had turned into a close companion for the last couple of weeks. Forbidden knowledge had been inked into every page with intentionality I could only thank the author for. I opened to the page I had dog-eared for days, sinking into the information there.

Normal. I pushed open the heavy wooden door, and the scent of old books and ancient knowledge hit my nasal holes. The room was filled with shelves, lined with volumes of books and dusty manuscripts. The air felt charged with anticipation, as if the room itself held the weight of generations past. I let my fingers slide along the spines of the books as my eyes scanned the titles until something caught my attention—a worn, leather-bound journal hidden among the others. Its pages were weathered and yellowed with time. It seemed like it had been preserved for literal ages and belonged to another time. It looked like a testament to the secrets of my family I had longed to uncover.

Jayden waved his hand then focused on his journals. Felicia pursed her lips in disgust. She put the notebook back into her laptop bag and then began reading the book she had taken earlier. She photographed some of the materials she needed, not forgetting her library. Because this is important, it is often questioned by the truth guide from her library. So when looking for journals must be appropriate. Usually journals that already have an ISSN number are allowed. Jayden quietly watched Felicia, who looked serious about copying some materials to her laptop, was also busy taking photos of the books with her cellphone. He smiled a little.

Rearranging the books, I found a small brown book wedged behind them, but it didn’t have a title or seem to belong to the library. While putting the library books up, I took the unmarked book and opened the cover to see if something was inside to help me figure out where the book went. The cover had nothing, so I flipped the page and saw it was a journal. The handwriting looked familiar as if I had seen it before. Flipping the pages, I skimmed the contents and saw that it discussed microchips. It was also about changed wolves. I took the book to the loft to find out if it was related to the same thing I wanted to create.

I won’t try touching it again. Closing the box, I approached the shelves. I take out the book closest to me. Brushing off the dust, I realize it’s a strategy book, written in delicate penmanship. The paper is fragile, but the tome is bound with great care. The other side of the shelf seems to have hard-bound journals. It’s like an entire couple’s life secured in one small room. I heard a scraping sound, and I turned my head to see Robert picking up a stack of small portraits from one of the iron boxes in the corner.