Books Gravity Falls Journal 1 Novels & Stories

Thousands of leather-bound journals rested in perfect order. Some looked centuries old. Others appeared almost new. Every shelf carried a year. Every journal carried a name. Grace stared in amazement. "My God..." "There must be thousands." "There are." Michael answered. "Every Keeper." "Every investigation." "Every confession." "Every mistake." Gabriel walked slowly to the nearest shelf. His fingers brushed the spine of a journal dated 1983. He hesitated before pulling it free. "May I?" Michael nodded. "They were written to be read."

I picked up the journal on the table, turned to a pristine new page, and wrote the first line. [Apocalypse Year One, Day One. Weather: Clear. [I await the fading of crises and chaos, when all things wake to a rebirth.]

She dropped to her knees, fingers dancing over the dial. Not his birthday. Her mother’s death date. Her own childhood address. The safe clicked open. Inside was a leather-bound journal, a battered phone, and a flash drive with no label. She stared at them like they might speak. Christopher crouched beside her. “Is that all?” “No,” she murmured, picking up the journal. “This is where it starts.” --- They sat cross-legged on the office floor, the journal open between them. The ink was smudged in places, the paper curled at the edges. Her father’s handwriting was sharp and confident, every word laid down like he meant it to last.

I needed a textbook so I could answer the question I was working on, so I told Jasmine that I would be right back. I stood up and headed for the section where the textbook I needed was. I let my hair down then repacked it firmly before I checked through some books. After a while, I eventually found the one I was looking for, but it was way above my height. As I reached out my hand to pick the book, someone pressed me against the bookshelf and grabbed the book. I turned around immediately and that was when I recognized the person. It was Ryker. A sense of Déjà vu washed over me as I remembered the first time we met at a mall.

Chapter Twelve The rain had been relentless all Friday. Sheets of water fell from the sky, drumming against windows and rooftops, as if the heavens themselves were mourning or warning. Nora sat in the art studio, trying desperately to focus on her presentation, but her brush hovered uselessly over the canvas. The colours and lines felt meaningless. Every stroke of paint blurred, smudged by the storm of emotions inside her.

The stones are mottled with age and coated in lichen, but their arrangement is deliberate. Someone wanted this place marked. Curiosity pins me down. Kneeling, I pry loose a flat stone from the base, revealing a cavity underneath. Inside, wrapped in a cloth stiff with rot, is a leather-bound journal. Its cover is cracked, swollen from moisture, edges frayed like brittle leaves. My fingers tremble as I pull it free, the weight of what’s inside pressing against my chest. Opening the book is like stirring dust in a tomb. The pages are yellowed and fragile, ink faded but still readable in jagged, hurried script.

Jaden I read through the first journal, careful not to tear any of the pages. There wasn’t much to find to begin with, as there was nothing about the moonstone pack or Claxton. Night had come, and the fire crackled in the lounge as they sat on the floor, tearing through the pages. The smell of smoke wafted through the air, mingling with the musty scent of old books. We tore through the journal’s contents like wild animals ripping apart their prey, desperate for any scrap of knowledge that could aid us in our mission.

There were only a couple of other kids that chose to read over the computers. I browsed the bookshelf searching for a book to read, my step-father set fire to all my books in the wheel barrow when he first moved in with us. I picked a book up from the shelf, my father had bought me it before he died, I was surprised to see it in a school library. The Darkest Minds. I found my way over to a comfy seat in the corner of the room. Fishing out my glasses from my bag I made sure no one was looking before I put them on. "Hey." A boy interupted me three chapters in. "I'm Aaron." Peeking up from behind my book I saw a guy staring at me with a huge grin on his face. I had no idea how long he had been

I gasped at what was beneath. Lying there, by itself aside from the critters and dust, was a worn, leather journal. Slowly, I reached my hand down to grab it. Pulling it out, I blew the dust off. The layer of dust had made the journal look gray, but in reality it was brown and the pages were yellowed from age. I turned it over and noticed there was no back cover. It was bookended by a yellow page like the others inside the journal.

A window showing a rainy street. But then I saw it. On the girl’s desk, next to her computer, was another book. It wasn't a storybook. It was a **Journal**. And on the cover of the journal, in the girl’s own handwriting, were the words: ***"The Stories I'm Afraid to Tell."*** --- ### The Fear of the Viewer "Don't look at that!" the girl screamed. She lunged for the journal, but she was too slow. I wasn't a girl anymore; I was a leak. I flowed across the room, my inky body moving faster than humanly possible. I reached the desk and touched the journal.