Books I Read Journal Novels & Stories

My Mother's Journal. I paused, wondering when last I read it. Although it was just a tiny old book, I was never able to complete reading it. It was like the pages were changing with new stories day by day. I carefully slid it out before trailing to my desk holding a lit candle. Making it the only illumination in the room. The way I liked it. I ran my fingers slowly around the brown book cover for minutes before finally opening its contents. "Rose," I read in my mind. I heaved a sigh, already certain I was going to have another emotional ride.

he was still as cocky as ever, typical Beta. After he said that no bumps would appear because the book seemed light, he took it. We both stared at the book that appeared to be a journal. We gave each other a curious look. Why would there be a journal on the shelves of the encyclopedia at the library? I knew it was wrong to look through someone else's diary, but my curiosity got the best of me. I took the journal from Ace and started to flip through it. The journal seemed old; the pages of the book were turning brown. There were liquid stains on some of the pages too. The diary was well organized, there were no lines, but the entries were styled.

I’d almost forgotten about it. Everything that had happened over the past several days seemed to lead back to that worn leather book. Every time something in my life changed… So did the journal. I stared at it for a long moment without moving. It was strange how something so ordinary could make me hesitate. A worn leather journal shouldn’t have been intimidating. It shouldn’t have been able to change my life every time I opened it. Yet somehow… it always did.

I found it boring so I decided to look away and pick up the old, leatherbound book that seemed to be tearing apart from the inside. As I opened it, I realized, it was a journal-Martin’s journal. I froze and then kept it aside, I couldn't read his journal or anyone's, that was a private. I wouldn't want someone to read mine if I ever wrote anything. A loud, thundering sound echoed through the house and I yelped in fear.

“No… It doesn’t. But it felt as if it was burned into my skin.” “It’s the same design as the one on the book…” Leo adds with a frown. “Can you read it?” Thea implores curiously. “Yeah… - I nod, skimming through the contents - It’s like a journal. Or a diary… Would you mind if I went to read it in peace?” “No, no. Go ahead.” I go to the bedroom in the back before turning the book to the first page and start reading.

I set them aside for later. Then I reached deeper into the bag and pulled out the books I hadn’t recognized. Several of them were small, leather-bound volumes. Journals. I flipped open the first one and saw pages filled with my mother’s neat handwriting. My breath caught. I closed it gently and placed the journals beside my bed. I would read them later. When my head wasn’t spinning quite so much. There were two larger books left. The first one was heavy. Very heavy. The moment I lifted it, something strange happened.

A blast of cold air rushed up from below, smelling like wet stone, old blood, and something rotten beneath snow. The journal slid across the floor toward the opening. “No!” I lunged for it. Damien caught me tighter. “Leave it.” “No.” “That thing wants you closer.” “The book has been more honest than half the people in this town.” “It is not a person.” “Neither are half the people in this town.” The journal teetered on the edge. Pages fluttering. Glowing. Waiting. Then one page ripped free and flew upward on a burst of silver wind.

I asked no one in particular but the dusty jewelleries stared back at me giving me my answer. I turned to move but my leg hit the vanity drawer and I heard a small plop, “Ouch!” I winced in pain as I rubbed my toes, bending down to pick what had fallen, it was a book and it was dusty. Dusting it off made me cough repeatedly and I stared at the book turning the page open but every page as well was covered in dust although preserved. I dusted a few pages off and the crisp but clean handwriting stared back at me. I read the first page and Immediately closed it. It was Jonathan’s mom’s diary.I flipped through the book and realized that she had written a lot and even almost used up the book. I wa

Rachel immediately hide the journal she had been reading. " What is that you're reading? " He proceeded to asked her noticing her attempt to hide what she is reading. "It nothing Hon, just a piece of sad story I was enjoying reading. I found it with the things belonging to my grandmother Anna."

Maybe because I need something, anything, to distract me from the hollow cracking sound inside my chest. My fingers graze the spines of faded books, most of them worn with time, forgotten like the memories they hold. I don’t expect to find anything of value. But then, near the back of the bottom shelf, I notice a thick leather-bound journal wedged awkwardly between two histories of the royal bloodlines.