Booktok Journal Novels & Stories

I hit it. With a faint nearly imperceptible click a tiny piece of the bookshelf panel moved inward and then smoothly sideways exposing a dark narrow nook. I gasped for air. Tucked away inside was a small worn leather-bound journal rather than a stash of cash or a secret weapon. I reached for it and my hand shook. The leather was warm and soft from hiding. With my eyes sweeping the front I took it out. Both a title and a name were absent. Only dark plain leather. It was this. This had to be it. I struggled with the journals clasp as I opened it.

Then, finally, she sighed. “You actually think you can take them down?” I nodded. “I have to.” She sighed, raking a hand through her hair. “There’s no going back if I help you.” I met her gaze. “I passed that line a while ago.” Silence. Then, finally— She plunged her hand into her jacket and produced an old, leather-bound book. My breath caught. The journal. She set it on the table between us, her voice scarcely a whisper.

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 muttered to myself. Then I opened the safe and looked inside. There was only one book inside. It was old, as if it had been around for years. I slowly brought it out and when I opened the first page, I read out loud. "My journal. . ." I trailed as an involuntary shiver suddenly seized. This had to be it. It had to contain everything. There were some pages protruding outward like they were not pieces of the same book.

Life, she realized, was always changing, and was never what it seemed to be. Caitlin sat there, watching twilight turn into night, and finally pulled the burning candle closer to her. She rested on the small stone jutting from the wall, on which she laid her journal. As she’d set it down, she’d been shocked to see how worn and weathered it had become. By now, it looked like a museum relic. She turned the pages slowly, and they crackled with age. Each entry brought back fresh memories, and she had to fight to hold back her emotions. Caitlin turned the pages until she finally came to the very last blank page. It was the final page of the book. She couldn’t believe it. When she finished this en

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 place where I didn’t have to keep proving my worth to people who had already decided it didn’t exist. Now, with one letter, one vision, and one truth—I was a beacon. A hunted one. Tessa’s voice pulled me back to the present. “I found something,” she whispered, slipping into my tent like a shadow. Her eyes were bright, cheeks flushed from running. “What?” “In Madam Theresa’s book. The old journal she left you. There’s a page I’d never noticed before. It was stitched into the spine—hidden.” She pulled out the book from her satchel. A thin leather journal, frayed and worn. She turned carefully to the middle, then peeled back a false page.

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.

When my shift ended, I found myself walking toward the corner table where Kael sat, his laptop closed now, a book in his hands. I stopped short when I saw the cover. ‘Knot We Cannot Untie.’ That was the book he was holding. I can't believe that Kael would be reading one of Linda Lively’s books. “You read… this?” I said, the surprise evidently in my voice. Kael looked up, one brow raised. “Why? You think I only read racing magazines and bank statements?” I gave a small laugh. “Chill bro. It’s just… not what I was expecting ”

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