Observation Diary Novels & Stories

Something moves through my chest. "He's observant," I say. "Frighteningly." She takes a sip of tea. "He's been running some kind of assessment of you. All three of you. He has a system or would I call it a diary, I don't know what's in it, he keeps it in his head, but I recognize the look. His mother does the same thing. Catalogues everything." I think about the bedroom window. The wave. "He knows where I stand at night," I say.

I nodded. My mind was a bit puzzled. I had no idea what I would need this for. I never had a diary before and I did not know where to start or how to start using it. Although I had a million things running in my mind all at once, I did not know what to write. This diary will not be of use to me for a while. I couldn’t stop staring at it. Even when the teacher was teaching Math on the second lesson, I could not concentrate because of how much I was staring at the book.

"Maybe this diary holds the key to uncovering more about my past." Sonia sat alone in her room, engrossed in the contents of Frank's diary and records spread out in front of her. With meticulous care, she arranged them in chronological order based on the dates inscribed on each page. Deeply curious, she decided to begin with the entry that coincided with her own birth year.

'''' He went out and I was still thinking what happened? I thought he would be rude and he will humiliate me and force me tonight but there he was going out of the room and I was still not understanding him. That man was so unpredictable. One moment he was acting like a beast and the next moment he was so caring and then he was showing that he didn't even care if I exist. What was he ?? What was ge trying to do???? I had the food and I saw the medicine in the tray. They might be for my wound. I didn't take them at first. But as the night was getting colder I started feeling more pain and then i took it and lie back and still it was getting more colder and colder.

Also, the names of the characters are randomly selected and is entirely out of the blues. Welcome to Dynamic Diary of Tee. Enjoy the bumpy ride ahead!

I heard the car engine start before i hang up the phone. Taking another deep breath, i leaned back on the bench after picking my Diary up. Flicking the lock open, i stared at my neath handwriting and at the top right corner of the first page, it bare the date of the day i started writing on my last Diary. Senior year of highschool...

Ariana’s POV The file wasn’t long, two pages. Titled plainly: “Observation Notes — A.C.” I stared at the screen, heartbeat like static in my ears. These weren’t medical records, not legal documents. Just… notes. Written by someone who knew too much, someone who had been watching. // June 6th — 3:12 a.m. She cries in the dark now. Thinks no one can hear her. Her journal’s full again. She’s cracking, and no one sees it but me.

“You really think I should keep writing this stuff down?” He shrugged, eyes scanning the hallway automatically, like he expected trouble at any moment. “Absolutely. It’ll help you keep track of what’s… well, not normal. And trust me, noticing things like this isn’t something most people understand.” I nodded, flipping open my journal as we passed the lockers. I started jotting down my thoughts, writing quickly so I wouldn’t lose the thread: "My senses feel sharper. I notice things others don’t. I can almost feel movements before they happen… And Jaxon… he’s always there, in the background, watching. Something about him feels… aware. Like he knows what’s coming before I do."

But when I’m back here—in charge—everything quiets. The noise fades. And it all makes sense again. Peaceful. Right. I keep a notebook. Filled with River’s life. His movements. His habits. What time he wakes up. Where he goes. What he eats. What he listens to. Who he stares at when he thinks no one’s looking. I write it all down. Sometimes I draw him. Mostly broken. Crying. Terrified. That’s how I know I’m doing it right. That’s how I know it’s working.

**David’s POV** Here in my New York apartment, as the relentless city rain echoes my mood, I find myself repeatedly drawn to the old, worn pages of Scarlet’s diary. This morning, the echoes of last night's indulgence weigh heavy, a migraine pulsing in the background as I numb it with the usual analgesic. But the diary demands attention once again. I flip to the last entry, a letter penned for me, her "Bumblebee," written in a moment of profound solitude and clarity.