Seven Days Creepypasta

All Rights Reserved ©

Log 3

Log 3

Wednesday, February 19th

You know, at this fricken point, I could go on to a whole entire forty-five-minute tangent on how much all this SUCKS! But, after what just happened, there’s not much of a point seeing that I’ll be going through this insanity again.

Anyway, by some miracle I was able start today in a normal fashion. I guess I was still riding off the sense of triumph from last night’s encounter (and I can tell you now I certainly won’t be riding off it today).

And, like before, I didn’t bother trying to tell anyone about this. Because let’s be for real about this, who in their sane mind would believe any of this crap? My best friend? I considered it, but you can only get so far when you say, “I was hunted by a freak who looks a heckuva lot like The Joker, stabbed several times in the chest, brought back to life the next day like it never happened, then forced to play the world’s deadliest game of Hide ’n’ Seek with an undead girl, whose best friend is a shovel.” Yeah, somewhere along in there they’re going ask for something called evidence. And what do I have to show for that? Oh yeah! That’s right. These freaking logs. Real convincing right?

Anyway, class went on like normal. Thankfully no one sang “Ring Around the Rosie” this time around, but I knew that didn’t mean nothing bad would happen. I tried hoping for that the day before and look where that got me. It wasn’t until I got home that my day started going downhill.

When I arrived home, I didn’t say hi to my mom, hi to my dad, or hi to my brother and sister. I went straight to my room, locked the door, and hopped onto my computer. This person, this thing, or whatever the heck it is said it would talk to me today, so I sat back and waited.

The screen remained blank. No textboxes. No pop-ups. No anything.

Alright, I thought, crossing my arms. Fine. Wanna be like that? I’ll wait.

The minutes dragged by. Five, ten, then fifteen... When it reached thirty, I’d had enough.

“Oh, for crying out loud!” I said. “Say something already!”

The screen remained barren.

“Oh come on, really? You said you would talk to me today. I’m here now, so talk.”

Unlike yesterday, a textbox immediately appeared.

“Good, now we’re getting somewhere,” I muttered.

Text slowly began to fill the space.

“I thought we agreed that when you speak to me you would be respectful,” it said.

I snorted. “Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe I’m still a little ticked off at the fact I was killed and then hunted for the past two days by freaks that shouldn’t even exist, and after thinking I’ve gotten out of it, I’m reminded by another one on my computer that I’ll be doing it again for five more days.”

The moment those words left my lips, I knew I just made the same mistake as yesterday. I couldn’t afford that.

“Hang on wait,” I held up a hand just as text began to fill the screen. It did and I knew I only had one shot at making this right. So, taking a deep breath, I began again.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I said, lowering both my hand and tone. “Just, I’m upset over what’s happened the past couple of days. I mean, who wouldn’t be? Just knowing that more of this is coming my way, isn’t comforting.”

I waited and prayed.

The unfinished text vanished, and for a good minute nothing appeared inside the box save the blinking cursor; as if the writer was surprised by my sudden apology.

“I was beginning to think you did not learn anything from yesterday’s visitor,” it said a moment later. “I am glad to see I am wrong.”

I let out a sigh of relief. Man, that was close.

“So,” I went on, “may I ask why you’re doing this to me?” Because really, that’s the only real question to all of this.

“You may ask. But you will not receive an answer.”

My arms and jaw fell slack. “Why?” I asked, trying my best to not scoff.

“If you have to ask, you have not earned the right to know yet.”

“Earned?” I laughed. “I think being killed has earned me something.”

“Continuing to live, I would think, is rewarding enough.”

This thing had to be kidding me. I was tempted to tell him to go shove it, but I didn’t want to ruin my chances at finding answers. As hard as it was, I needed to play it cool.

Before I could think of something else to ask, he added, “Oh, while we are on the subject of your death, I wish to clarify that while you may have been able to come back the first time, do not think you will do so again.”

“What?” I blinked. I didn’t follow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, that you will not be able to cheat your way through this.”

“Cheat? Um…I tried leaving yesterday and still ended up in the woods with a homicidal undead girl. If I can’t so much as even leave, how can I possibly cheat, huh?”

Well, that was partly true. I had thought of a way out of this, but I was still contemplating whether it was a good idea or not. I just hoped that whatever he was referring to wasn’t what I was thinking of. But it was.

“Dying,” it said. “Do not think you can simply allow yourself to die each day to avoid the full extent of each encounter.”

I gritted my teeth. This thing thinks of everything doesn’t it?

“Why did I come back the first day then?” I asked.

“Because it was Log 1. It was your first time. Everyone deserves a second attempt after their first try.”

I gaped at the screen. This was so unfair. My quick and easy way out of this was now destroyed. And it pissed me off.

“Everyone, huh? So does that include Jeff too, because I killed him the first time? Fair and square, and yet he came back!”

“And so did you, remember?”

“That does not count,” I growled. “Jeff isn’t real. He never was real. He’s a freak from a story. And in that story, he’s considered human, which means killing him should have been the end of it. So if anything, bringing him back makes you the cheater.”

“Would it have made a good story if he had stayed dead?”

The question caught me off guard. I kept forgetting, (and still do), that all of this was just some sick story to him. I leaned back in my chair. I honestly didn’t have a comeback to that, but that made me wonder about something.

“What if I die again?” I asked. “Not intentionally, but for real. What then? That ends your story doesn’t it?”

“No, it ruins Your story. I would also highly recommend you guard your life more carefully, since there is a chance of escape from each visitor. It is a small chance, yes, but it is a chance nonetheless.”

Great! That sucks.

But I am not entirely inconsiderate,” it continued. “I do not expect you to survive each encounter. I do not believe you are that intelligent. So if your life is suddenly cut short by a visitor, you will have another chance. That is only, of course, if you are doing what is required. I will know when you are and when you are not attempting to survive.”

Wow. I hadn’t expected that kind of an answer. I wasn’t complaining, but it still put me back to where I started: Getting killed was out of the question. Regardless if I was doing what it wants or not, dying hurts. A Lot. So I’d gladly try to avoid it.

“Well, thank you, I guess,” I mumbled.

“You are welcome. But I am afraid that is all the time we have together today. I look forward to this next encounter.”

“Wait, what? But I—”

“Goodbye.” The textbox disappeared and once again, I was left alone in my room.

I stared at the monitor in disbelief then slammed a fist against my desk.

“Great!” I cried out. “I still don’t have the answers I want. What or who is coming next!?”

I considered trying to grab the thing’s attention again, but part of me already knew that wouldn’t work. I could only sit and wait for what would come next.

Or could I?

Now let me clarify something with you, reader. If there’s anything that I am not, it’s stupid. I don’t care how unintelligent that thing thought I was then or thinks I am now. Because I’m not. So if it thought I was going to let the next visitor catch me by surprise like the last two nights, it had another thing coming.

After finishing up with the computer I went ahead and slipped on my blue hoodie, grabbed my keys, my camera, my hunting knife, my cell phone, then headed to my car. If the next encounter would be anything like the last two, then it probably wouldn’t come skulking around until late in the day. It was one ’o’clock at that moment, so I still had a few hours of daylight to kill. I wasn’t going to spend them alone.

I drove to my best friend’s home. Now I know I already said there wasn’t much of a point trying to explain the insanity I’d gone through the past two days, but all that mattered then was that it would happen today.

When I arrived at my friend’s house, I could tell from the queer look on his face he was surprised by my sudden visit; I didn’t show up unannounced often. Still, he was pretty cool with me coming over (wish I could say he felt the same for the next “Person” coming over).

Like me, my friend Brando was also a college student and stayed at his brother’s house. His brother was up in Michigan so he was living alone for the week. He was about my height—if not taller—light skinned, dark haired, and—above all else—a jokester.

Naturally when I tried to explain everything that had happened, he didn’t take me seriously. I didn’t blame him. Who would?

“I’m telling you Brando,” I said, “somebody or something is coming to try and kill me tonight. I don’t know who or what, but it’ll be soon.”

Brando sat on the couch sipping a Coca-Cola, listening as I stood in front of him trying to explain my situation. So far, it was proving rather difficult (emphasis on ’difficult’).

“Look man,” he said with a skeptic shake of his head, “I’m pretty sure no monster or Creepypasta—or whatever—is going to try to kill you. Who would want to? You’re a great guy. And come on, let’s be for real about this, since when has anyone ever been killed by Jeff the Killer or Harry or whatever she’s called.”

“It’s Teri,” I corrected. “And DUDE! I’m not joking! You know when I joke and when I don’t joke! Please just listen to me!” I was on the verge yelling at that point. He just didn’t get how serious this was!

“Alright, alright,” he said gesturing a hand to me to calm down. “If you really think something is going to try and kill you, why not call the police? Get protection.”

Seriously, man? Like I never thought of that.

“Brando, look at me.” I gestured at myself. “Do you honestly think the cops would listen to a kid telling them what I just told you?”

He sucked in his bottom lip and raised his eyebrows for moment before answering. “Nope,” he said. “And I wouldn’t blame them since I don’t believe it either.”

“AHH!” I turned and threw my hands up. This is getting me nowhere! I rubbed a hand over my face, then paused. Wait a minute. I slid my hand low enough for my eyes to see. If Brando saw the visitor…

And just like that, I had an idea.

“Alright then how about this,” I turned, placing both hands on my hips, “I’ll prove it to you. Let me stay here for the night. Okay? So that way, if someone comes to get me—excuse me—when someone comes to get me, you’ll see it firsthand and you’ll know I wasn’t lying. How’s that sound?”

God, please let him say yes.

Brando leaned back on the couch in thought, before drawing in a deep breath through his nose and slowly nodding his head. “Alright,” he said. “Sure, man. But I’m telling you, nothing is coming.”


“Thank you! You have no idea how much better I’m feeling now.” I reached into my pockets and pulled out both my knife and camera. “And just before I settle in for the night,” I tossed him the camera, “here.”

Brando caught my camera. He turned it over with a frown then glanced up. “What’s this for?” he asked.

“It’s for when you start hearing me yell or scream. Oh, and just don’t snap pictures, hit the record button.”

He raised an eyebrow at me then nodded. “Alright, man. Whatever you say. But, again, I’m telling you—nothing will happen.”

And I was telling him, something would definitely happen. I just hoped coming there had been the right choice.

The hours passed quicker than expected and before I knew it, it was nine ’o’clock. Brando was in the living room playing his PS3 while I sat on the bed in the guestroom with my knife in hand and my eyes on both the windows, the door, and clock. I knew Brando was wrong in assuming nothing would happen, but I was starting to get edgy. It was getting late, something should have happened by then—knocking, evil laughter, creepy singing, something to suddenly erupt my peaceful evening, yet all seemed quiet.

I swear, if nothing happens and I end up looking like an idiot…

It would’ve been a huge embarrassment, so I continued to wait.

9:30 p.m. came and still nothing had happened. It’s okay. They’ll show up any minute now.

10 p.m. arrived and the only thing that had showed up were the anxious beads of sweat gathering on my forehead. Okay, I assured myself, so whoever’s coming next is building up the suspense. I can take it.

10:30 p.m. I began to tap the tip of my blade on my knee.

11 p.m. Me: “………”

When the clock hit 11:20 p.m., I decided to call it a night. Midnight was less than forty minutes away, which meant that Day 3/Log 3 would end, and Log 4 will have begun. I seriously doubted that if the freak did show up, it would have enough time to do anything to me before time ran out.

I said goodnight to Brando, turned off the lights, and locked the doors and windows—just in case. I placed the knife on the nightstand next to the bed, within easy reach. Staying the night there had been a spur-of-the-moment decision so, in turn, I didn’t have a change clothes for the night (way to go me). Taking a deep breath, I rested my head against the pillow, and closed my eyes.

Despite my anxiety, sleep came easily, but didn’t last long. I was in the middle of a pretty good dream too. I’d just found the man responsible for all of this and was about to shoot the lunatic in the face when a large crash yanked me back into the world of the living. I sat up, groggy.

“What was that?” I muttered, still out of it. I wiped the sleep from eyes, then peered at the digital clock on the nightstand: 11:50 p.m.

I was only asleep for thirty minutes? Pfft, great.

I heard something large fall outside of my door.


That brought me out of my stupor. I snatched my knife and listened for anything else, but night had resumed its silence.

Could it have been Brando I heard? I wondered. Maybe, but I needed to be sure. Better to be safe than sorry.

I slid out of bed and keeping my movements slow and quiet, I approached the door. When I reached it, I grabbed the knob and after a deep breath, opened the door just a tad.

I didn’t see anything in the hallway, but I knew that didn’t mean everything was fine. Building up my courage, I left the bedroom and headed to Brando’s room, just at the end of the hall. Once I reached the door, I pressed my ear against it and listened. I couldn’t hear anything, which meant either he was asleep or, worst case scenario, he was dead. There was only one way to find out. Clenching the knife, I grabbed the knob, and burst through the door ready to face anything that lay waiting.

“WHAT THE HELL!?” Brando’s voice greeted me. He lay in bed, his eyes foggy from sleep, and judging by what he’d just said, pretty pissed off. “Huh? J? What’s wrong with you? I’m trying to get some sleep!”


“I…uh...” I mumbled.

Brando flipped on the lights and sat up. “Dude,” he said shaking his head, “look, I know you said you were having some strange crap happen to you and all, but come on. This is over the top!”

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t hear any noise in here so I thought that maybe you might be uh…be uh…”

“Dead?” He raised an eyebrow.

I swallowed hard. “Yeah, sorry.”

He sighed. “Dude, just get some sleep. Alright?”

“Yeah, alright. Sorry,” I apologized. Feeling stupid, I turned to head back to my room, but paused. “But before I go,” I asked, “what was that noise I heard?”

“Noise?” Brando looked confused. “What noise?”

“You know that large crash or whatever? It woke me up. I thought maybe it may have been you and—” I stopped, suddenly realizing how stupid I was.

Brando was just sleeping. He couldn’t’ve made the noise!

“Oh, crap,” I muttered. I glanced over my shoulder back down the darken hallway. Was it just me, or did the shadows seem a lot more sinister?

“What is it man?” Brando asked.

“Where’s my camera?” I asked, turning back to him.


“Where. Is. My. Camera?” I repeated.

Brando cocked his bewildered head for a second before reaching by his bedside and pulling my Sony handycam from beneath it. “Here,” he said. “Why?”

“Turn on the night vision setting and start recording. We’ve got a visitor.”

“What!?” Brando said, getting out of bed. “You’re kidding me?”

“No.” I continued scanning the hallway for anything out of the ordinary.

“Dude!” Brando sounded panicked. “Are you really being serious right now?”

I sighed and, rolling my eyes, turned back to him. “Yes, man! I’m being dead serious! Grab the camera and let’s go.”

“Hell no!” He shook his head, backing away. “I’m not going down there.” He hurried back to his bedside, grabbed the home line on the nightstand, and began to dial somebody.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m calling the police!” He placed the phone to his ear.

I snorted. “Yeah, like that’s going to work.”

“J., just shut up and—wuh?” His face turned slack. He looked at the phone then clicked a few buttons before placing it back to his ear once more.

“What the hell?” he murmured.

“Oh, yeah?” I asked. I think I knew what was coming. It didn’t take a horror writer to guess.

Brando lowered his hand and stared down at the phone. He began shaking his head in disbelief. “It says it can’t reach that number. How the hell can’t it reach 911!?”

“Told-ya,” I muttered.

He placed the phone down. “Try your cell!”

Yeah, like that’ll work.

“No,” I said tossing it to him. “You try it.”

He flipped open the phone and didn’t waste a second to punch in 911.

The phone rang once then a female voice came on the line. “We’re sorry,” it said. “The number you have dialed is either changed, disconnected, or—” Brando cursed then threw the phone down.

“See?” I said to him crossing my arms.

Brando muttered several other curses under his breath before asking, “What do we do then?”

Haahaha, like I’d know?

“Well,” I began, “if you have a weapon, grab it. Then grab my camera and do what I told you to do earlier: Start recording.”

I turned and began to move down the hall. No sense to keep whatever it was waiting.

“Dude, what the hell?” Brando called after me. “You’re not going to—” there was a loud pop and the light above Brando winked out.

He swore.

Yyyyyeeeaaahhhh, welcome to my life Brando.

Once I reached the end of the hall, I scanned around. The living room was dark. Without any lights, I could barely see three feet in front of me. I heard a few pots or pans fall from the far side of the room, where the kitchen connected.

Oh, wonderful.

“Dude!” I hissed to Brando. “Hurry up! It’s in the kitchen.”

Brando stood at the door frame, looking at me like I was crazy. “Are you kidding?” he whispered back. “Hell no!”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Dude, look, you got two options: You can either hide in your bedroom with only a two inched, hollow door separating you from death and wait on the off chance of the police showing up—which will be never. Or you can come with me and try to get the heck out of here. Which is it?”

He blinked for a few seconds, and then headed my way.

“Good choice,” I told him. “Now, let’s go.”

We tiptoed our way to the front door which was thankfully in the living room.

Finally, a stroke of luck, I thought.

I grabbed the door handle and pulled.

Only, it didn’t.

“What?” I gasped.

I pulled again. The door didn’t move.

“What the hell?” Brando whispered behind me. “Is it locked?”

I checked. “No,” I shook my head and gave it another good yank, “I think there’s something holding it shut on the other end.” I grabbed it with both hands and tried a few more times.


“Crap!” I cursed under my breath. “Maybe we can use one of the windows?”

Something large fell in the kitchen. My gaze shot in the noise’s direction.

“But, not in here,” I added. “That thing will hear us.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Brando whispered back. “My room then.”

We about-faced and made our way back to his room as quickly and quietly as possible. Brando, having the infrared camera, went first. Once we reached his bedroom door, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. This seemed a little too easy.

Brando grabbed the knob and pushed.

The door didn’t open.

I groaned. Oh, that’s why.

Brando tried again, putting both hands on the knob and giving it a good push. “For real?” he hissed. He tried shoving it open with his weight, but in vain. The door didn’t budge an inch. “Son of—” He cursed under his breath. “We just came in from there! Why won’t it open?”

“Do you really want to know?” I asked incredulously. Brando thought for a moment then shook his head.

“Well,” I looked back down the hall, “we could try using the guest room’s window,” I suggested.

He raised both eyebrows with a skeptic look. “J., if this thing was able to somehow lock my door shut without coming down here, don’t you think that door’s going to be locked too?”

Um, good point.

“Well do you have a better idea?” I asked.

Brando let out a nervous breath. “Yeah,” he nodded, raising his gaze back towards the living room, “I do. But it involves making our way through the kitchen.”

I stared at him. Um…Did I just hear him right?

“Say that again?” I almost laughed. “I thought you just said something crazy.”

He lowered his eyes to mine, as serious as death. “We have to make our way past the kitchen,” he said again.

Oh, Lord, why?

I closed my eyes, and slowly nodded my head in agreement. “Alright then. Fine. Let’s go, but you’re going first.”

His eyes widened. “What? Why?”

“Cause you have the camera with night vision. That’s why!”

“And you’ve got the knife!”

I opened my mouth to give a witty reply but realized: I didn’t have one.

Ahh, damn it. I slammed my mouth shut. I hate it when he does that.

I sucked in my lips and gazed back down the hall. I didn’t like it, but Brando had a good point. Drawing in a long, reluctant breath, I whispered, “Fine! I’ll go. But you better tell me if you see something. I’m not getting killed a second time.”

So with me grudgingly leading the way, we returned to the living room.

“Alright,” I whispered once we reached it. “What’s the plan?”

Brando peered through the camera looking for anything lurking within the darkness before answering, “Okay, there’s a screen door leading to the garage with my car. I left the garage door open so if we can reach my car, we can get the hell out of here.”

I gave him a dubious look. “What about the door in there? Won’t it be locked too then?”

“It’s a screen door, and the lock’s broken. I’ve been meaning to fix it before my brother gets back.”

“Okay, makes sense. But I’ve got one question.”


“How do we get past that thing?” I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder gesturing at the kitchen.

Brando remained silent.

“Your lack of answer is not very comforting, buddy.”

Brando face turned ominous. “Why don’t you go in there and distract the thing while I run and get the car ready?”

My jaw dropped. “You’re kidding?”


“Uh-uh. Brando I’m not doing that.”

“You have a better idea?”

“Yeah, you distract him, and I get the car ready.”

“Uh…No; and here’s why: A.) you don’t know where the keys are. B.) I do. C.) This thing is after you, not me. So if you go to the car, it’s going to run after you.”

Damn it! Will he stop doing that!?

I was going to protest when I heard glass break directly behind me. I spun around with the knife in hand.

I heard Brando take in a sharp breath behind me. He must have seen what it was in front of us through the camera, and it scared him.

I could only wonder what.

A lamp blazed to life on a stool in front of me. I had to blink a few times to get used to the lighting.

Who turned that on?

My eyes widened once I saw who did.

“Oh, fffffuuuuuuuu…” I heard Brando breathe behind me.

Before us stood a figure wearing dark pants, a solid black hoodie, while on his face, a blue mask with two large, empty, dark sockets for eyes. Something black trickled from each socket down its face.

“Oh-no-no-no-no-no-no!” Not this guy! “Eyeless Jack!?” I exclaimed.

The one Creepypasta story where the freak doesn’t talk and doesn’t have some sort of back story.

Crap! We were screwed.

For a moment, none of us reacted; we just stood there looking and taking each other in. The moment shattered when Brando took off like a flash towards the kitchen.

“Hey!” I cried. I went to run after him, but Jack had other plans.

He dashed forward and lunged at me.

I halted and tried to raise the knife but was a fraction too late. He hit me full force in the chest and knocked the knife aside with his arm. My back hit the ground hard and within seconds, Jack was on top of me.

I tried to recall how Jack killed people, through the few seconds of the fight, but my mind came up with a blank. The story didn’t say.

Jack tried to claw at my chest, but I threw my head forward, head-butting him.

“Ow! Damn it!” I cursed at the pain.

The blow dazed Jack only a moment before he resumed his onslaught, but the few seconds had been enough. I managed to grab the knife and slice up at his mask. He jerked his face back barely avoiding the blade. As he did, I threw my knees forward and pushed him off. He fell back and bumped into a neighboring stool. I scrambled up before he could recover and raced after Brando. I heard Jack behind me rise and give chase.

I entered the kitchen and nearly tripped on a few scattered pans, the same ones I’d heard earlier. Beyond that, I saw the screen door, leading to the garage, dangling open on its side. I wondered if either Jack had broken it to get in or Brando had broken it to get out, regardless, it was my way out. I ran to it. I’d just passed over the door’s threshold when something snagged the back of my hoodie.

“Ah!” I cried out in surprise, as I was yanked back inside the kitchen.

Jack had caught up with me at the last second.

So close but yet so bloody far!

Fortunately, I hadn’t let go of the knife. I did a one-eighty and stabbed at Jack, but he had been expecting that. He jumped out of the path of the knife and grabbed my hand; holding it before slamming his fist into my face. I felt the knife slip out of my hand as I stumbled back in a daze.

“Oh crap!” I let out, before his shoulder slammed into my chest. I fell back through the door and down the short flight of steps into the garage. I got onto my hands and knees and tried to get up, but Jack reached me first and kicked me in the stomach. The pain felt so bad, I thought I’d been stabbed by Jeff again. I fell over onto my side.

Not wasting a second, Jack jumped on top of me for a second time. Before I could even attempt to try and push him off like last time, his hands wrapped around my throat, and began to squeeze.

With my supply of oxygen turned off, I started wheezing and gasping for air. I tried to hit him, but my punches came off slow and he brushed them off. I felt my heart ram against my ribcage as my lungs starved for air and my vision begin to swim with dozens of dots dancing around. If I didn’t act fast, he’d choke me to death. Where the hell was Brando!?

My sight shrunk into two small tunnels, with only Jack’s void-filled sockets at the other end. That strange black substance, still dripping, and trailing down his cheeks from them. That sparked an idea. With what little air I had left, I spat directly into his left socket. On reflex, his head jerked back in surprised disgust. His grip slightly loosened, and that was all I needed. I reeled back and quickly kicked him off. Scrambling back to my feet and gasping for air at the same time, I scanned the garage to find the garage door wide open and Brando’s car: missing.

“OH, BRANDO!” I yelled, “COME ON!”

I glanced back at Jack to see him climb to his feet.

I was in no condition to go head-to-head with that freak for a third round. I bolted through the garage door. My keys were still in my pocket and my Ford was just outside. I still had a chance.

I raced out into the night and headed straight for my parked car under a neighboring tree. As I ran, I shoved my hand into my pocket, and fumbled for the keys.

“Come on…come on, where are they?” I cried.

I risked a glance back over my shoulder, expecting to see Jack hot on my heels. He wasn’t there.

“What the?” Where’d he go?

I turned back towards my car.

“Oh crap!”

I skidded to a halt.

“What!?” I cried out. “No fair!”

Jack stood a few feet in front of my car, waiting for me.

I’d reached my breaking point. I did not have the strength to fight this guy.

As if sensing that fact, Jack slowly began to approach me.

Man! I thought as I started backing away. Why did I drop the knife!?

Jack drew closer. Only a yard between me and my impending doom.

“You know,” I said in between pants, “I’ve always wonder what you look like underneath that mask of yours. But right now, though, I’m betting it’s a big, ol’, nasty smile.”

It was over. Only half a yard between us now.

Suddenly two bright lights blazed to life from my right, followed by the revving of an engine, then the loud screeching of tires. I turned to see a dark car come plummeting towards us.

I dove backwards just in time to see it race by, and Jack? Jack never stood a chance. The car crashed right into him. His body flew several yards, landed, then flipped over five or six times before rolling to a stop. His body lay broken, twisted, and unmoving. I prayed it would stay that way.

The car skidded to a halt right after hitting Jack. The driver’s side door opened, and out stepped none other than Brando.

“How’s my driving, dumbass!” he hollered at Jack’s corpse, then turned to me. “Hey J., you okay?”

I gaped at him. Then I started laughing. “Dude! That was badass!” I shuffled over to him.

Brando beamed. “Yeah,” he said, stretching his arms, as if saving my fricking life was no big deal. “It was nothing. I thought you were doing fine until you reached your car.”

“Hahahahah! Dude, and here I thought you’d left me.”

Brando looked at me with feigned surprise. “Me? Leave in the face of danger? Of course not!”

We both laughed. When we’d had our fill, Brando gazed back at Jack’s corpse.

“Oh, by the way,” he said, his voice and face turning serious, “I believe you now.”

I nodded in understanding. He’d never been one to give a straight up apology.

“Yeah, well it’s over now,” I said. “But if it’s okay with you, dude, I wanna stay at my house for the rest of the night.”

“Oh, no problem at all, man.” Then he snorted. “Hell, I was planning on staying at your place too.”

I laughed a little at that then headed to my car.

“Oh, J.! One last thing,” Brando said.

I turned. “What?” I asked.

“Well, just before I came to your rescue, I had the brilliant idea to…” he reached into the car and lifted out my camera, “record my victory.” He grinned.

I gaped then smiled. “That’s awesome! I’ve got solid evidence of this crap now. Thank you!”

“Well, yeah,” he laughed, “it was nothing. I’ll meet you at your place.”

I nodded in return.

Brando gave me one last smile then got back into his car and took off down the road.

I unlocked my car and opened the door feeling triumphant once more. With the footage Brando had gotten, I could take it to the police, show my family, and prove to them I wasn’t crazy. And, most importantly of all, I could shove it in the face of the freak responsible for all of this.

I released a sigh of relief that was long overdue and smiled.

I was still smiling when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Thinking it was Brando, I turned, but as I did, I realized three important things:

1. Brando had just driven down the road.

2. I hadn’t bothered to make sure Jack really was dead.

3. And three, I wasn’t going to be able to show that footage now.

The last thing I saw was Jack’s hand clawing into my face, and the last thing I felt was the searing pain that came with it.

And here it is five in the morning of the next day with nothing but nightmares and memories of last night’s encounter to show for it. I woke up in bed with both hands on my face, screaming. Luckily, I didn’t wake anybody up, but I’m still stuck in this horrible nightmare. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep any time soon, I decided to hop back onto my computer to record this very log. And like last time, nobody realizes what’s happened except me. The footage on my camera from last night is gone. I called Brando, and he says I never even spoke to him yesterday; and the bumps and bruises I had picked up from Jack have also vanished.

I don’t go to school for another two hours, but when I do, I’ll know that Log Four will have officially started.

Continue Reading Next Chapter

About Us

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered publisher, providing a platform to discover hidden talents and turn them into globally successful authors. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books our readers love most on our sister app, GALATEA and other formats.