July 11, 2023
Dear Diary,
Life's been… chaos. The kind of chaos where you're not sure if you're living inside a teen movie or just slowly unraveling in glitter and snack wrappers. Anyway—hi. You're my new diary. Welcome to the madness.
I'm Emma Blanders. Fifteen. Sometimes dramatic. Always overthinking. My best friend is Chloe Williams—sharp-tongued, loud-laughed, and an absolute menace in the best way. Then there's Peter Baggins. We've basically grown up side by side, and he's always just… been there. But lately, something's felt off. Not bad. Just weird. Like my brain's buffering every time he's around. He's still the same dork making dumb puns and acting like he invented cool. I don't know what my deal is.
Anyway. See you tomorrow, Diary.
(If I don't trip over my own feet and embarrass myself in public again.)
---
I woke up by falling straight out of bed. No warning. No grace. Just thump—blanket tangled around my leg, cheek pressed against the floor like I'd passed out mid-yoga. My alarm hadn't even gone off yet.
For a minute, I just lay there, blinking at the ceiling, wondering if today really needed to happen. But it did. It always does. And truthfully, I wanted it to. I love my friends. I love the chaos of school mornings, the random conversations about space slugs and fairy politics, the smell of stage makeup from the drama room, the silly group chats about the school play. That's where I feel most like myself. Not fully figured out—but close.
So I stood up, ran a brush through my hair (kind of), and pulled on whatever felt soft and semi-acceptable. My favorite old pajama pants—blue, slightly worn—and an oversized hoodie I may or may not have stolen from my brother's closet. My sneakers looked like they'd been through a zombie apocalypse, but I wasn't about to give them up.
Downstairs, the kitchen was already awake. Burnt toast, humming appliances, and the ever-familiar click of keys on the counter. Mom stood in full work mode—Detective Eden Blanders, well she is a police officer, sharp as always. Her badge caught the morning light as she moved, and her hair was pinned back in a bun that said, Don't mess with me before coffee.
"Eat first, Emma," she called out, tossing a granola bar and a plate of scrambled eggs and orange juice on the table without even glancing up. It was too much to eat. But I had to do it, because she learned it from somewhere that eating more makes you mentally healthy.
I stared at it like it might bite.
She finally looked my way and gave me the stare. The Eden Blanders Stare. Sharp, unreadable, and somehow worse than yelling.
"You can't live on sarcasm and dreams," she added, sipping from her thermos.
I took a bite of the granola bar and shrugged. "Debatable."
She grabbed her keys, halfway out the door, then paused and looked back. "You look nice today," she said, softer. "Like your dad when he was pretending to be tough but clearly daydreaming about something else."
Well to give you a background check, my parents are divorced and my mom thinks I am suffering from epic depression because of it, she trys to be the best mother, but seriously I am not a depressed freak, I didn't even knew what it meant until she mentioned it to me, that I am. I was like what??? But then she is scared for me because I daydream a lot, it's like a bad habit of mine that I can't shake off, my parents and friends are also concerned about the fact. But I don't care anymore about it, as you know I can do nothing.
Well then we went to the car to my 'MAPLEWOOD HIGH SCHOOL, TEXAS' , leave the house behind.
---
School was buzzing the way it always did in the mornings—footsteps, rushed locker slams, someone already yelling across the hall. I slipped through it all like I belonged, which I guess I did. Same hallway. Same backpack. Same people. But I was too early, that's why the chaos was not that strong, only a few of them arrived but still I started to get the vibes.
And then there he was.
Peter, leaning against the lockers like it was a movie set and he had a fan blowing dramatically at him. Hoodie sleeves pushed up, a dumb grin on his face, and that casual air of someone who didn't try to be cool but somehow pulled it off. He looked stupid btw. Well maybe.
"Early bird," he said, spotting me. "What, did your bed kick you out?"
"Something like that," I muttered, trying not to look too amused for the fact that it really did.
We walked for a bit, talking about cereal, mismatched socks, and whether that one vending machine is actually cursed well it's not been working for years so maybe it is, sincenthe day got into High school, it remained broken, so i believe I am even more cursed.
It wasn't deep(the talk). It wasn't anything, really. But somehow, it felt like… something.
Then, right on cue, Chloe popped up beside us like a possesd ghost.
"Girl," she whispered, eyeing me like she already knew too much. "You're giving feelings."
She is a stunningly gorgeous girl, (barbie vibes).
Wear a tune top with denim scots, and this is me totally different from all the girls. She is always excited about these teenager things you know.
I shot her a look. "Shut up."
Peter heard it all, he acted playing dumb, but obviously inam not that dumb to not notice his side eye.
He turned around just as I flushed bright red. "Did you swim to shore in that blue outfit," he asked with a smirk, "or are you just having a whale of a time?"
"Wow. That was painful." i graoned, " if swimming to the shore means dealing with your jokes, I will stay in deep end"
"Guess I'm just krillin' it," he said, winking like he was proud of himself but I am not that dumb to notice that irritated face like he just lost the battle.
Chloe rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might escape her skull. "One more ocean pun and I swear I'm jumping into the nearest puddle with both of you.."
And just like that, the day had begun. Loud, ridiculous, a little sparkly in the way good days sometimes start without warning.
There's this one thing that binds our souls together—me, Peter, and Chloe. A secret, tucked deep into the corners of who we are. We're obsessed with the supernatural stuff. Magic, mysterious creatures, unexplained phenomena... the kind of stuff people laugh off as bedtime stories or fairytales. But for us? It's different. From the moment Peter's mom telling us these kind of stories made us believe that they are real, and I find aunt Julie also believes in this stuff, I have this weird feeling about her too. She is hiding something.
Everyone says magic isn't real. Just fiction. Just fantasy. Oh really, we haven't witnessed it exist but still those who say it doesn't exist also have witnessed it not happening, I mean you know what I actually mean to say is, we can't be so sure about both the possibilities.
I feel it. Deep down, like a quiet whisper in my bones—something telling me it's all true. Not because I've seen it with my own eyes (not yet, at least), but because some part of me just knows. And that's enough to keep the fire alive in all of us.
We even have a secret room. It's hidden away in the far end of my garage—dusty, untouched for the last five years until we claimed it. That room is our sanctuary. Our research lab. No one knows about it except us three, not even my mom, it was not allowed for me to go to that garage because it's at the starting point of a forest.
Our portal into the world of the unknown. We've filled it with books, maps, clippings from newspapers, and tiny red threads connecting theories no one else would dare believe.
And you know what's even better? My mom's a police officer, I mean you know that . Which gives me access to the kind of information that never makes it to the public. Weird case files. People vanishing into thin air. Others appearing out of nowhere with no memory of where they came from. The official reports always try to rationalize it—blame it on amnesia or mental illness. But sometimes, buried between the lines, are details that don't add up. And that's where we dig in.
Most of the cases we've found are from Texas. And trust me, if there's one place that feels like a magnet for mystical energy, it's there. Our research points to strange sightings—creatures no one can name, symbols etched into abandoned places, stories whispered in the dark.
Still, nothing truly magical has happened around us. Not yet. We're kind of stuck—limited by what we can access. So far, it's all been about Texas, and we haven't seen anything weird firsthand. But I believe it's only a matter of time.
Magic hides from those who don't believe in it.
But we do.
And maybe, just maybe, it's waiting for the right moment to show itself to us.
Laughter erupted around me, dragging me out of whatever space my mind had wandered into. I blinked fast, the classroom slowly coming back into focus. Chloe's hand was firmly on my shoulder, shaking me gently.
"Emma! Earth to Emma!"
And then came that all-too-familiar voice—sharp, dramatic, and dripping with fake patience.
"Excuse me, I'm talking to you, Miss Emma Blanders," Mrs. Maria Grace said, one eyebrow arched like a cartoon villain. She is one.
Before I could even respond, Amanda—the queen of unnecessary sarcasm—leaned over her desk and said loudly, "Ma'am, she can't hear you. She's deaf." and at that moment I thought I lost it, i felt like punching her on the nose until it bleeds, well too violent leave it.
A few people snorted. Others muffled their giggles behind their books. The air buzzed with whispers, and I felt every pair of eyes on me like lasers.
Clearing my throat, I sat up straighter. "Yes, Mrs. Grace?" dying from embarrassment.
She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Did you happen to read the first two chapters I asked everyone to go through?"
What are the odds? Of course I'd be the chosen one today. My mouth went dry, and I felt the heat creep up my neck.
"I... I'm sorry. I didn't get a chance."
A long pause. She folded her arms.
"Speak with me after class, please."
"Sure, ma'am."
And just like that, the room moved on. I slouched lower in my seat, wishing I could disappear between the cracks in the floor. I forgot to mention—Mrs. Maria Grace, our history teacher, is... different. Not just strict-teacher different. Otherworldly different. I don't know what it is, but I've always been able to read people—feel what they're hiding beneath the surface. But her? Nothing. Total static. A blank wall.
Creepy, right?
As I sat there thinking about her and trying to pretend I hadn't just embarrassed myself in front of half the school, Chloe's voice cut through the fog like a siren.
"Emma Blanders, you freak! You were full-on daydreaming again." She narrowed her eyes. "No offense, but now I kinda get why Aunt Eden thinks you're depressed. You scared us half to death just now! Imagine if she saw you like that?"
I blinked at her, feeling a little defensive. "I'm fine, okay? Seriously. You know me. Why are you being so dramatic? I wasn't that out of it."
"You didn't blink for like... five straight minutes," she deadpanned.
"Maybe I was meditating," I snapped playfully. But it shocked me too much "Ever heard of inner peace, Chloe?"
Before she could say anything else, I felt a hand brush against my forehead, gently wiping away a line of sweat I hadn't realized was there. I turned.
Peter.
His hazel eyes were squinting at me, stupid.
"You okay? Or did you just have a vision of the apocalypse again?" he joked, his voice low and warm.
My heart did this weird, fluttery thing. Not fair. Not when he looked this good with messy hair and that perfectly crooked smile. Ugh.
"I'm fine, Prophet Peter," I said, swatting his hand away with mock seriousness. "You should worry about yourself—your hair looks like it wrestled with a cat."
He laughed, raising an eyebrow. "Still better than the 'zoned-out zombie chic' you're rocking."
Chloe leaned back, smirking. "Aw, the flirty banter begins. Someone's gonna confess under the full moon."
Peter looked at her, then at me, pretending to gasp. "Is this... true? Emma Blanders, do you love me?"
I rolled my eyes dramatically. "Only when you bring me snacks. Otherwise, it's strictly platonic. The great king of assholes"
We all laughed, but deep inside, my nerves were still tingling. Not from embarrassment anymore—but from that weird, icy chill that had run down my spine just moments ago. It was like the room had... shifted. Like something had watched me while I was zoned out.
Peter caught my expression.
"Hey," he said, softer now, his eyes locking onto mine. "Seriously. You sure you're okay?"
I nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just... something felt off for a second. Like I wasn't alone in my head."
He didn't laugh this time.
Chloe looked between us, suddenly more alert. "You felt it too, didn't you? Because i felt that too. DAMN"
The smile faded from Peter's face.
I swallowed. "Maybe its just the overthinking " well I know it wasn't.
The bell rang, its shrill echo cutting through the chatter of the class like a blade. Everyone shot up, ready to bolt, but I stayed frozen in my seat. Mrs. Grace's eyes flicked toward me, steady and unreadable.
"Miss Blanders. My desk," she said, not harshly—but with a tone that made the hairs on my arms rise.
Chloe mouthed Good luck dramatically before disappearing out the door with Peter. I took a deep breath and stood, walking up to her desk like I was walking into a lion's den.
She didn't say anything right away. Just started arranging a few papers on her desk, way too calm. The silence was unbearable.
"I... I'm sorry about earlier," I said, trying to sound casual, but my voice cracked like a dry leaf.
She glanced up at me for a heartbeat, then nodded. "Daydreaming is dangerous, Emma. Especially when your mind is wide open."
What?
Before I could ask what she meant, her phone buzzed. She picked it up, muttered something into it, and then looked back at me. "Wait here. I'll be back in a moment."
And with that, she swept out of the room, leaving her purse and—most importantly—her drawer slightly ajar.
I should've waited.
But curiosity practically yanked me forward. My heart hammered as I leaned over and gently tugged the drawer open just a little more.
Inside… were books. Old, like really old. Bound in cracked leather with symbols I didn't recognize. One had a crescent moon burned into the cover. Another had pages sticking out, full of handwritten notes in some ancient-looking script.
I spotted a folded paper tucked in the corner—it looked newer. I pulled it out with trembling fingers. It was a photo.
Of Mrs. Grace.
Standing beside a group of students dressed in a style that looked like it was from the 1960s. And she looked... exactly the same. Not even a wrinkle out of place.
My blood turned cold.
Then—click.
The door opened behind me.
"Looking for something, Miss Blanders?" came her voice—cool and sharp like broken glass.
I jumped, almost dropping the photo. I fumbled it back into the drawer and slammed it shut.
"I—I wasn't—"
But she was already walking toward me. Not angry. Not yelling. Just... staring. Calm. Too calm.
Her eyes locked onto mine. "Curiosity," she said softly, "is the first step to knowledge. But knowledge has a price."
I stood there, speechless, my chest tight. I could feel her energy. It was different now. Bigger. Older. Something about her presence filled the whole room.
"You're not like the others," she said, almost to herself. "But you're reckless. Just like I was, fifty years ago."
My stomach dropped. "Wait—what?"
She smiled, but not kindly. "I've been teaching for over fifty years, Emma. But I've been learning for far longer than that." she realised she shouldn't have said that in too much flow. Her hands started shaking.
I blinked, stunned. My brain refused to process what she just said. Fifty years? She didn't look a day over forty-five.
She took a step closer, and suddenly the air felt heavier—like the walls were listening. Watching.
"Some doors," she whispered, "should stay closed. Now go. And don't speak of this again."
"But—"
"Go."
Her voice didn't rise, but it didn't need to. Something about the way she said it made my legs move on their own. I turned and stumbled out of the classroom, pulse thudding in my ears.