Diary of the Gone Read Free

to
meet me. Bev propped her shoulder against the doorframe, her pouted
lips and folded arms very much the usual form of greeting me. This
time she added rolling her eyes to her ‘I-Hate-Callum’
etiquette.
    “ What’s with your
clothes?” Bev asked right away.
    Only then did Mom notice.
    “ Nothing,” I said. Thanks, Bev, I’ll
pay you back some day!
    “ Is it that Crosby boy
again?” Mom asked. “I promise I’ll give that ill-bred boy a
dressing-down when I see him next time.”
    “ It’s not him, Mom. Please
let it go,” I said, rushing past them towards the stairs. “I just
fell off Nate’s bike, and by the way, it doesn’t hurt, thanks for
asking.”
    Mom’s eyes bored into me, and I did my
best to stare back without blinking. As if she’d fallen for it, she
said, “Okay then. Change and go wash your hands. We’re having pork
roast, green beans, and creamed corn.”
    Mom went back to the kitchen, leaving
me and my sister alone. Bev stared at me, her lips pressed in a
thin line. “And a pinch of rat poison for you, sissy-pants!” she
hissed. “I know that Nathan doesn’t have a bike.”
    “ Bite me!” I said in a
hushed tone, and sprinted up the stairs.
     
    *
     
    For the rest of the evening I managed
to act as if nothing had happened. No carcass, no Shadow, no Mrs.
Palmer.
    Mom chattered excitedly about their
drive to the city while I did my best to show that I was listening
by inserting ‘I see’ and ‘Great’ once in a while. As soon as I
finished dinner, I went back to my room and locked the
door.
    The clock ticked on the
desk.
    Moonlight flooded through the dusty
windowpanes so I could see everything without switching on the
lamps. Posters of Breaking Benjamin and Linkin Park hung on the
walls; clothes, school books and CDs were strewn all over the place
along with crumpled papers and my bag.
    I limped across the room and collapsed
onto my bed. My leg still hurt from the fall. I massaged my ankle,
only causing it to hurt more.
    In all my life, I’d never been so
scared of falling asleep. I’d seen Shadows since I hit nine, but
today’s Shadow sent shivers all over me.
    I tried not to think about it, but the
harder I tried, the easier dark thoughts crept into my head. I
turned, pulling the soft blanket over myself. Doubtful protection
from nightmares. How naïve I’d been to think that my life would get
better if we moved to a place where nothing ever
happened.
    Seemed like the
right place for me. Until today. I
clenched my jaw tight.
    Lying full-length, I stretched my hand
behind the headboard where I kept my secret. My fingers scrabbled
through dust and cobwebs before I finally got it. I crouched, then
took a flashlight from under my bed and shone it onto the thing in
my lap, whisking the dust off it. An old diary.
    I had found it a few years
ago among the piles of books and magazines that cluttered our
basement back in Phoenix. Even though it had a few pages torn out,
it pulled me to itself as if by some mysterious force. Or maybe it
was because of my father’s name—Aiden Blackwell—that was written on
the back page. I’d never known Dad, and every time I asked Mom
about him, she usually stared at me with coldness, offering
non-committal replies that had me drop the subject. Dad must have
hurt her in some way ’cause she even took her maiden name back and
was Melanie Ford, not Melanie Blackwell.
    If I don’t write
about the Shadow, he’ll come. The diary is the only thing that can
stop the dead , I thought, and opened it to
the back page. Handwritten scrawl beneath my father’s name
went: Callum Blackwell . A bit lower the legend ran in smaller letters, in the hope
that anyone who might come across the diary wouldn’t see it: Diary of the Gone .
    Back in Phoenix I’d
needed to do something— anything —to stop the Shadows, and
surprisingly writing about it had worked for me. With time I’d
realized writing gave me the calm I couldn’t get out of anything
else.
    I