"Is this the Haunted House Owner's diary? He even records his murders?"
Shao Wen suspected it was a prop, too, but the diary's contents felt all too real. Just reading them made his heart race, as if he were right there.
Even if the diary was fictional, anyone capable of writing such things couldn't be normal.
Shao Wen took a deep breath and tried to put the diary down, but something even more terrifying happened.
His body seemed to have lost control. His hands turned the pages, and his eyes remained fixed on the blood-red writing. He couldn't even look away. It was as if the diary were trying to suck his soul inside.
His body temperature kept dropping. The words in the diary seemed to turn into blood-red symbols, while the voices of countless dead people rang in his ears. Arms reached out from the corners of the room and seized him.
His teeth began to chatter, and the sound of his heartbeat grew impossibly loud. At last, Shao Wen's hand turned to a blank page in the diary.
Just when he thought it was finally over, drop after drop of blood fell onto the Diary, like lives plummeting from a great height and leaving behind one glaring bloodstain after another.
The crimson blood seeped into the paper, and lines of text appeared on the blank page: "Year Month Day. Someone read the story I wrote. Now I'm going to write him into it, too."
The arms gripping him began to pull with all their strength. Shao Wen felt his body about to be torn apart. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. All he could do was watch as he was dragged into the Storybook. Then, in one last look back, he saw to his horror