Someones watching me - Pastel Goth Life - LyssaGal - Dear Dreambook(1)

Dear DreamBook, Someone’s Watching Me

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2087.08.06 – 23:47:31

THREAT LEVEL: MEDIUM

Journal Entry

August 11, 5:42 p.m.

Tonight the light came on again.

No sound. No flicker. Just… green.
Soft and still, like a breath held in the dark.

I didn’t move.
Didn’t cover it. Didn’t speak.

I just watched.

The glow touched the edge of my desk, lit up the rim of my teacup, caught a glint in my eye from the screen.
It stayed on for five full minutes.
Long enough to mean something.

I looked straight into it the whole time.
Not angry. Not scared. Just curious.
Like watching an animal through glass — unsure if it sees me, or if I’m the one in the cage.

Then, without warning, it clicked off.
5:47 p.m.
No trace it had ever been on.
No recording saved.
No explanation offered.

I sat there another ten minutes after. Still.
Listening. Thinking.

I wonder if they know I’m watching them too.

I don’t think this is about me going crazy.
I think it’s about someone hoping I do.

LOCATION: SECTOR 7-G, RESIDENTIAL BLOCK 449 STRESS: ELEVATED | COMPLIANCE: 94.7%

Whisper’s Of The Unseen – Dear Diary

Whispers of the Unseen: Kay’s Final Night of 1976

Diary Entry: December 31, 1976

Dear Diary,

It’s me, Kay. Tonight’s the last night of 1976, and everything feels… unsettled, like the world is holding its breath, waiting for something. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m standing on the edge of something big, like a secret just waiting to be uncovered. Something that’s always been there, just beneath the surface, only now it’s starting to reveal itself.

I’ve always known I wasn’t exactly like the other girls in town. There’s something about me that’s different… beyond normal, I guess you’d say. I can’t explain it to anyone, not even to myself most of the time. But it’s there—this knowing, this awareness that there’s more to the world than what people see.

Mom? She’s wonderful, in her own way. Always makes the house feel so warm, so full of love. But when it comes to understanding the things I’ve been noticing—well, that’s a different story. She’s brilliant, smarter than most, but she looks at the world like it’s a puzzle with neat edges. Me? I see the pieces that don’t fit. I hear the sounds no one else hears. I see things in the corners of my vision that vanish the moment I try to focus on them.

I’ve tried to tell her, Diary. I really have. But when I do, she just tilts her head, gives me this soft smile, like I’m telling some tall tale she can’t quite believe. I trust her more than anyone. I just… I wish she would believe me. Believe that there’s something out there. Something more.

It’s not just my imagination. I know it isn’t. Tonight, after dinner, I swear I saw something out of the corner of my eye—just a flicker, a shadow, moving where no shadow should be. I felt it too, like the air shifted, cooler for just a second. And the whispers… they’re always so quiet, so soft, like they’re coming from somewhere far, far away. But I hear them, Diary. I do.

It’s scary, sometimes. Not because I think they’ll hurt me, but because it’s like living in two different worlds. There’s the world Mom sees, full of logic and normalcy, and then there’s the one I’m drifting into—a world where shadows move on their own and whispers fill the silence.

I wish I could tell her. I want to. But what if she thinks I’m losing it? What if she tries to make it go away, like it’s something wrong with me?

But I know there’s nothing wrong. These things I’m experiencing—they’re real, as real as the chill I felt in the room tonight, as real as the snow falling outside. Maybe they’re part of me, part of who I’m meant to be. It’s like something is waking up inside me, something that’s been waiting, dormant, until now.

Sometimes, I catch her looking at me. Not with fear, exactly, but with a kind of wonder, like she knows there’s more to me than I let on, but she doesn’t know how to ask. I wish I could tell her. Maybe someday I will, when I understand it all a little better myself.

For now, I’ll keep it here, in these pages, where it’s safe. You’re the only one who doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t doubt, just listens.

Goodbye, 1976. Something tells me 1977 is going to be… different. Maybe even beyond normal.

Love,
Kay

Girl looking out the window to her left to see what is outside. 1970's

The Voice

The Voice

New Year’s Eve, 1976

The night had the kind of stillness that wrapped around you like an old blanket—a calm that was comforting and unsettling all at once. It was my last night in the house I’d grown up in. The house where pizza nights with my parents were as regular as clockwork, where sleepovers stretched into the early hours, and where the scent of childhood—old crayons, warm carpet, and a hint of vanilla from candles Mom loved—still clung to every corner. By tomorrow, this house would be just another vacant space, waiting for the next family to fill it with their own stories. Dad’s new house was almost finished, but instead of excitement, all I could feel was a strange, uneasy knot forming in my chest.

It was New Year’s Eve, 1976, and the world outside was blanketed in snow. The kind of heavy snow that made everything quiet—too quiet, except for the occasional creak of old tree branches bending under the weight. My parents had gone to some downtown party, leaving me with Evie and Tara, my two best friends who’d been part of my life since we could all barely spell our names. Our big plan for the night? Pizzas, a movie, and maybe, just maybe, digging through the collection of old toys I still hadn’t been able to part with.

The Barbies, in particular, still held a special place in our hearts, even if we didn’t admit it. Evie had unearthed them from the back of my closet, their stiff, plastic limbs and perfect smiles like relics of simpler times. We spread them out across my parents’ bed, giving the dolls ridiculous voices, reenacting the over-the-top dramas we used to create when we were younger. It was silly, I know—we were fifteen—but there was something soothing about it. A last grasp at the uncomplicated, before everything in our lives changed.

Then, the voice cut through the night.

“KAY!”

It was unmistakable—deep, masculine, and as clear as if someone were standing right there with us. It echoed from somewhere down the hallway, sending an electric jolt straight through my chest. Evie stopped mid-sentence, her plastic Barbie poised in the air, while Tara’s eyes widened, scanning the room for answers. We all froze.

We’d heard it.

But it wasn’t possible. The doors were locked. I knew because I’d checked them—twice. No one else was in the house, and we hadn’t heard a car pull up or footsteps crunching through the thick snow outside.

Tara was the first to break the silence, her voice barely more than a whisper. “That wasn’t one of you messing with us, right?”

“Of course not,” I said, though the words came out shakier than I’d intended. I glanced at Evie, who had already straightened up, eyes sharp.

“I definitely heard that,” Evie muttered, her usual bravado edging into something more serious as she grabbed the nearest object—a hairbrush—and held it up like she was preparing for battle.

The hallway stretched in front of us, dark and endless, leading down to the staircase. The kind of dark where you half expect something to leap out at you, where shadows seem to move even when you’re standing still. My heart thudded against my ribs, but I wasn’t about to let fear make me look foolish. After all, Nancy Drew wouldn’t stand frozen in place, would she?

“We should check,” I said, taking a small step forward, my voice firmer now. “Maybe it’s just something outside. The wind or…” I trailed off, knowing full well that wasn’t the wind. And it wasn’t any normal house noise either.

Evie, ever the adventurer, didn’t need more convincing. “Let’s go,” she said, leading the way with her hairbrush still clutched in hand like a sword. Tara followed close behind, though she looked far less enthusiastic about investigating.

We tiptoed down the hallway, the soft carpet muffling our footsteps. I kept glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting to see some shadowy figure lurking just behind us. But there was nothing. Just the dark and the sound of our shallow breathing.

We reached the bottom of the stairs, and I flicked on the light in the entryway. The front door stood firmly shut. No footprints disturbed the thick layer of snow outside the window, and the lock was still in place, untouched.

“Maybe it came from upstairs,” Evie suggested, her voice low. Her eyes darted to the landing above us, where the shadows seemed thicker, deeper.

Tara shook her head. “If it was upstairs, we’d have heard footsteps coming down, wouldn’t we?”

I nodded, biting my lip. She was right. That voice had been loud—too loud for it to be coming from upstairs or muffled by walls. It was as if the sound had cut right through the air, ignoring all barriers. But how could that be?

“Hello?” I called out into the stillness, my voice sounding much braver than I felt. “Is anyone here?”

No answer.

We waited, the three of us standing in the doorway, listening so hard we could almost hear our own heartbeats. But the only response was the quiet creak of the house settling around us and the soft whine of the wind outside.

“Okay,” I finally said, trying to sound calm. “It was probably just… I don’t know, maybe someone playing a prank.”

“Who would do that in this weather?” Tara pointed out, her voice shaking slightly. “No one could get up here in all this snow without us seeing.”

She wasn’t wrong. I glanced back at the undisturbed snow outside, a perfect blanket of white with no footprints leading up to the door. Not a soul had been near the house since my parents left.

Evie crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Then maybe it wasn’t someone outside.”

I shivered involuntarily, the chill seeping through more than just my skin. Something about the way she said it made the hair on the back of my neck prickle.

“Whatever it was, it’s gone now,” I said, trying to regain some control of the situation. “Let’s just… go back upstairs. Maybe it was nothing.”

But as we turned back toward the staircase, a single, undeniable thought crept into my mind—a thought I didn’t want to acknowledge, even to myself.

This wasn’t nothing.

Something had happened, and it wasn’t finished with us yet

Patterns

The Patterns
“Weeks passed, and the air around me seemed different”

The Patterns

Life didn’t quite return to normal after that night, nor did I expect it to. The wake-up call I had experienced wasn’t just a singular event; it had opened a door—a door I wasn’t sure I could close, even if I wanted to.

Weeks passed, and the air around me seemed different. It wasn’t something I could easily describe, but I could feel it. The small, almost imperceptible changes—like the soft whispers at the edge of my consciousness, the flicker of shadows just out of sight—made me aware that I was never truly alone. I tried to dismiss it, rationalize it, but deep down, I knew better.

One evening, I was sitting in the living room, watching TV to distract myself from the growing unease. My mind wandered, as it often did, back to that night. The voice. The snow. The absence of any tracks. My friends and I had never spoken of it again, as if a silent pact had formed between us to forget the incident. But the memory stayed with me, sharp and clear, gnawing at the back of my mind.

That night, the room felt unusually cold. It was the kind of chill that seeped into your bones, no matter how many layers you wore. I glanced at the thermostat—70 degrees, just like always—but the cold persisted. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it: a shadow, fleeting, but unmistakable.

I froze.

It wasn’t just a trick of the light; something had moved, but there was nothing in the room. My heart raced as I scanned the walls and furniture, searching for a logical explanation. There was none.

Then came the feeling again—that same eerie sensation. A tug, as if something was trying to pull me out of my own body. I held my breath, waiting. But nothing happened. The sensation passed, leaving only the cold behind.

Over the next few months, the strange occurrences continued. I started seeing the cloud again—the same one I’d spotted that day before my brother-in-law’s tragic accident. It would appear in the most unexpected places, hanging low in the sky like a bad omen. I began to dread its presence, knowing that it meant something was about to change, something I had no control over.

One afternoon, while walking through the town, I saw it again. This time, it was directly over the town. I felt a wave of nausea as I stared at it, unable to look away. I tried to shake off the feeling and carry on with my day, but a deep sense of foreboding lingered.

The patterns were becoming clearer now. Every time the cloud appeared, something significant would follow. A death. An accident. A disaster. It was as though I was being warned, but I didn’t understand why. Why me? Why this strange, unwanted gift?

I started keeping a journal, documenting each encounter. I filled pages with details—dates, times, locations—hoping to find a connection, something that would explain what was happening. But the more I wrote, the more the mystery deepened.

As I flipped through the pages one evening, I noticed a disturbing trend. The incidents were getting closer together. What had once been a rare occurrence was now happening almost weekly. I could no longer ignore the signs. Something was coming, something bigger than anything I had experienced before.

The dreams were the worst part. Every night, I was pulled back to that crystal land, standing before the empty throne. The voice, calm yet commanding, echoed through the air: “You must prepare.”

Prepare for what? I wanted to scream. I had no idea what was coming, but I knew I wasn’t ready. Whatever it was, it was beyond anything I could comprehend, and I feared the moment when I would finally have to face it.

eerie picture of a country road with cloud formation above it

The Cloud That Knew, and So Did I – Dear Diary

The Cloud That Knew

Diary Entry: Spring 1977
Secrets in the Sky

Dear Diary,

That morning felt like any other, except for the cloud. It wasn’t like a normal cloud, though. It was… weird. I couldn’t stop staring at it. I remember pointing it out to Dad as he drove me to school, “Do you see that cloud?”

He glanced out the window and said, “Yeah, what about it?” like it was no big deal.

But it was a big deal. I told him, “It looks funny,” and he just shrugged, shaking his head like I was making something out of nothing. I tried to let it go, but that cloud stuck with me. The way it hovered in the sky—it felt off, like a warning or something.

A couple days later, I was helping Mom clean Grandma’s house. I was lifting a bucket off a chair when I saw something strange. The watermarks on the newspaper underneath had formed the shape of a man standing in a tunnel. I pointed it out to Mom, but she barely reacted. She just glanced at it and walked away, acting like it was nothing.

But I knew why. Mom doesn’t talk about anything like this—paranormal stuff, I guess. She’s always said people in this town don’t speak about things like that, especially not back when she was younger. If you did, people thought you were crazy. Her aunt ended up in a psychiatric hospital for most of her life because of things like this, and I guess Mom’s scared I’ll end up the same way. No one ever talks about it, and there’s no one I can go to. No shows or books or anyone who gets it. It’s just… silence.

Then, exactly one week later, I was jolted awake by my mom throwing open my bedroom door. She was panicked, her voice sharp as she yelled, “Get up!”

I shot out of bed, confused and half-asleep. “What’s going on?” I asked, my heart racing.

Her face was pale, and her voice was shaky when she said, “Your sister’s husband was killed in the coal mines last night.”

My whole body went numb. I couldn’t even process it. Mom just stood there, staring at me, and said, “That’s why I didn’t want to talk about it. I knew someone was going to die.”

Her words hit me like a punch in the gut. She knew something was going to happen, and that’s why she wouldn’t talk about it. It made me sick to think about. The way she brushed it off, how we both knew, but neither of us could say it out loud.

I felt so lost after that. There was no one to talk to. No one who’d believe me, or even understand what was happening. I didn’t know what to do with any of it.

Then, a few nights later, something else happened. I came home from a friend’s house, and as I walked down the hallway to my bedroom, I noticed the little red dot on the smoke alarm. It looked… wrong. I don’t know how to explain it, but it was just off. I shook my head, told myself I was imagining things, and kept walking. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was happening wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Kay xoxo

Creepy black house that slightly resembles the house of the seven gables

Salem And The House of Seven Gables

“How Do I Explain Feeling the Presence of the Dead? No One Would Understand”

I don’t even know where to start. Today, something happened that I can’t explain. I feel like I’m losing control, like there’s something inside me that I can’t shut off.

We went to Salem today—some tour thing with the Rebecca Lodge, my mom has sent me on. Everyone was so excited to visit the House of Seven Gables, but the moment we got off the bus, I felt it. That chill. It was warm out, but the air around me felt heavy and cold, like something was waiting for me. I thought I was just being paranoid, but as we got closer to the house, it felt like it was alive.

I didn’t say anything to anyone. How could I? Everyone was laughing, taking pictures, but I couldn’t shake this feeling that something was wrong. The house was dark and old, like it had absorbed every horrible thing that had ever happened inside. It made me nervous. More than nervous. I felt like I was being pulled toward it, like the house knew I was coming.

Inside, it was worse. The ceilings were so low, and everything felt so close. I could hardly breathe. The tour guide was talking, telling us all about the history, but I couldn’t focus. Her voice was strange, almost hollow. It reminded me of those whispers I keep hearing at home—soft at first, then louder, insistent. I felt like something was watching me, following me through every room.

Then we went into that room. The one where women accused of witchcraft hid. I don’t know what happened, but the second I stepped inside, it was like I could feel them. The women. The fear. I know it sounds crazy, but it was like I could hear them—whispering, pleading, trying to tell me something. My chest felt tight, and the air was freezing cold. No one else seemed to notice. No one ever notices.

The walls felt like they were closing in, like the whole house was wrapping itself around me. The whispers got louder, faster, and I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I knew it wasn’t good. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out. My feet wouldn’t move.

Then, somehow, I forced myself to leave. I ran out of the house, gasping for air the second I stepped outside. I don’t know how long I stood there, but I couldn’t go back in. I just couldn’t. The others kept going, laughing like nothing was wrong, but I knew. I knew something in there wasn’t right. It was like the house was alive, and it wanted something from me.

The voices stopped when I left, but the feeling didn’t. It’s like the house is still with me somehow, lingering in my mind, waiting for the right moment to whisper again.

I didn’t tell anyone. What could I say? That I felt the presence of women who were dead for hundreds of years? That the house was calling me? They already think I’m weird. They wouldn’t understand. No one ever does.

But I know what I felt. I know I’m not imagining it.

I just wish someone would believe me.