The Squirrels Secret - Pastel Goth Life - LyssaGal - Dear Dreambook

Dear DreamBook Entry :) The Squirrel’s Secret

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Dear Dreambook: My Brother, Orion

Dear Dreambook

My Brother, Orion

This afternoon Orion stood under the big oak tree, gazing up at a squirrel. At first I thought he was only daydreaming, but then he whispered, “He’s nervous about winter coming.”

Orion said the squirrel told him the cold always makes him worry, so he’s been harvesting leaves, tucking them away, hoping his nest will be warm enough. I didn’t hear a thing, just the usual chittering sounds. But Orion’s face was so serious, like he truly felt the little creature’s fears.

The strangest part was that the squirrel didn’t run. Usually they dart away the second you look at them, but this one stayed, tail flicking like a secret signal, as if it knew Orion understood.

Sometimes I wonder if the stars gave Orion a gift, the way they gave Astral her dreams of the cosmos. Orion hears the voices of the earth, Astral listens to the sky, and me… I think my gift lives in my hands, shaping color and line into art.

Maybe the universe speaks to each of us differently. Orion hears it. Astral dreams it. And I create it.

🖤 I think I heard the squirrel talking to me too (Shh!) 🖤

– Me <3

xoxo

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☯

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xoxo

friends forever ✨

My Fear Has A Name - Pastel Goth Life - LyssaGal - Dear Dreambook

Dear Dreambook: Fear Has a Face. TW: Violence

TW: Violence

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Dear Dreambook,

My Fear Has A Face

I thought fear was just in my head, shadows that played tricks on me, whispers in the night. But tonight, it looked me in the eye and told me a story I’ll never forget.

He was older, late twenties. Too old to be hanging around us. His smile never reached his eyes, and when he spoke, the words sank into me like ice water. He said once he wanted to know what it felt like to stab someone. So he did. In a dark alley. To a random stranger.

I wanted to vanish when he said it. My friend laughed nervously, like maybe he was joking, but I could tell he wasn’t. There was no punchline in his voice.

We ended up at his house, and the walls felt wrong, like they were listening. He offered us alcohol. I said no. My friend didn’t. She giggled, lightheaded, her edges blurring. That’s when I noticed him and his friend kept glancing toward a dark room down the hall. Over and over. Their eyes said something their mouths didn’t, and it made me want to run.

Then he said he wanted to take me home. The thought of him knowing where I live, my sanctuary, my soft pastel cocoon—made my chest lock tight. I told him no. I walked her home instead. She leaned against me, heavy and small, while I searched the night for hidden teeth.

We made it back. She’s safe in her bed. But I’m still shaking, scribbling this into you, Dreambook. I keep asking myself why I always end up in houses I don’t want to be in, with people I never really trusted. Maybe it’s because I don’t know how to say no until it’s too late.

My fear had a name.

It was boundaries.

xo, 🖤 your softest goth in distress 🖤

– Me <3

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

☮

☯

💔💗

xoxo

friends forever ✨

Dear DreamBook, Someone’s Watching Me

Personal Log – CLASSIFIED

SYSTEM STATUS: MONITORED

PERSONAL LOG

USER ID: 7749-ALPHA SECURITY CLEARANCE: RESTRICTED

NOTICE: All entries are subject to automated surveillance and content analysis. Unauthorized thoughts may result in re-education. Your compliance is appreciated.

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

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.

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