The diary’s last days (standard:horror, 3592 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: Apr 12 2010	Views/Reads: 3279/2197	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A library assistant reads a student's diary. He should have left it well alone.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

British. ‘Patrick is still a boy', the man continued. ‘For three nights 
he must face the initiations to become a man'. Then the crowd cheered, 
but I don't know why. I had quite a good view from where I sat, 
surrounded by villagers, but I clapped all the same. Some other people, 
resembling the man with the microphone appeared, leading a large bull. 
It looked tame, and didn't resist in anyway. They took away the ropes 
they were leading it with and walked away. ‘You know what he has to do 
folks, kill the bull'. The crowd cheered again, the boy waving to his 
audience, and the man with the microphone walked away. 

Patrick circled the bull like a hunter with a spear, except he had
nothing. Then he dived at it, grabbing it around the neck, but the bull 
tossed him away. The boy then attacked it with his feet and fists, and 
people were jeering as though they were at a boxing match, or one of 
those cage-fights I've seen on television. He punched it below one of 
its ears and it staggered to the side collapsing. The boy dived onto 
it, punching and elbowing the poor creature who struggled to get up. As 
it did, its hoof crashed into the boy's ribs and he rolled away from 
the animal, clearly in pain. The crowd hushed then, and I laughed, 
serves him right, but my laugh was heard by those around me, and they 
simply looked at me, then back at the field. Patrick clutched his ribs 
for a few seconds, then kicked the bull's jaw. He dived on top of the 
animal again, but the bull arched its head around, as though it knew 
exactly what it was doing, because one of its horns tore through his 
shoulder. I saw blood spray around, but such was the boy's need to be a 
man, and I wonder, not disappoint a baying crowd, he found strength to 
continue pummelling the creature with his fists, who then stopped 
struggling, as I saw that he had broken through its skull. Patrick must 
have been strong. The creature was dead. He stood up and raised a fist 
to the crowd who gave a standing ovation, cheering and shouting their 
appreciation. The other man walked across and patted the boy on the 
back, smiling. ‘Fantastic Patrick', he said. ‘You know what happens 
tomorrow night don't you?' Patrick nodded. ‘Enjoy the festivities 
everyone', the man said, walking away with the youth. Then music stared 
from somewhere, and I saw people going around handing out food. People 
began to drag the bull to what looked to be barbecue equipment. I 
guessed they were going to cut up and cook that animal, and share it 
around. I knew then I had to leave. Not only have I witnessed clear 
animal cruelty, I'm a vegan, and walking through the happy crowds, some 
looking at me curiously because I wasn't celebrating, I went back to my 
apartment, and surprisingly slept. 

October 9th 

I'm writing this in the evening, because I've been locked in, at least I
think I have. I was meant to go to uni, but couldn't. My mobiles 
vanished. I can't contact anyone. I tried knocking on the window a few 
times when people went by, but was ignored. I'm convinced they could 
hear me. So trapped in my apartment, I reluctantly watched day-time 
television, then quickly turned that off and basically studied all day. 
It didn't really help much as I was worried about how I was going to 
get out of here. I wish I'd thought to try an escape as soon as I 
realised I was trapped, instead of hoping that someone would come and 
let me out, realising I couldn't get out. 

It's half twelve at night now, and my knight in shining armour has
stayed away. My worry is turning to real fear now. Tomorrow I will plan 
my escape properly. Maybe I will....suddenly I hear a key in my front 
door. 

October 10th. 

I am glad to be back in my apartment. In fact I now would almost prefer
to be locked in. Three men came for me last night, put a gag around my 
mouth, tied my hands and put a long chain around my neck. Once again, 
the festival parade went out into the field. Two of the men dragged me 
out there with them. They tied me to a nearby tree, and stood by me 
incase I tried to escape. Nobody said anything as they saw me. I was 
guessing everybody knew why I was being taken there. It turned out it 
was because the captors got their nights mixed up. They had taken me 
into a small forest where there was a fire in a clearing. Sitting 
around it where the South-American men I had seen the previous night. 
They looked very angry when they saw me, but their anger was not at me, 
but my captors. ‘What are you doing? they shouted, ‘She's for tomorrow 
night you idiots. You've got the wrong night'. They were struck across 
the head a few times with thick, heavy branches, and even as blood 
streaked their faces, they were crying and apologetic. They ran away 
like children into the trees. One of the men grabbed the chain and 
dragged me out into the outer trees by the valley where the crowds had 
congregated. I was tied and left there. I could see into the valley 
were that night's festivities where taking place. What on earth have 
they got planned for me? I had thought, and still do, my fear surging 
through me. 

What I saw was again, strange indeed. The boy from the previous night
appeared, again naked, and stood in the middle of the field. The man 
with the microphone once again addressed the crowd. ‘You know why you 
are here people', he had said. ‘You can all help the boy become the 
man. He has to trust you all, and you must know how far to go. You will 
push him to the very threshold of death, where he will come back, 
having seen the otherworld, the world beyond. If you are ready, we will 
begin'. The people then began to form a queue, snaking around the 
field, again, lit by the lights from the previous night. The person at 
the front of the queue stood around ten metres from Patrick. One of the 
South-Americans stood with a hand held up as a makeshift barrier. 
Another man stood near the boy with a baseball bat. After a few 
moments, the first person was allowed to approach Patrick. He was 
handed the weapon. The man struck Patrick in the ribs, clearly very 
hard, as he doubled over for a few seconds. I wonder if he had hurt the 
place where the bull had kicked him. I hoped so. Patrick made no effort 
to retaliate. A woman that I thought to look to be in her forties was 
handed the bat. She struck him across the head, clearly as hard as she 
could. Patrick collapsed to his knees, but was eventually standing 
again. So the procession went on, old people, children, all beating 
Patrick in one way or another. Some chose not to use the bat, instead, 
punching him as hard as they could in the face, or kicking him. 

After a while, the boy was curled up on the floor. I could see he was
covered in blood, but still I could see the crowd taking delight as 
they awaited their turn, and pleasure when it was as they kicked and 
beat Patrick. I wish I could have had a turn. Occasionally one of the 
South-Americans, or Hispanics would halt proceedings and check Patrick. 
After about half of the queue had beaten Patrick, one of the men 
checked him, then waved his arms as though he was ending a boxing 
match. 

I heard cries of disappointment from some of those who didn't get a
chance, but everybody went back to the hillside, and quietly watched 
Patrick, lying on the grass. Nobody stood by him, and the 
South-Americans looked nervous, pacing around, all the time watching 
him. After around ten minutes, Patrick began to move, and the crowd 
began muttering and pointing. The Hispanics looked relieved and happy. 
People began cheering and clapping. Patrick slowly rolled onto his 
back, then began to try and get to his feet. After five minutes, he 
did, and the crowd were ecstatic. The man with the microphone walked 
across. ‘Did you see it? Did you see the afterlife?' he asked. Patrick 
was swaying and holding his head. The man put the microphone in front 
of his face. The boy took a few seconds to answer. ‘I saw it', he said. 
‘I saw the afterlife. I was there. Over the threshold I saw others. 
Ancestors. They knew why I was there. They understood'. The other man 
then said: ‘Patrick passes his second test. He trusted us. He trusted 
you, and tomorrow, he will face his final test, where he becomes a man. 
You all know and understand. Most have you have passed this test 
already. Enjoy the festivities, and I'll see you tomorrow'. Somebody 
came for me then. A man in his fifties who dragged me back to the 
apartment. Once again I spent a dreamless night in the lonely village. 

October 11th 

I'm still locked in, and guess I will be until the night's events. I
woke to find various items scattered around the place. A lot of it was 
food. Apples, bananas, broccoli, and what seemed to be gifts, I 
suppose, a straw doll, which I guessed was made by a child, a carved 
wooden figure of a bird. I think it was a parrot. There was a mirror as 
well, and many others bits and pieces. Obviously someone had been in 
while I was asleep. It just added to my uneasiness,  and put me further 
on edge. At least I gather that this night is the last one, but I 
cannot be sure. 

All thoughts of uni have gone. First chance I get I'm out of here, but
I'm guessing they'll have all exits accounted for. Still, I have to 
try. 

Three hours I tried, three solid hours trying to find a way out. I threw
a chair at all the windows, but they were reinforced. I tried to wrench 
up the floorboards, but with no luck. There really was no way out, so I 
decided that when they come for me, I would have to try and escape when 
they take me out. There had to be some opportunity somewhere. 

Night has covered the village, and out of the window the streets lamps
have come on again. Some people leave early to get a good space. My 
fear now rages through me. I feel I cannot cope, the anticipation of 
the unknown is perhaps worse than what awaits me, and I wonder if 
rendering myself unconscious would help. I don't think I would be much 
use to them then. I am not sure I can do that though, I'm too scared. 
In fact, I think I......My apartment front door has just opened..... 

October 12th 

That's it for now, until the next time, until a member of the village,
or tribe comes to that age when they are become an adult. I hope it's 
soon, it would be nice to be a spectator, though I did enjoy my 
challenges. Even being beaten nearly to death. I found a kind of 
enjoyment in that. 

My name is Patrick. I am now a man. An adult. I have completed my
initiation ceremonies and am now closing this diary, found in the 
apartment of the girl who I am most grateful for last night, who gave 
me immense pleasure. She has gone to see my ancestors in the afterlife. 
I know she is in good company. We left gifts for her the other night as 
an offering. A thank-you for her sacrifice. I sit here on her apartment 
bed, all my colleagues having left, clearing out the place ready for 
the next person whom would move in. It only became available when we 
needed a victim for our ceremonies. We are grateful to them all, and 
there will be more. 

All is quiet now, as I sit here, relieved at passing my challenges. I
can relax, remembering her last night as she was dragged by rope, 
screaming into the arena to the cheering crowd. A large stake had been 
put up in the middle and she was stripped naked and tied to it, a gag 
placed over her mouth. Then I came in, naked also for my final 
challenge. The crowd again cheered me on. Conrad came onto the field 
then, and addressed the crowd. ‘Welcome people,' he said, into a 
microphone, ‘to Patricks final challenge, his most difficult yet, as it 
will test his sensory powers. He will be blind-folded and have to 
search for the girl, and taste her beating heart'. I remember the crowd 
going wild. Conrad put a blindfold on me and led me to somewhere in the 
field. He spun me around a few times, and got the crowd to count down 
from three. He let me go when it reached zero, and I was on my own 
then. It was just me and the girl on the field, and total silence from 
the crowd. I walked slowly around, feeling the air, trying to gauge 
where the girl was, trying to sense her heart. I could feel it getting 
closer, as I knew I wasn't far away. Yet, it still took me around 
twenty minutes to get a reasonable idea as to where she was. It was 
much more difficult than I had anticipated. I was quite nervous also, 
afraid of failure, afraid of disappointing the crowd, as I only had one 
chance to find it. If I didn't taste her heart in one strike, then I'd 
failed. I'd still be a boy and have to try again next year. If I failed 
three years in a row then I would have to commit suicide by fire. I had 
to overcome fear. I had to pass this test, and I soon found myself next 
to the girl. I could sense her, I could feel her rapidly beating heart, 
and using a martial arts technique I had practised for this occasion, 
iron-palm and finger-rods, my strike tore through her chest like a 
bullet, grabbing the heart and ripping it out. I took off the blindfold 
and held it up to the crowd who could hardly control themselves, 
cheering, singing and dancing with ecstacy. I bit into the heart, and 
looked into the girl's terrified eyes, and I could sense her soul as it 
drifted away into the spirit world. What a night of enjoyment it was, 
of partying, of dancing, of feasting. I had become a man, and had 
deserved it. 

This is not the only village with its roots in the tribes of the south
American jungle. It's not just villages as well, there are sects, and 
groups, indulging in all types of tribal activity. There are thousands 
of us throughout the world, and I would like to think we are growing. 
You can only be born into it to become one of us. All other people who 
are not of our bloodline are viable to be a victim of one of our 
rituals. If you can further our tribe then you may possibly be a part 
of it in some way or another. I will put this diary somewhere where 
there are those who are not like us, and I think that may be you, 
because I've put this in one of your cities, to let you know of our 
rise, of our integration with you. I am allowed to do this by my 
elders. They said it was about time to let people know of our 
existence, as it furthers our cause, our domination. No longer are we 
hiding. We are coming out of the villages and growing far and wide. 
Look to your friends. Are they a tribe member? Look to your enemies. 
The fact remains, we are among you. 


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