I grew up in Greece, but when I was ten we moved to London, England.

A couple live in our new house before us. They died in a freak accident, know one really knows what really happened, I asked. They hadn’t written a will so we got all of their stuff.

One day I was searching for something interesting up in the attic. I found it. It was a book, it had layer after layer of dust and grim was caked on. When I finally got to the cover I was surprised. The cover was made of leather and it had a star on it, the star was upside-down and it was circled. I didn’t know what it meant (if anything).

I opened it to see what it was, a regular book or a journal. The pages were blank so I assumed that it was a journal. That night I wrote in it.

When I woke up I checked to see if anyone had moved it. It lay open and still… my writing was gone! All that was there was, really I started to write yes but when started the “e” the word FINALY showed up.

Who are you? I wrote, Nicolas J. Cannonpictor. I constantly kept in touch with him until one day.

My grandfather had a brain tumor. The doctor said it might be carrying cancer. I told Nic (it’s what I started to call him), he just said Sorry, I was puzzled by this.

I asked that if the couple that lived in the house before us wrote to him. He said that they made the book and trapped him in it. I asked why, he said read this.

It read;

Dear Nicolas Jermald Cannonpictor,

We know that you are an evil friken idiotic spirit. That is why we banished your sorry butt. We flippen know that the imbecile that writes to Mr. Idiot (that’s you)’s family will be killed (so sad, buuuutt… HA HA TO THEM!), unless they put the book away and NEVER talk to you again. We are ready for the big “dirt nap” ‘cause we did our good (very very great) deed in life.

Screw You, And May You Suffer,

The tumor didn’t carry cancer so he didn’t die, at least not from that. He was shot. Great I thought, we were still goanna be killed.

I forgot all about it. Then my grandmother told me to clean out the attic. I had just turned sixteen the day before. While I was cleaning I found a book. I put it in my pocket and kept cleaning. I felt tugging in my pocket so I put the book on a table.

When I finished I took the book down to my room and wrote in it. The next day (where my writing was) there were the words Is that really you Columba? I wrote yes then suddenly remembered.

I threw the book in the fire. “My work here is,” I took a deep breath, ”DONE!!!!!” I screamed it to the heavens. I was sadly, very sadly mistaken .

On my wall I saw Thank You, I forgot what being free felt like. It was on my wall in blood.

The next morning the words were gone. I went downstairs to get breakfast. My grandma had not yet come out of her room, so I went in her room to wake her up.

I screamed at what I saw. Blood was everywhere. All I saw was an axe, my dead grandmother, and the words Revenge, so sweet… Don’t you think so COLOUMBA?

I moved to America to live with my aunt and uncle. They were supposed to have a baby three weeks before I moved in.

“We lost the baby.”

“Well… At least you are both ok.”

“But we’re not…”

“Yes you are, aren’t you?”

“No, your aunt might die,” he started to cry at this and so did I. My aunt died the next week.

Two weeks later I was going through my things and I found a book. How could it be here? I burned it…

I hated it but I did it, I started to write to him again. I asked if he had any thing to do with the death of my grandmother and aunt. I knew he did, but I wanted him to tell me. He said Yes, I did it for revenge. I’ll admit that I have anger issues. I knew that. I told him that if he ever does anything like that again I’m going to soak the book in holy water.

He didn’t stop, so I did just that.

When I put the book in the water the pages dissolved. Then, the water turned blood red, then black, and it bubbled.

A long moaning sigh came from the pitch black, murky water (if you could still call it that). “Nooooo,” it came furiously but was mournful. He knew it was the end.

Hands came out at me! I screamed, I think I broke a few windows. He had my throat. Gasping for air, I prayed. I begged and begged for my life. Nothing, I fainted. He had a strong grip, a death grip.

The hands started to disappear, but I still felt the hands on my neck. It got tighter and tighter. I could feel the life draining from my body.

“You have done a good thing,” a loud voice said. “You may choose between being reunited with your passed family or staying with you uncle“ I knew who the voice was.

“If I go can my uncle come, too?”

“He must wait for his time to come.”

“I’ll stay,” I gratefully replied.

My uncle got well, and he live to be fifty-one. I had twins, a boy and a girl. The boy’s name is Sagitta and the girl’s name is Aquilla.

Don't get mad at me, I know that it's corney. I wrote it one night before I went to sleep.

                 L8R,

       ALy