Diary of the Damned

By Michelle Muto

“Allison said that, in time, he’d come for you. For what it’s worth, Evy, I believe her.”

 

Evy Breen has worked hard to forget her past. She's changed her appearance and moved from her hometown of Bowling Green, Kentucky, to Knoxville, Tennessee, where she does her best to fit in. 

    Evy’s past catches up with her when she finds a package on her apartment doorstep. The package has no postmark, no return address. Inside is a note… and the diary of Evy’s missing best friend, Allison.

     The diary contains everything about their friendship, the bullying they endured, and Allison’s confinement at a psychiatric hospital for schizophrenia. Except Allison wasn’t schizophrenic. Allison was suffering from demonic possession.

    According to the note, that same demon now has its sights set on Evy. The mysterious sender claims that, despite sliding into madness and depression, Allison inserted clues into her diary that might save Evy’s life.

    As Evy reads her friend’s diary, she discovers secrets that Allison kept from her—the incidents surrounding the gruesome death of a former classmate and the truth behind a government agency more interested in embracing a demon than in exorcising it.

    If Evy is to survive, she must return home. There, she must confront a life she prefers to forget and fight off an ancient and powerful demon set on revenge—if only she can decipher the clues her friend left behind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michelle Muto
• Release date: Oct 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781386144052

Michelle Muto

Michelle Muto lives in northeast Georgia with her husband and two dogs. She is the author of The Book of Lost Souls, an eFestival of Words winner for Best Young Adult 2012, and Don’t Fear the Reaper, an LDS Women’s Book Review Top Ten Pick 2011. Michelle loves changes of season, dogs, and all things geeky. Currently, she’s hard at work on her next book. Learn more about Michelle: Web: www.michellemuto.wordpress.com Twitter: MichWritesBooks Facebook: Michelle Muto Author Page

Book preview

1

Three words written in black marker indicate the package lying in front of my apartment door is for me instead of my roommate: To Evy Breen.

Nothing more.

Evy…

Evy isn’t here. I left her behind almost three years ago, and I don’t like to think about her.

I’m Evelyn now—Eva to close friends. I hated Evy, probably more than everyone else did. Only one person genuinely liked Evy, and thinking about her hurts, too. I don’t know if she’s buried in the woods behind a Savannah mansion, but I doubt she’s on the run, as some have speculated.

The fact that they didn’t find her body means nothing. Not one damn thing.

Frowning, I pick up the unassuming package. No postage. No return address. Just a box wrapped in plain brown paper. The box has a slight heft to it. Given the lack of identifying marks or information, someone other than the postal carrier delivered it. I look around, but except for a large moth flitting madly against the light at the top of the apartment complex stairwell and leaving shadows the size of bats, I’m alone.

Unless the person is still here, somewhere I don’t see, watching. Toni, my roommate, says I’m not the trusting sort. She’s right. Let’s just say that female college students living in an old, cheap apartment in Knoxville, Tennessee probably need to be careful.

After another quick glance around, I let myself into the apartment, flick on the light, and lock the door behind me. Without shedding my pharmacy lab coat, I hang my purse on the wall hook by the door and, as always, speculate as to how much weight the hook can hold. Toni is always after me to empty my purse—she complains that it’s more like a suitcase full of office supplies. Her boyfriend, Lucas, calls it my zombie-apocalypse survival bag. I call it practical.

I set the package down on the dining table and grab scissors from the kitchen drawer. I cut the paper instead of attempting to rip the seams away from all the packing tape. Whoever wrapped it used a lot of tape, which makes me wonder why someone spent so much time and effort. The box is flimsy and beaten up. I slice the next layer of tape that holds the top and bottom together, and lift the top.

I cover my mouth and hold in a scream. Four years and a birthday dinner have come and gone since I last saw the object inside.

It’s the diary of my best friend, the one who is probably dead.

Allison, I whisper as I collapse into a chair.

The diary’s worn leather, the color of coffee beans, is buttery smooth to the touch. The cover sports a magnetic lock. Rosary beads of a tone that almost matches the diary’s cover are wound tightly around it. Seeing something that belonged to Allison, touching it… makes my heart ache.

While I’m surprised to see the diary, I’m not surprised rosary beads are accompanying it.

The apartment has an emptiness to it, a noticeable silence, as though it is aware of my sorrow and has taken the opportunity to make time stand still. I cradle the book against my chest and carry it to the sofa, still curious about who delivered it.

I don’t talk much about my life before college. I didn’t have any friends back home in Kentucky—just Allison. My parents still live there, but they wouldn’t deliver the package and leave. And even though the drive to my parents’ front door is a mere three hours, they aren’t the kind to show up unannounced. Besides, I think they’re still in Florida, visiting my grandparents.

For a fleeting moment, I wonder if Allison is alive. Of course, that’s more of a wish than anything.

During the past couple of years here in Tennessee, I might have mentioned Allison in passing, but I never told anyone what happened. They’d say I’m crazy.

Even if they didn’t, they’d tell me I’m better off without her.

They wouldn’t understand.

Sadly, no one ever would understand. Except me.

Allison, I repeat, as if mentioning her name might make the doorbell ring, as if by some miracle, she’s alive.

Growing up, I read a story called The Monkey’s Paw. The owner of the paw could ask for three wishes. One was for the return of his son, who’d been mutilated in an accident. The wish didn’t end well. I push away thoughts of a modern-day version of The Monkey’s Paw and imagine Allison at the door, happy and normal. Just a regular weeknight visit. The Allison before… The Allison with flowing blond hair who wore feminine T-shirts and skinny jeans. The Allison whose closet was filled with Converse sneakers in an array of colors. The witty, strong-willed Allison.

The Allison who kept me alive.

However, the doorbell doesn’t ring, and I ask myself again, who drove all the way from Bowling Green to give me something this intimate and personal?

I slide the rosary beads off the cover and open the diary, taking in the scent of paper and leather. An envelope is tucked inside the diary’s pages, and I remove the note it holds.

---

Dear Evy,

Allison wanted you to have this in the event she didn’t return. By now, we both know she won’t.

---

My breath catches, not because someone drove all the way from Bowling Green, and not because they just squashed my hope the doorbell would ever ring, but because only a handful of people know she’s gone for good. Only a handful of people know something they shouldn’t, and one of them delivered Allison’s diary. My hands tremble as I read the letter. Tears threaten my vision again, and I swipe them away. I miss her. I miss my best friend so much that the loss threatens to crush me.

---

Allison gave this diary to me before she left for Savannah. She was a smart girl. Kind, too. Not that I need to tell you. We talked about you, Evy. Allison’s concern for your safety is the reason she gave me this diary and asked me to get it to you if something happened. Since you’re reading this, her worst fear has come true. She instructed me to tell you to read this cover to cover—said it’s important that you protect yourself. Keep the rosary beads on you while reading the diary and wrap them around it when you are done.

It might be just a book, but we know Allison’s diary is more than that. Supposedly, evil can attach itself to inanimate objects. If that’s true, then something evil has attached itself to Allison’s diary.

We both are well aware of who and what that evil is.

Most people at Hawthorn Hill were afraid of your friend, but you already knew that, too. Not me. I will tell you that I was afraid of the demon who overtook her from time to time, though. Yes, indeed! No one who saw what happened to Allison could say anything different. Unless it was those government men. Unless they were lying or flat-out stupid. But they didn’t have the whole story, did they, Evy?

---

It’s Joe. Joe drove all the way down here to deliver Allison’s diary. We never met or spoke, but I’m positive it’s him, just the same. Joe worked at Hawthorn Hill, the psychiatric hospital Allison spent time in before she was shipped off to Savannah.

---

This is a lot to take in, Evy. Be careful. Believe me, and above all, believe Allison.

The most horrible things happened during her stay here. I don’t know how much she told you the last time you two talked, but I’m certain it was a mere fraction of what happened. I saw a couple things with my own eyes, and I’ll tell you something else, I don’t care to ever see anything like that again.

Allison said she’s seen all the evil there is to see in hell. We both hope that’s not the case anymore.

I don’t wish her hell on anyone else, either. I almost sent her diary by mail, but I couldn’t risk it getting lost. That’s why I’m driving down and delivering the diary myself as soon as I finish writing this letter. Scares me to death, though. Yes, it does. I’m scared I’ll die at the wheel with this thing in the trunk, regardless of how much iron I set on top of it.

Your friend cared a lot for you, girl. She’s sorry she ever dragged you into this whole thing. She trusts you’ll figure out what needs to be done. I didn’t ask and don’t care to know, and I swear I never read a word of what she wrote, but the answer is in this damn book, somewhere.

The less informed I am, the better. When you read this, I hope you’ll understand why I didn’t hang around and answer questions. Allison has been gone a good while. Please understand that I didn’t learn of her disappearance right away, and once I did, it took me a year to gain the courage to touch this thing. Took even more time to track you down—discreetly, of course.

---

I read the next line, and Joe’s last words cause all the air in my lungs to escape. I reread it, and everything comes back to me all at once. My heart is racing. I swallow. Hard.

---

Allison said that, in time, he’d come for you. For what it’s worth, Evy, I believe her.

2

He’s coming for me ? The apartment suddenly feels ten degrees colder, but I’m sure that’s not true. I’m glad for the lab coat I’m still wearing, though. While interning at the hospital pharmacy, I’m usually warm, especially in August. I rub my arms then flip the note over but find nothing else.

For what it’s worth, Evy, I believe her.

I don’t want to believe Joe—at least about him coming for me. Allison would never have put me in harm’s way. We spoke once right before they sent her to Savannah. She was so frightened. We both were. She cried and told me she loved me and swore she wasn’t ignoring me—she only wanted to keep me safe. I cried, too. I needed my friend, but I knew without a doubt she was only doing the best she could.

Joe is understandably frightened, too. I get that. But four years have passed. If I’m in any danger, why now? I look at the cover again. Inside are the last words my friend ever wrote. On these pages, there’s probably more than I care to read about the torment she endured, but I’m filled with the need to remember her completely, to be close again.

I set Joe’s note aside and turn to Allison’s first entry.

---

October 10

Mom gave me this diary for my birthday last week since I like to write. It looks like a fancy version of one of Dad’s notebooks. Dad uses a Moleskine planner for work, something to remind him he has stuff to do, rather than using his smartphone. Mom has a diary she writes in, too. Hers has a bunch of inspirational words written on the front: faith, hope, love, savor the moment. She writes in it because the psychiatrist told her journaling is therapeutic.

When something bothers me or I’m overwhelmed, I prefer to go for a walk in the woods behind the park. My favorite spot is next to an old oak tree. Sometimes, I sit there for a while and take in the way leaves sway in the breeze and listen to birds chirping in the distance or watch them hopping from branch to branch. A few times, I’ve seen deer. Once, I saw a family of foxes. I watched them until they disappeared into the woods.

Who could be depressed after seeing that?

Mom could. I’m not bipolar like she is, although mental illness can be hereditary. I don’t suffer from depression. I don’t need psychiatrists and medication. Not when I have the woods. Even so, it would be nice to have parents who listen to me. Instead, I sit beside the old oak and imagine I have a perfectly average life.

Wow. Listen to me! I’m going down a rabbit hole I didn’t intend on!

So, enough of that because it feels too much like all the stuff Mom probably says during her therapy sessions. I have no idea what Mom writes in her diary because I’ve never asked and she keeps it hidden. Not that I’d go looking for it. You don’t read other people’s private stuff.

My new diary is sort of pretty. It resembles an old leather book from the 1600s or something. The size is larger than I thought a diary would be. Definitely not pocket or purse sized and more like a book someone might display on a coffee table. The packaging label calls the color espresso. I like the faux lock on the front. The snap is magnetic, but it looks pretty neat. I don’t care that my new diary doesn’t lock because no one is going to read it. There are a lot of journal apps for smartphones, but there’s just something about paper.

I think I’ll journal as though my day is a story instead of a book report. When I go back and read, my entries will be more interesting. I’ll even add what other people say—to the best of my ability.

So, about my life: Two things happened recently, one good, the other bad. Bad news first, right? Because I really want to end this on a good note.

The bad: Jillian Marsh. I hate her as much as I hate Amy Deckard. Figures the two of them are besties. Amy is the more physical one—she’ll throw punches, kick, start a fight. Jillian is too afraid of getting a scar on her pretty face. She likes to humiliate people, manipulate them. Anyway, Evy and I were watching last Friday’s football game between the Dragons and the Bobcats. I’m more of an NFL fan than high-school football—Da Bears! I hate high school, but I love our mascot. Dragons rock.

Jillian and Amy sat on the bleachers a few rows behind us. They kept chanting, Evy! Evy! Who’s bovine heavy? Evy! Evy!

Evy hates that her name rhymes with heavy. She told me to ignore Jillian and Amy, but being me, I couldn’t.

I whirled around. How does it feel to be the most popular girls only because you’re cruel to everyone else? Oh! That’s right! You don’t have feelings!

They laughed, of course. Called me the Loser Club’s great defender. Evy asked me to let it go, so I did.

The Dragons lost by a field goal. Boo!

Okay, out with the bad, in with the good.

I met a boy today.

I was in the woods this morning and popped out onto one of the trails in the park. This dog came running up to me. Big dog. Maybe part rottweiler because he had a wide head. Not like a pit bull, though. Black and tan, so probably part rottie but smaller and less stocky. Part lab, maybe?

Some people might have been a little alarmed at a big dog like that running up to them, but his tail wagged so hard, and he dropped at my feet and rolled over, so I knew he was a lover, not a fighter. I gave him a few pats and chest scratches. At first, I thought he was lost, but I heard someone calling, Here, Jethro! Come here, boy!

Jethro and I had bonded over belly rubs, and he showed no interest in whoever kept calling him. I followed the voice, and that’s how I met Drew. He’s a senior, one grade above me, and he’s new here. We seemed to hit it off, and we’re going on a date tonight. He’s super cute.

---

My mind begins to replay everything I’d tried to forget since leaving Kentucky. High school, junior year. I’d done my best to ignore Amy and Jillian, who loved nothing more than to make my and Allison’s days a total hell. They wasted no chance to ridicule us or to get others to laugh at their insults. They dumped our books, wrote on our lockers…

On the news a few months ago, a man on trial for killing two children pushed his way through a crowd with his lawyer at his side. The angry crowd booed and screamed at the men. The attorney and the police kept the crowd at bay as they rushed the suspect up the courtroom steps. Every day between certain classes was like that, except I hadn’t hurt a soul. My crime? My weight. The punishment? Being ostracized by my classmates. Zero chance for parole. No redemption. Allison’s crime was being a tomboy before I arrived and standing up for me afterward.

I tried different hallways, and until Jillian and Amy found the route, those days were good. Despite my attempts, Jillian and Amy’s spies made finding a safer route short lived.

Sometimes, when I walked down the hallway, the crowd parted. They’d cheer and hoot, chanting, Heavy! Evy! Heavy! Evy!

Teachers, parents, and guidance counselors all told me to ignore it. Hold my head high, they said. Sticks and stones and all that. No blood, no foul. Once, a counselor said I’d feel better if I tried being nice to Amy and Jillian. Yeah, just reward the bad behavior, right? She also suggested I join an after-school sports activity to keep my mind off things. I didn’t need a degree in rocket science to read between those lines—the counselor thought I should take up a pastime to lose weight.

As for Allison’s birthday, her dad was traveling for work, as he always did back then. He called her, but that was about it. Allison said he’d only been around for maybe four or five of her birthdays, total. Her mom gave her a few gift cards and the diary. She didn’t even wrap a single item, and afterward, she complained she had a migraine. So that left Allison and me. We went to a small Mexican restaurant and ate a couple of cheese quesadillas, and I paid. I also bought her a special-edition hardcover book on birds and another book on photography.

Now you can figure out what some of the birds are! I told her.

I spent my entire allowance on the dinner and the books, but I never told Allison that. She deserved better than me for a friend, but Allison never saw it that way.

The memory of Allison’s surprise as she unwrapped my gifts makes me smile.

These are awesome, Evy! she said. I love them!

You can write down what birds you see in your new diary, I said.

Allison laughed. I still hear the beauty of it, her happiness forever playing on my heartstrings, the tune Best Friends Forever.

As for Drew… Ugh! This whole thing may not have started with him, but he was definitely the catalyst. I was heartbroken when Allison and Drew didn’t work out—probably more so than Allison, even. I wanted her to be happy.

My heart aches as I read her entries, but not as much as I expect it will in the pages to come. I’ve closed these doors long ago, along with the pain behind them. Do I really want to open them again?

I turn the page.

---

October 13

We kissed! Okay, so we kissed a lot, and it was everything I imagined! We made out in front of the house. Mom didn’t leave the front light on for me, so I wasn’t worried she was watching. I guess writing a journal entry means I really can kiss and tell. He’s a great kisser. And no, Diary, we didn’t do anything else. He said he liked me. Yes! We’re meeting at Mainline Coffee downtown, tomorrow afternoon.

Of course, I have to tell Evy!

---

October 14

Drew and I had mocha lattes at Mainline. We even held hands. Holding hands felt even more special than the kiss. I couldn’t stop grinning! We didn’t hang out much after that, though. He said he still had some unpacking to do before school tomorrow.

---

October 15

Today is Monday, and I’ve never been so happy to see a school day. Today is also Drew’s first day at Warren Central. I think I have a boyfriend! We’re going out again this weekend, and although we don’t have any classes or lunch together, I’m sure we’ll pass each other in the hallway. Evy's excited for me! She worries a little—maybe she thinks that because I have a boyfriend we won’t hang out anymore. Not true! Evy is the best friend I’ve ever had. I wish the other kids would stop making fun of her and see her as I do: smart and kind. She’s the kind of person who’s always there for you when you need her.

---

October 16

I saw Drew in the hall today. I said hello, but I guess