The Narrator writes:
I put off opening the diary this morning. Its appearance was darker than usual. In fact, sitting there on my desk it seemed to be sucking the light from the room, making all around me a couple of shades dimmer than usual.
At last I unlocked the cover and the pages fell open with a burst of light.
Though there was still no new entry, hope soared in me again.
So much more to puzzle over. I spent hours turning pages, looking for clues or a key to help me translate. I took to counting the pages with writing and lost count somewhere around the two thousand mark, and still more pages with text lay ahead.
At that point I thought to check out the covers – but they were clean, not even anything I could assume was a signature of ownership.
Days later I finally reached the last page of written material. Well short of half way through the volume.
And there before my eyes, in flashes of brilliant light more letters drew themselves onto the page. And when finished the book closed up and the lock relocked.
The pages were filled with letters and symbols, cramped from top to bottom with what looked like strings of words and blocks of paragraphs. And here and there were larger markings, very much like those in my dreams that gave the clues for unlocking the book.
As my eye scanned down the first page the letters etc gave off a silver iridescence, indicating exactly where my gaze was focused.
I flipped to the back of the volume and saw that the pages from there back to the middle were empty. Plenty of room to make additions.
But I could not read any of it.
Watch This Space 