I was in my mid teens when I found a old diary in my basement. It looked torn and filthy, and it was tempting so I decided keeping it.
After few days, I found out that the diary was indeed special. If I wrote anything on its pages, that would come true within minutes. I started from having sneakers of all colours to having my personal swimming pool, and it was granted.
Only one day, I was thinking to write a horror story and being absent-minded, I wrote it on that diary. The story was about a evil cat who loved to devour the hearts out of people. The first fictional victim was Victor Tomlinson.

Next moment, I heard commotion downstairs. The next door neighbour had been found dead lying on his lawn, having a huge depression on the left side of his chest and his pet cat had blood smeared on its face.

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