Connection: (Connected to SCP-010)
I didn't write the first page.
That's how I knew something was wrong.
The book wasn't even mine at first. It was just sitting there in my bag after school, a cheap little notebook with a cracked cover and lined paper. No one claimed it. No one saw me pick it up.
When I opened it, the first entry was already there. In my handwriting.
"3:47 p.m. — You'll trip on the curb outside the station. No one will notice, but your knee will sting for hours."
I laughed. I thought someone was messing with me. But when I left the station that afternoon, my foot caught the curb exactly the way the page said. The sting was still there when I got home.
I tried again. I checked the next page.
"6:02 p.m. — Mom will burn dinner again. You'll tell her it's fine. You'll eat it anyway."
I wanted to prove it wrong. I wanted to change something. But when I stepped into the kitchen, I smelled the smoke. She was already apologizing, and I was already saying it didn't matter. The page was right.
The pages kept filling themselves. Always in my voice. Always about me. I stopped questioning it. After a while, it was… comforting. Like a cheat code for life.
Until the book started writing about them.
"Tomorrow, 8:14 a.m. — You'll see a girl with another diary. She'll stare too long. She'll think you're weak."
I didn't know what it meant until I saw her at the crosswalk. A girl holding a pink phone, glaring at me like she already knew my secrets. I clutched the notebook harder. When I checked later, the ink had spread across the page:
"She will not let you live."
That was the night I stopped sleeping.
Every page after that wasn't about school or dinner or scraped knees. It was about the girl. About others. Strangers I hadn't met yet. The diary started telling me where they'd be, what they'd do, how they'd come for me. Sometimes it even told me how they'd die.
I thought it was a warning. A way to protect myself. But then I saw the handwriting change. Just for one sentence.
"You will win if you make the first move."
It wasn't describing anymore. It was telling.
And the worst part? I wanted to listen.
When I tried to resist, the book punished me. The entry would twist, bend events until I was dragged into them anyway. Once, I refused to meet someone at the park like it said. I locked myself in my room. But at the exact time the page described, my phone buzzed — a wrong number, or what should have been. The voice on the other end screamed my name. The shock made me drop the lamp. The fire spread. Just like the page had promised.
Now I don't know if I'm writing this, or if the book is. My hands move, the ink bleeds, and I can't tell if the words are mine anymore.
It just told me something else.
"12:31 a.m. — Foundation agents are coming. They will take the diary. You will not survive the handoff."
I can hear footsteps on the stairs.
The page is already turning.
Recovered from SCP-010-██ Holder's journal fragments.Archived under Incident Report 010-7C.