THE JOURNAL OF THE FORGOTTEN

CHAPTER 2: JOURNAL OF THE FORGOTTEN

Lucas was dreaming.

He had to be.

How else could he explain what he just saw?

His own reflection… smirking at him.

The image burned in his mind, sharp and unnatural. His breath came in shallow gasps as he tried to reason with himself. Maybe it was a trick of the light. Maybe he was just tired. The move had been exhausting, and the town—Riverside—was already getting to him.

But deep down, he knew better.

The church had been empty. Silent. The journal had been real, untouched by time.

And his reflection had smiled.

A slow, creeping chill crawled up his arms, making the fine hairs on his skin stand on end. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths. Maybe if he just ignored it, it would go away.

He turned his attention back to the journal resting on the altar. The book felt heavier in his hands now, its pages whispering against his fingers as he flipped through them.

This time, he read the words out loud.

"If you're reading this, you're in danger."

His throat went dry. He had hoped that saying it aloud would ease the fear twisting in his chest, but instead, it made it worse. The words carried weight, pressing down on him like unseen hands.

Something about the journal unsettled him in a way he couldn't explain. He turned to the last page, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed over the worn paper. A name stood out among the faded scribbles.

Eli.

A strange feeling settled in his chest, heavy and wrong—like a whisper in the back of his mind that he couldn't quite catch.

He exhaled, forcing a chuckle. Probably just some old town legend. Someone trying to scare people. That would explain the eerie atmosphere, the abandoned building, the cryptic message.

But even as he thought it, his gut told him otherwise.

Shaking the thought away, he shut the journal and placed it back on the altar. It was late. He needed to get home before his mother started to worry.

Dusting off his jeans—despite there being no dust—he turned toward the exit.

Then he froze.

Something was wrong.

His eyes flickered to the ground.

His shadow wasn't moving.

A sharp chill ran through him. His breathing turned shallow as he slowly, cautiously, turned his gaze toward the stained-glass window.

His reflection stood in the glass.

But it wasn't looking at him.

It was watching the journal.

And then, with eerie slowness… it smiled.

A wide, unnatural grin stretched across its face—a grin that wasn't his.

Lucas's stomach dropped.

His body reacted before his mind caught up. His legs moved, pushing him toward the church doors as fast as he could go. He didn't stop to look back. Didn't dare.

Something was watching him.

The cool night air burned his lungs as he ran through the empty streets. The town was silent, the houses dark, the roads empty. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, louder than his own footsteps.

By the time he reached his house, his chest was heaving. His hands trembled, but he forced himself to calm down. He couldn't let his mother see him like this.

Plastering on a charming smile, he stepped inside.

"Mom! I'm home," he called, flashing his perfectly white teeth—a little too perfect for a seventeen-year-old.

His mother looked up from the kitchen, relief washing over her face. "Lucas! Where did you run off to? I was worried."

"I just went running," he lied smoothly. "Needed some fresh air after the move."

She smiled. "Oh, dearie, did you enjoy it?"

"Uh… yeah. I guess," he muttered. He was about to say more when the doorbell rang.

His mother barely glanced up. "Lucas, go open the door. It's the sheriff, his family, and the town chief."

Lucas's blood ran cold.

He hesitated before walking toward the door. His fingers tightened around the handle before he finally pulled it open.

Three men stood in the doorway—men who seemed oddly familiar.

"Lucas!" The man in the police uniform grinned, clapping a hand on his back like they were old friends.

Lucas stiffened at the touch. "Uh… good evening."

The sheriff, a burly man with sharp eyes, stepped inside, followed by the town chief and another man Lucas didn't recognize. They greeted his mother warmly, exchanging pleasantries before settling at the dining table.

The room filled with conversation, laughter, and the clinking of cutlery. But even as the others talked, Lucas couldn't stop thinking about the church.

Something wasn't right.

"Lucas," the town chief suddenly spoke, his deep voice cutting through the noise. "Your mother says you went for a run. How was it? Where did you go?"

Lucas kept his face neutral, twirling his fork over his plate. "I ran through Oak's Children Park, then took a left… toward the church."

A tense silence settled over the table.

The sheriff set his fork down.

The chief glanced at him, then chuckled, breaking the tension. "Don't scare the child with that face of yours, Sheriff." He playfully slapped his hand.

Lucas hesitated before speaking. "Chief… has anyone been in that church recently?"

The chief's expression didn't change. "Why do you ask?"

Lucas sat up straighter. "The outside looks abandoned, but the inside was clean—almost like someone was taking care of it. The candles were still lit. And…"

He stopped himself before mentioning the reflection.

The chief smiled, but something about it felt off. "Lucas, I'd advise you not to go back there. It's against town rules."

Lucas frowned. "Why? It's just an old—"

"Because it's on the verge of collapse," the chief cut in smoothly. "Unsafe. Nothing more."

Lucas wasn't convinced. "There was a book there. A journal. Do you know—"

"I was there today, child," the chief interrupted again. His voice was calm, but his words were too firm. "There was no book."

Silence stretched between them.

Lucas's mother sighed. "Just eat, Lucas. Don't stress the chief. And don't go back to that church if they say you shouldn't."

Lucas nodded. But he wasn't satisfied.

---

Later that night, he pulled out his phone, searching for anything about the church.

No records. No history. No mentions at all.

Even the journal—it was as if it had never existed.

Frustrated, he sent messages to the town's group chat he had been added to.

Anyone know about the church?

Or a book that was inside?

One by one, replies popped up.

Never heard of a book.

Church? You mean the old building near the woods? I don't think anyone goes there.

What book?

What are you talking about?

Lucas's stomach twisted.

How could no one remember?

Or worse…

Had they all forgotten?