The Diary of Nightmares

My grandmother's attic smelled like copper pennies the day I found her diary.

Inside, she documented every nightmare she ever had, dated precisely

one week before they happened in real life. Car crashes. House fires.

Deaths. All predicted. I laughed it off until I reached the final entry.

My name. Tomorrow's date. The words made my blood freeze. She wrote that I

would read this diary, dismiss it as coincidence, then hear three knocks at my door

at midnight. When I answer, I'll see myself standing there, older,

covered in dirt, whispering the exact location where my body will be buried. I checked my watch.