The smell of the attic was a combination of stale summers and sunbeams full of dust particles. Maya would wipe her forehead and at that point in time she was going through numerous of her grandmother’s stuff which brought memories of the past not rightfully hers. It was Maya's turn now to wipe off some sweat from her forehead as she worked hard in hot afternoon, separating one memory from another, all so precious yet none truly belonging to her.
In a heap of old pictures, she felt something like leather but solid when she touched it. In lifting out a little note book with a brass lock pendent she had disengaged from its string fastening on the side of other things, what did she find below dozens upon dozens antique photos & papers? Her heart skipped a beat. The cover was worn out but had the same old initials M. R. that she had carved so awkwardly at the age of eight with a blunt knife which also she remembered well. It had to be said that this diary was one among those many things they left behind while changing places hurriedly after papa’s mishap; but for all that she had loved and mourned over it as over a living being.
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Opening it, she was greeted by her handwriting—round characters with those peculiar dots on letter “I”. However, reading through the initial words written before three months passed and which started everything brought cold confusion into her heart.
June 15th - Today, that man with the grey coat came to school for the second time this week. During our break, he stood across our playing field and gazed at me. I tried to describe him to everyone in class but they said I made it up. His eyes resemble winter in my drawing.
She wrinkled her forehead. This particular entry had never been part of her conscious composition; neither could she recall ever seeing or hearing about any gray-coated man throughout that time – though admittedly, most memories one trauma-blurred from back then were quite hazy anyway!
She turned the page.
June 18th - I informed my mother about the man in the gray coat, but she appeared anxious once more. It was the kind of expression that she has whenever she remembers the headache that Dad used to have. She asked me to promise that I wouldn’t share it with anyone. I can’t figure out why adults always have the need to hide things.
Maya could not hold her hands still. This was after all before his accident that her father started experiencing those very painful and long lasting kind of headaches, which would make him totally immobile for days on end; and during which he had a certain awareness that he was going to die as surely as he ever lived. Only after crashing the car did doctors discover a brain tumor in a man who had passed out behind the wheel for no apparent medical reason, at the age of thirty-five and in good general health.
June 22nd - I now know where he stands at my house. As if to confirm what I suspected, I saw him next to our mailbox just after Daddy had arrived home from work. My father didn't see the man and passed by him as if there was nobody standing around at all. Nevertheless, I can swear on my head that he is real because once they fall silent, the birds never fail to remind me of his presence nearby.
Every word seemed like her own writing yet someone’s else life story in each of them. Maya turned and turned pages in a rush hoping to recognize anything! The only things she found were more shocking stories written by an observer child who saw everything round him, was watched over by all but could not perceive any single thing itself!
July 4th - The noise from fireworks this evening scared the grey man. It is easy to know that because immediately after that the dogs started barking again. Perhaps he is sensitive to loud sounds. I will demand firecrackers for my birthday.
July 10th - Daddy is getting sicker because of him. The man in grey coat makes my daddy vomit blood every time they have secret chat at our backyard; or so it seems like yesterday… however when I ran out, there was no one else except Daddy himself crouching down with hands over ears while sobbing bitterly amidst pain of head again!
Her throat contracted painfully. She recalled running up to him and giving him a hug until he calmed down. She remembered nothing about what caused his headache then since it was all natural with no supernatural entity involved at any point in time hurting people around especially kids like herself who should be playing happily without having such worries concerning their loved ones’ health while doing so at all cost or harm done towards anyone’s person within family circle itself because there can never really ever exist anything known as harmless prank when taken too far.
As time passed, the girl became more convinced that her father's worsening condition was related to this strange visitor known only as “The Grey Man.” Her writing turned into scrawls and doodles – tall, gaunt figures with deep-set eyes reaching out from beyond each margin line – as she described everything in greater detail than before.
July 28th - I finally understand him. A man wearing a gray coat murmured in my ear while I slept last night. He would like us to exchange positions. It has been so long since he got stuck, and Papa is offering such a weak resistance now. I need to stop him but how?
Three days before her father’s accident Maya turned over to the last page which was almost impossible to read as if it had been written down at great speed and with little care.
August 1st - I have done a very bad thing. I managed to eliminate the man in a grey coat but it was too expensive – from tomorrow papa won’t recall my face and you will follow suit – but all of you are safe. And if you are reading this, then I have failed in all and every part of my enchantment. He who has forgotten shall deceive you.
The journal slipped from Maya's numb fingers, falling open to a page she hadn't noticed before — a detailed drawing of the house she'd grown up in, with two figures standing in the front yard. One was obviously her father while for the other there was no doubt; it was a small girl that bore an exact resemblance to her at eight years old except for the eyes which looked ancient and sad beyond their years.
Underneath the sketch, the words were neatly inscribed in capital letters: There are memories which we should not keep because they can harm us. There exist certain versions of ourselves that carry too much information to survive them all.
Maya gazed at the crumbling ceiling until darkness started creeping into every corner of the attic. Just as she turned her attention away from it, for a split second she could swear that there was someone behind the window grilles – a little child with her features but different eyes, silently moving lips as if trying to warn about something.
The brass-locked diary lay open between them like an eye keeping watch over its secrets, some of which might be better forgotten.
For the first time in twenty years, all sounds from birds outside ceased completely and eerily so too!
