The walk home from the Temple feels longer than usual. The Witnesses drift through the crowd like black shadows, their hollow eyes searching for any sign of doubt or rebellion. I keep my head down, trying not to think about the purple flame I saw at the altar - another sign only I seem to notice.

Claire and I maintain the proper distance the Church demands. I want to continue our morning conversation about her grandfather, about the strange things we've noticed lately, but there's no chance now. Not with the Witnesses watching.

"We'll talk later," Claire whispers as we reach the point where our paths split.

The morning sun beats down on the cobblestones as we make our way through the quiet streets. A sudden movement catches my eye - Mrs. Hedda's red cat, but something's wrong. It stands frozen on a garden wall, fur bristling, staring at something we can't see.

The cat lets out a sound that's not quite natural - deeper than a normal hiss, more like a warning. Its eyes reflect too much light for midday, seeming to glow with an inner fire. Before we can move, it arches its back impossibly high and bolts away, as if fleeing from something terrible, again.

Maya and I stumble backward, my heart hammering against my ribs. The sound still echoes in my ears, wrong and unnatural. My hands shake as I grab Claire's arm, and I notice she's trembling too. We hurry home, jumping at every shadow, every rustle of leaves. Even after we're safely inside, I can't shake the chill that's settled in my bones.

Night has fallen by the time Maya finally drifts off to sleep, her quiet breathing filling our shared room. She stirs once, mumbling something about "pretty lights", but doesn't wake. I wait until I'm sure she's deep asleep before moving, though my hands still quiver slightly from the morning's encounter.

The leather cover of Grandmother's journal feels warm against my fingers as I pull it from beneath the mattress. Years of hiding have marked its surface - small scratches, stains of different inks, corners softened by time. Different hands have added to its pages - the original neat script in faded brown ink, later notes cramped into margins in darker shades, and finally hurried annotations in still-fresh black.

A pressed herb falls from between the pages as I open it, its scent sharp and unfamiliar. Grandmother's careful organization system becomes clear: dates in the upper corners, location markers along the margins, and a complex series of symbols that seem to indicate danger levels.

A soft footstep in the hallway makes my heart stop. I freeze, clutching the journal to my chest, every muscle tense. The floorboards creak again - someone approaching slowly, deliberately.

I hold my breath, looking frantically for a place to hide the journal. The footsteps pause outside my door. A shadow moves beneath it. The handle turns slowly...

"Boo!" Claire whispers, slipping inside with a grin.

I nearly collapse, my legs going weak as relief floods through me. My hands shake so badly I have to set the journal down, and I realize I've been holding my breath so long my lungs burn. "You scared me half to death!" I hiss, careful not to wake Maya. My heart still pounds painfully against my ribs.

Claire stifles a giggle, though it catches in her throat when she sees how pale I am. "Your face! I thought you were going to faint." She sits beside me, concerned. "Are you okay? You're trembling."

"Very funny," I grumble, but I'm smiling too, though the smile feels shaky. My nerves are still raw from this morning's encounter with the cat. "What are you even doing here?"

"Your mother let me in," she settles beside me. "I couldn't sleep thinking about what we discussed this morning."

"The Upside Down isn't one place, but many," I read from the first entry, my voice still unsteady. "Like layers of reality pressed together, each one darker than the last. The first layer, what the Guilds call the Sanctum, still holds echoes of our world..."

The next pages contain meticulously detailed maps. Circles within circles, each marked with careful notes. Her sketches show creatures labeled with precise measurements and behavioral notes:

'Luminescent Mice - Length: 3-4 inches. Notable for crystalline whiskers that detect energy flows. Avoid if whiskers turn black - indicates corrupt energy presence.'

'Echo Dragons - Size of common house cat. Feed on residual energy. WARNING: Do not approach during feeding. Can mistake human life force for food source.'

The floorboards creak with slow, deliberate steps. Not Mom's usual quick stride or Dad's heavy tread. These footsteps pause, advance, pause again - like something hunting.

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Claire grips my hand so tight it hurts, her nails digging into my palm. The shadow under the door grows darker, spreading like ink across the floor. The doorknob turns with excruciating slowness, metal scraping against metal in a way that makes my teeth ache.

The door begins to open, revealing only darkness beyond. Claire and I press against the wall, our hearts thundering so loud I'm sure whatever's out there must hear them. My vision starts to blur at the edges, spots dancing before my eyes as terror threatens to overwhelm me.

"Girls?" Mom's whisper comes through the door. "I heard voices. Everything alright?"

The relief hits so hard my knees buckle. Claire catches me before I can fall, though she's shaking just as badly. Cold sweat soaks through my nightdress, and I realize I'm gasping like I've been running.

"We're fine, Mom," I manage, my voice high and thin. "Claire couldn't sleep."

"Want some warm milk?" She peers in, her face soft in the darkness. Her expression changes to concern when she sees our state. "Are you sure you're alright? You both look terrible."

"No thanks, Mom. We're good." I force the words out past the tightness in my throat.

She nods, closing the door quietly. "Don't stay up too late."

Claire and I sink to the floor, still trembling. It takes several minutes before either of us can speak. When we finally return to the journal, our hands shake so badly we can barely turn the pages.

The next section describes the Twilight zone - the second layer. Grandmother's notes become more technical here:

'Navigation Rules for Twilight Zone:

* Always maintain physical contact with companion

* Count steps between markers

* Test ground before each step

* If disoriented, locate nearest energy flow (see detection methods pg. 12)

* NEVER follow voices'

Her bestiary continues with more disturbing entries: 'Pack Hunters - Wolf-like entities that track emotional emanations. Hunt in groups of 3-7. Can be deterred by projected calm. Physical weapons useless.'

A creak from above makes us both look up.

Maya sits up suddenly, her eyes still closed but facing directly at the journal. In a voice that's not her own, she recites: "'Saw one of the Greater Beasts today. It stood taller than the oldest oak, its body seeming to shift between forms - now a bear, now a stag, now something ancient that has no name. The Guild members fled, but I couldn't move. It looked at me with eyes like wells of midnight and spoke...'"

Heavy footsteps cross the ceiling - measured, deliberate, wrong. The attic floorboards groan under weight that seems too great for wood to bear.

Maya continues in that distant voice: "The pretty one wants to play. The pretty one with the sharp, sharp smile..."

The attic door creaks open with a sound like breaking bones. Something massive moves in the darkness beyond - a shape that seems to shift and flow, too large for the narrow stairs, too strange for mortal eyes.

Claire and I press against the wall, sliding down to the floor in terror. My hands fly up to cover my face as I scream, the sound tearing from my throat before I can stop it. Claire screams too, her voice joining mine in a chorus of terror. We curl into tight balls, trying to make ourselves as small as possible.

"Papa?" Maya's voice cuts through our screams, sounding completely normal.

"PAPA!" We both shriek, still not daring to look.

Maya makes an exasperated sound. "You're both so stupid! It's just Papa! Look!"

"Found it!" Dad's voice breaks through the terror. He steps into the light, holding something in his hands. "Been looking for this since your mother gave you the journal."

This really is a day to forget.

Claire and I peek through our fingers, still trembling violently. It's just Dad, though he's holding something strange - a mask, intricately carved from dark wood that seems to drink in the candlelight. Its features shift as we watch - now bearlike, now more like a stag, now something older that has no name.

"Your grandmother's favorite piece," he says softly, clearly trying not to laugh at our reaction. "The Walker Between Forms. She wore it when studying the greater beasts." He holds it out with careful reverence. "If your mother thinks you're ready for the journal, then maybe you're ready for this too."

I take the mask with trembling hands, though it takes me several tries to grasp it properly. It feels warm, alive almost. Like it remembers other hands, other eyes, other nights spent watching shapes move in darkness.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice still shaky. Beside me, Claire has dissolved into slightly hysterical giggles, the release of tension too much to contain.

"Julie?" Dad pauses at the door, his expression both amused and concerned. "Whatever you find in that journal... whatever path you choose... remember you're not alone. Not like she was."

"You're both ridiculous," Maya announces, flopping back onto her bed. "It was obviously Papa. I could tell by his footsteps."

I want to respond, but my legs are still too weak to stand. Claire and I stay on the floor, our hearts gradually slowing to normal rhythm, though the tremors take much longer to subside.

Because now I understand - Grandmother's journal isn't just a record of discoveries.

It's a survival guide.

And something tells me we're going to need every instruction she left - especially the parts about staying calm in the face of terror.