The Diary's SecretsShaina TranquilinoOctober 6, 2024

The Diary's Secrets Shaina Tranquilino October 6, 2024

Sophie had always adored her grandmother, a woman of grace and charm who filled every room with warmth. But when her grandmother passed away, Sophie was left with an overwhelming sense of loss. After the funeral, she returned to her grandmother’s quaint, creaky old house to sort through her belongings. Among the porcelain figurines, embroidered pillows, and stacks of faded photographs, Sophie found something unexpected — an old, weathered diary, its leather cover cracked with age.

Her grandmother had never mentioned a diary. The clasp was rusted, but it popped open easily under her fingertips. As she flipped through the yellowing pages, she noticed something strange. The ink appeared faded, yet readable, and as her eyes skimmed the words, she could have sworn she heard something — faint, almost imperceptible whispers.

Sophie frowned and closed the book quickly. The whispers ceased immediately, leaving an unnerving silence in their wake.

"Must be my imagination," she murmured, trying to shake off the chill that crept up her spine.

That night, Sophie took the diary home with her. Curiosity gnawed at her, and she couldn't resist opening it again. The moment she turned the first page, the whispers returned, low and unintelligible, as though the very paper itself was breathing secrets into the air. This time, the whispers were louder, more distinct, like fragmented pieces of conversations just beyond her grasp.

The words on the page were written in her grandmother’s delicate hand. January 5, 1956. The entry was brief, recounting a typical day. But as Sophie read further, the entries became darker, more cryptic.

February 12, 1956: “The shadow came again last night. It watches me. I hear it whispering from the corners of the room.”

Sophie’s heart skipped a beat. She looked around her small apartment, suddenly aware of the shadows pooling in the corners, the way the lamplight flickered just slightly. She swallowed, pushing the growing unease aside, and continued reading.

March 3, 1956: “I tried to speak with it. It knows my name. It knows things about me I never shared with anyone. The whispers grow louder every night.”

The whispers in Sophie’s own ears seemed to swell in response to the words on the page, almost as if the diary itself was reacting to the memories being uncovered. She slammed the book shut, panting, her breath shallow and fast. But the whispers didn’t stop. They lingered in the room, filling the space around her with unseen presences. She could feel something watching her.

Desperate, Sophie shoved the diary into a drawer and stumbled to bed, hoping that sleep would bring her peace. But the dreams came — vivid, terrifying dreams of her grandmother, her face twisted in fear, standing at the edge of Sophie’s bed, mouthing words she couldn’t hear over the cacophony of whispers filling the room.

The next morning, exhausted and shaken, Sophie yanked the diary from the drawer. She had to know what was happening. As soon as she opened it, the whispers returned, louder and more insistent.

April 15, 1956: “I’m not alone. It’s in the house with me. I feel its cold breath on my neck when I sleep. It wants something. I don’t know what, but it won’t leave me in peace.”

Her grandmother had been haunted, tormented by something unseen. The realization sent a cold shiver through Sophie. But there was more, a final entry. It was written in frantic, uneven script, unlike her grandmother’s usual elegant handwriting.

May 2, 1956: “I tried to lock it away. Tried to bind it to these pages. But it’s not enough. I can hear it still, scratching, whispering. It wants out. I fear it will find someone else, someone to continue what I could not finish. God help whoever opens this book after me.”

Sophie’s hands trembled as she dropped the diary. The whispers grew louder, no longer faint but echoing through the apartment, a cacophony of voices overlapping, seething with malevolence.

Suddenly, a gust of wind slammed the windows shut, plunging the room into darkness. The whispers were everywhere now, suffocating, as if invisible hands were reaching out from the shadows to close around her throat. Sophie staggered back, her breath hitching in her chest, eyes darting to the diary lying on the floor.

The pages fluttered on their own, turning violently, as though something trapped inside was desperate to be freed.

"No," Sophie gasped, her voice barely a whisper over the maddening chorus. "Please, no."

But it was too late. From the corners of the room, the shadows began to coalesce, forming a shape, a figure that seemed to crawl out of the very air itself, twisted and hunched, its eyes burning like embers in a sunken face. It moved toward her, slow, deliberate, its presence suffocating the light.

Sophie couldn’t move. The whispers were in her ears, her head, her mind, filling every thought with dread.

"You shouldn't have opened it," the voices hissed in unison.

The last thing Sophie saw was the figure looming over her, its cold breath on her neck, just as her grandmother had described. The diary lay open at her feet, the final page blank — waiting for the next entry.

Whispering in the Dark Shaina Tranquilino October 7, 2024

The fire crackled, sending sparks into the cold night air. Four friends—Liam, Ava, Noah, and Zoe—huddled around the campfire, their faces glowing in the flickering light. They had decided on a weekend camping trip to escape the pressures of work and city life, to reconnect with each other, and to enjoy the wilderness. The dense forest around them stretched into an abyss of darkness, a stark contrast to the warmth of the fire.

“Anyone else hear that?” Ava asked, her voice tinged with unease.

Liam glanced at her and shook his head. “You’re just spooking yourself out. It’s nothing.”

But Ava was certain she’d heard something—faint whispers, just beyond the reach of the firelight. They had started after the sun had dipped below the horizon, so soft and elusive she couldn’t make out the words. But they were there, threading through the stillness of the night.

“Could be the wind,” Noah suggested, though he, too, seemed a little on edge. The firelight danced in his eyes, making the shadows behind him appear to shift and twist.

Zoe shifted nervously. “It doesn’t sound like the wind.”

The whispers came again, faint and chilling, as if carried on the breeze. This time, they all heard it. The sound was disembodied, yet felt too close, like someone was standing just behind them, speaking softly, deliberately.

Liam stood up abruptly, scanning the tree line. “Who’s out there?” he called, his voice cutting through the whispers. The forest offered no reply, only an oppressive silence that swallowed his words.

“This isn’t funny,” Ava muttered, pulling her jacket tighter around her. Her breath fogged in the chilly night air, but the whispers were clearer now—almost too clear. They seemed to come from all directions at once, as if the forest itself was alive, watching them.

“We should get inside the tent,” Zoe suggested, her voice trembling. “Maybe it’s just animals or something.”

Liam scoffed, trying to keep the mood light. “Yeah, talking animals. Probably just locals messing with us.”

But as they packed up to head into the tent, the whispers grew louder, more distinct. Now, they sounded like murmured conversations, but the words were impossible to comprehend. One voice stood out from the others, sharp and urgent, as if calling someone’s name. Liam turned to the others, his face pale.

"Did you guys hear that?" he whispered. "It... it sounded like my name."

No one answered. Zoe’s eyes were wide, and Noah’s hands shook as he packed up the last of the supplies. The fire flickered low, casting long, eerie shadows across the campsite.

And then the voice came again, closer this time. Liam.

Everyone froze.

“Liam, it’s just a trick,” Ava said quickly. “Someone’s out there messing with us.”

But Liam wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on the dark edge of the woods, his face a mask of confusion. “It’s calling me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It knows my name.”

Without warning, he took a step toward the darkness.

“Liam, wait!” Zoe grabbed his arm, but he shook her off, stumbling toward the trees, his gaze locked on something none of them could see.

“Liam!” Ava screamed, but he was already gone, disappearing into the blackness of the forest, the sound of his footsteps swallowed by the whispers.

Noah grabbed a flashlight and bolted after him, shouting Liam’s name into the void. Ava and Zoe followed, panic driving them forward. But as they entered the forest, the voices surrounded them, more intense now, whispering directly in their ears, almost intimate.

"Turn back."

"Leave."

"He’s ours now."

The whispers slithered into their minds, seeping through every thought, every rational explanation. Fear gnawed at them, but they couldn’t stop. Liam’s figure darted between the trees ahead, moving deeper into the thick underbrush.

“Liam, stop!” Noah yelled. His voice seemed to vanish, swallowed by the whispers. The flashlight beam wavered, cutting through the mist that had begun to creep up from the ground. Shadows loomed ahead, their shapes shifting unnaturally, blending with the trees.

Liam disappeared from sight.

“Where did he go?” Ava gasped, her breath coming in short bursts. The forest felt like it was closing in around them, the trees twisting, forming a labyrinth of branches and darkness. The voices grew louder, more urgent.

“He’s not far,” Noah panted. “We’ll find him. We have to.”

But as they pushed deeper into the woods, something changed. The ground seemed to ripple beneath their feet, the air thick with the whispers, now like a chorus of malevolent beings. They weren’t alone in the woods.

Ava screamed as something brushed past her leg, cold and wet, like a hand. She stumbled, grabbing Zoe’s arm. “We need to go back,” she cried. “We can’t stay here.”

Suddenly, the flashlight flickered and went out, plunging them into complete darkness. The whispers surged, drowning out their frantic breathing, filling the silence with words they couldn’t understand, but the intent was clear.

They weren’t welcome.

In the pitch black, a new sound emerged—a low, guttural growl that vibrated through the earth. Zoe whimpered, clutching Ava’s arm tightly, her nails digging into her skin. Noah frantically tried to turn the flashlight back on, but it was useless. The growling grew louder, circling them, and they could feel something in the darkness, something hungry.

Then, from behind them, Liam’s voice rang out, but it was wrong—warped and distorted.

“Help me…”

It was a plea, but it wasn’t Liam.

“We have to run,” Ava whispered, terror making her voice tremble. “Now.”

They didn’t need convincing. Together, they bolted through the forest, the voices and growls chasing after them. The trees seemed to close in, the air thick with something suffocating. Ava could feel it—something was right behind her, its breath hot on the back of her neck.

They broke through the tree line and back into the campsite. The fire was nearly out, a few glowing embers all that remained. Gasping for breath, they huddled together, waiting, listening.

The whispers stopped.

But Liam never came back.

And in the dead of night, as the fire died completely, they knew they weren’t alone.

The Secrets of the Abandoned Theatre Shaina Tranquilino September 30, 2024

The wind howled as Mia, Lucas, Sarah, and Ben stood before the crumbling façade of the abandoned Crestwood Theatre. The moon cast long, eerie shadows across the street, and the decaying building loomed over them, as if daring them to step inside. Crestwood had been closed for nearly fifty years, ever since the tragic fire that had burned it down during a performance. Rumour had it that the final show, The Phantom’s Masquerade, had never reached its conclusion. The fire had erupted without warning, claiming the lives of several cast members and the director. Ever since, people in town whispered that strange things happened inside the old theatre. Shadows moved on their own, strange melodies drifted out into the night, and lights flickered through the boarded-up windows—despite there being no electricity.

"Are we really doing this?" Sarah asked, her voice trembling.

Lucas grinned, shaking a flashlight in his hand. "Come on, it'll be fun. What’s a little ghost hunt between friends?"

Ben, always the practical one, folded his arms. "I don’t know. People say this place is cursed for a reason."

Mia, the quietest of the group, felt an odd pull toward the building. She didn’t know why, but something about the Crestwood had always fascinated her, even frightened her. It wasn’t just the tragic fire; it was something more, something… unfinished. Without a word, she walked toward the heavy, broken doors.

Inside, the air was thick with dust, and the remnants of a once-grand theatre lay in ruins. Red velvet seats, now torn and decaying, lined the sloping floor leading to a stage draped in thick cobwebs. A broken chandelier hung precariously from the ceiling, swaying ever so slightly in the cold draft.

Mia shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. "We shouldn’t be here," she whispered.

Ben scoffed. "No kidding."

"Let’s just take a quick look around and get out of here," Lucas said, clicking on his flashlight and shining it across the rows of forgotten seats.

As the beam swept across the darkened theatre, something glinted from the stage. It was faint, barely noticeable, but enough to make Mia’s heart skip a beat. Without thinking, she moved toward the stage.

"Hey, Mia!" Lucas called after her. "Where are you going?"

She didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed on the spot where she had seen the glint. There was something there—something waiting.

The others followed, reluctantly climbing onto the stage behind her. Up close, the smell of old smoke still lingered in the air, as though the fire had never truly gone out. The curtains, now tattered and singed, fluttered slightly as if moved by an unseen hand.

"This is giving me the creeps," Sarah murmured.

As they reached the center of the stage, Mia suddenly froze. There, lying at her feet, was a charred mask—half burned, half pristine. It was a prop from the final performance of The Phantom’s Masquerade. She bent down to pick it up, but the moment her fingers touched the mask, the theatre changed.

The air grew thick, and a deep chill swept through the building. A low hum of music began to play, distant but growing louder. The friends exchanged uneasy glances as the ghostly melody filled the room.

Suddenly, the dim emergency lights that lined the aisles flickered on, casting a sickly glow over the seats. Lucas swung his flashlight wildly, but it wasn’t his light that illuminated the room—it was something else. The theatre was coming alive.

Then, they heard it.

Soft whispers. Laughter. The distant applause of an invisible audience.

"Oh my God," Sarah whispered. "Do you hear that?"

Mia clutched the mask tightly, her heart pounding in her chest. "We need to leave. Now."

But before they could move, a shadowy figure emerged from behind the torn curtains. It was dressed in a tattered costume from the show, its face hidden beneath a mask identical to the one Mia held. The figure moved with a slow, deliberate grace, as if it were still performing the role it had been cast in all those years ago.

"It’s a ghost," Ben gasped, backing away.

The figure turned toward them, raising a hand as if beckoning them closer. Its mask glinted in the dim light, and behind it, Mia could swear she saw hollow, empty eyes staring back at her.

Suddenly, the stage beneath their feet began to shake. The wood groaned as if under immense pressure, and the faint smell of smoke grew stronger. Flames—tiny at first—licked at the edges of the stage, curling around the old, decaying wood.

"We have to go!" Lucas shouted, grabbing Mia’s arm.

But she couldn’t move. She was rooted to the spot, her eyes locked on the ghostly figure. The whispers grew louder, the laughter more intense. The ghost raised its other hand, and with a sudden, violent gust of wind, the flames surged higher, engulfing the stage.

"No!" Mia screamed, finally breaking free from her trance.

She threw the mask down onto the stage, and as it hit the floor, the flames vanished. The theatre fell silent. The whispers stopped, the music faded, and the figure disappeared into the shadows.

The friends stood frozen, staring at the charred mask, still lying on the floor where Mia had dropped it. The air was thick with tension, but the theatre was quiet again. Too quiet.

Without a word, they bolted for the exit, not daring to look back. Outside, the cold night air felt like a relief, though their hearts were still pounding with terror.

"What just happened?" Sarah gasped, clutching her chest.

"It was them," Mia said quietly, staring back at the dark theatre. "The cast. They never finished their final performance. They’re still trapped in there, reliving that night over and over again."

Lucas shook his head, disbelief in his eyes. "We have to tell someone—"

"No one would believe us," Ben interrupted, his face pale. "Besides, I think it’s better if we just… let them be."

Mia nodded, her thoughts still lingering on the mask and the shadowy figure that had haunted the stage. As they walked away from the theatre, the wind picked up again, carrying with it a faint, haunting melody.

The final performance of The Phantom’s Masquerade was far from over.

And it never would be.

The Echo in the Walls Shaina Tranquilino October 1, 2024

Amelia and Jonathan had been searching for a fresh start, away from the noise and chaos of the city. The mansion they found, nestled deep within a forest, seemed like the perfect escape. Towering and ancient, with ivy crawling up its stone walls, it was a place shrouded in mystery. But the price was too good to ignore.

“This feels like a dream,” Amelia said as they stood in the grand foyer, gazing at the high, arched ceilings and marble floors. The place had a cold beauty to it, untouched by time, as though it had been waiting for them.

Jonathan smiled, squeezing her hand. “It’s perfect.”

But on the first night, as they lay in bed, Amelia heard something strange—a soft, almost imperceptible whisper, like wind sliding through cracks in the walls.

“What was that?” she asked, sitting up, her heart quickening.

Jonathan shrugged sleepily. “Probably just the wind. The place is old, after all.”

Amelia nodded, though she wasn’t convinced. As the days passed, the whispering became more persistent. At first, she thought it was her imagination. But then the whispers began to take shape, forming words—words she didn’t want to hear.

"He’s going to leave you."

She froze the first time it happened, standing alone in the long, dark hallway outside their bedroom. The voice was faint, almost tender, but unmistakable. It sounded like her own thoughts echoing back to her from the walls.

Amelia told herself it was stress. Moving had been difficult. Adjusting to a new place, especially one so isolated, could play tricks on the mind. She didn’t tell Jonathan. How could she explain that the house seemed to know her darkest fears?

But the whispers grew louder. At night, as they sat by the fireplace, she could hear them—soft murmurs hidden beneath the crackling of the flames. The voices whispered of betrayal, of loneliness, of secrets Jonathan was keeping.

"He’s hiding something from you."

One evening, Amelia finally asked, “Have you heard anything strange in the house?”

Jonathan looked at her, frowning. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” she hesitated. “Like… voices?”

He laughed, though the sound was strained. “You’re just imagining things. This place is big. Old houses settle, creak.”

But that night, Amelia woke to the sound of Jonathan speaking in his sleep. She turned toward him, her pulse quickening.

"You can’t protect her."

She sat up, eyes wide. His lips moved, the words barely audible, but there was no mistaking the fear in his voice. He was dreaming, caught in some nightmare. But whose words were they?

The next morning, Jonathan was quiet, distant. When Amelia asked if he was okay, he brushed her off.

But she knew the truth. The house was getting to him too.

Days turned into weeks, and the mansion’s whispers became an ever-present hum. Amelia began to lose sleep. The whispers echoed in her ears, feeding her anxiety, telling her things she didn’t want to believe.

"He’s tired of you."

"You’re not enough."

The walls felt alive, like they were watching her, waiting for her to break. She avoided the mirrors, terrified of what she might see in them. Her reflection felt foreign, her mind unraveling under the weight of the house’s secrets.

One evening, as the sun set behind the thick trees, Amelia confronted Jonathan.

“Something’s wrong with this place,” she said, her voice trembling. “The walls… they know things. They’re telling me things.”

Jonathan’s face darkened. “Amelia, stop. You’re letting it get to you. It’s just a house.”

“No, it’s not!” she cried. “I can hear them, Jonathan. And I know you can too.”

For a moment, his expression softened. He opened his mouth to speak, but then the whispers came, louder than ever before, echoing between them.

"He’s already planning to leave you."

Jonathan’s eyes flickered, and in that brief second, Amelia knew the truth. The whispers weren’t lying.

With trembling hands, she backed away from him. “What have you been hiding from me?”

Before he could answer, a violent gust of wind tore through the room, rattling the windows. The house groaned, as if waking from a deep sleep. The whispers grew louder, drowning out their voices.

"It’s too late now."

Suddenly, the walls began to tremble. Cracks appeared, snaking across the ceiling like veins. Amelia’s heart pounded in her chest as the mansion seemed to close in around them. The whispers rose to a deafening roar.

And then, silence.

Jonathan stood frozen, his eyes wide, his face pale. "Amelia…" he whispered, but the fear in his voice was unmistakable.

The walls had spoken the truth.

The mansion had been waiting for them all along.

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, as if the mansion were holding its breath. Amelia felt the chill of dread wrap around her like a shroud. She wanted to run, to escape the walls that seemed to pulse with an unseen energy, but Jonathan stood rooted in place, his face pale and expressionless.

“Amelia, we need to get out of here,” he finally said, breaking the heavy stillness. His voice was laced with fear, and for the first time, she saw the uncertainty in his eyes.

She nodded, feeling a surge of adrenaline. They turned toward the door, but as they stepped into the hallway, the whispers returned, cascading around them like a wave.

"You can’t escape your fate."

They hurried down the corridor, each step echoing ominously, but the whispers grew louder, swirling around them, drowning out their thoughts. The shadows seemed to stretch and twist, creeping closer with every passing second.

“Amelia!” Jonathan grabbed her arm, his grip tightening. “We have to stick together!”

She met his gaze, her heart racing. “We can’t let the house take us! We need to find a way to break whatever hold it has on us!”

They raced toward the main staircase, but as they reached the bottom, the house trembled again, and the whispers turned to a cacophony, a terrifying symphony of their deepest fears.

"He will leave you. You are nothing without him."

Amelia clutched her head, overwhelmed. “Stop! Just stop!” she screamed into the dark void.

Then, in that moment of desperation, she recalled the legend she had read about the mansion—a story of a family that had succumbed to the house’s whispers, unable to resist the pull of their own insecurities. But it also spoke of a way to silence the echoes: one had to confront the source of their fears.

“Jonathan!” she shouted over the noise, her voice fierce. “We have to face it! We need to confront what we’re afraid of!”

He hesitated, confusion and fear mingling in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“The house feeds on our doubts! If we face what we fear the most, it might lose its power!”

Before Jonathan could respond, the walls shuddered violently, and a shadow darted past them. It was as if the very essence of the house was alive, writhing and grasping for them.

“Together,” Amelia urged, gripping his hand tightly. “We can do this together.”

They took a deep breath and faced each other. “I’m scared you’ll leave me,” Amelia admitted, her voice shaking. “That I’m not enough for you.”

Tears shimmered in Jonathan’s eyes. “I’m scared that I’ll fail you, that I won’t be able to protect you. But I love you, Amelia. I don’t want to lose you either.”

With those confessions, the whispers quieted, but they weren’t gone. Instead, they morphed into a softer, almost melancholic tone, as if the house itself were listening.

Amelia pressed on, her voice steady. “I’m afraid of being alone, of not being able to find my way. But I know I’m stronger than this place. We both are.”

The walls trembled again, but this time, they felt more alive than threatening. Jonathan nodded, his resolve strengthening. “I refuse to let this place take us. I love you, and together, we can face anything.”

With their hands clasped tightly, they moved deeper into the house, each step echoing their newfound strength. They faced the whispers together, acknowledging the fears that had haunted them since their arrival.

As they climbed the grand staircase, the air grew lighter, the oppressive darkness fading. The whispers became mere murmurs, like distant memories rather than threats.

Finally, they reached the room at the end of the hall—the library, where the walls were lined with books, tales of love and loss, joy and sorrow. In the center of the room stood a massive fireplace, cold and empty.

Amelia knelt beside the hearth, touching the stones. “This is where it ends,” she whispered, taking a deep breath. “We need to cleanse this place of its hold over us.”

Jonathan joined her, and together they gathered kindling from the surrounding shelves—pages torn from books that had whispered secrets of fear and despair. They stacked the wood in the fireplace, their hands steady despite the trembling walls.

“Are you ready?” he asked, looking into her eyes.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Let’s burn away the fear.”

Jonathan struck a match and lit the kindling. Flames danced and flickered, casting a warm glow around the room. As the fire grew, the whispers grew frantic, rising in pitch and intensity, but they held their ground.

“Leave us!” Amelia shouted. “You have no power here!”

The flames roared, and with a final wail, the whispers faded into silence. The house trembled violently for a moment, and then—calm.

As the fire crackled, the room felt different. The air was lighter, the oppressive energy that had weighed on them lifted. They looked at each other, tears of relief in their eyes.

“Did we do it?” Jonathan whispered, his voice a mix of hope and disbelief.

Amelia smiled through her tears. “I think we did.”

They embraced, feeling the warmth of each other, of love conquering fear. The mansion, once a prison of whispers, now stood transformed, its shadows retreating into the corners.

Hand in hand, they stepped outside into the golden light of dawn. The forest around them was serene, birds chirping, sunlight filtering through the trees.

“We’re free,” Jonathan said, looking back at the mansion.

“Yes,” Amelia replied, a sense of peace settling in her heart. “And now we can start anew.”

Together, they walked away, leaving the echoes of the past behind, ready to embrace whatever lay ahead.

Following Through on My New Year's Resolution: September Update Shaina Tranquilino September 30, 2024

At the beginning of the year, I set a resolution that felt deeply meaningful and personal: every month, I would donate to a different organization that I felt called to support. My goal wasn't just to give financially, but to invest in causes that resonate with my values, communities, and ongoing efforts for change. As we are at the end of September, I want to share a little about this month's donation and reflect on what this journey has meant so far.

For the month of September, I chose to donate to the Legacy of Hope Foundation (LHF), an Indigenous-led charitable organization that is dedicated to educating the public and raising awareness about the history and lasting impacts of the Residential School System in Canada. Established in 2000, the LHF has been doing the vital work of helping Canadians understand the trauma and ongoing challenges faced by Indigenous communities—particularly those who survived these schools, as well as their families and descendants.

I was moved to donate to the Legacy of Hope Foundation because of the important role they play in truth-telling, healing, and reconciliation. The Residential School System is a painful chapter in Canadian history, one that forcibly separated Indigenous children from their families, stripped them of their languages, cultures, and identities, and subjected them to harsh, abusive conditions. The effects of this system continue to ripple through generations, impacting the well-being of Indigenous communities.

Through education, exhibitions, and workshops, the Legacy of Hope Foundation not only illuminates this dark history but also provides a pathway for healing and fostering just and equal relationships between Indigenous Peoples and Canadians. Their work in expanding awareness, honouring survivors, and encouraging reconciliation is inspiring, and supporting them this month felt like a small but meaningful way to contribute to this vital movement.

What has been particularly powerful for me is the Foundation's focus on creating a space for healing and understanding. The work they do to showcase the resilience and strength of Indigenous Peoples, while also making known the injustices they have faced, is something we need more of in our world. It’s a reminder of the importance of not only learning from history but also taking active steps towards repairing harm.

Over the course of this year, each donation I've made has been an opportunity to reflect on what I value and how I can help create positive change in the world. From environmental causes to social justice initiatives, each organization I've supported has been a piece of a larger puzzle, one that is about compassion, equity, and the belief that even small actions can lead to big differences.

As I continue with this New Year's resolution, I'm filled with gratitude for the work being done by organizations like the Legacy of Hope Foundation. Their commitment to truth, reconciliation, and healing reminds me that while the road may be long, we are all part of the process of building a better, more inclusive future.

In the months ahead, I look forward to learning about new organizations, supporting diverse causes, and keeping the spirit of this resolution alive. It's been a rewarding and eye-opening journey, and I'm excited to see where the next few months take me.

If you're interested in learning more about the Legacy of Hope Foundation or supporting their work, I encourage you to visit their website and explore the many ways they're contributing to education and reconciliation across Canada.

Here’s to continuing the path toward positive change, one month, and one organization at a time. https://www.canadahelps.org/en/charities/legacy-of-hope-foundation/

The Haunted Shipwreck Shaina Tranquilino September 25, 2024

The ocean was still that morning, a glassy expanse stretching into the horizon, as divers Jon and Tasheena prepared their descent. They had heard the rumours, of course—stories whispered in the shadowy corners of taverns near the docks about The Carina, an early 19th-century cargo ship that vanished without a trace nearly two hundred years ago. According to legend, it was perfectly preserved at the ocean’s floor, waiting for someone—or something—to bring its tragic past to light.

Jon tightened his oxygen tank and gave Tasheena a nod. "You ready for this?"

She adjusted her mask and grinned through the glass. "Born ready. Let’s find that ship."

The two divers plunged into the depths, the sunlight refracting through the clear water above them, growing dimmer the deeper they swam. After a half-hour descent, the shadow of something massive loomed ahead.

“There,” Jon signaled, pointing to the dark shape emerging in the murky water.

As they got closer, their headlamps cut through the gloom, illuminating the ghostly outline of The Carina. To their astonishment, the ship looked as if it had only recently been submerged. The wood was intact, ropes still hung loosely from the masts, and the sails—though worn—remained tethered. There was no sign of coral or barnacles overtaking the hull, as though time itself had forgotten the wreck.

Tasheena's voice crackled through the communication system. “This can’t be right. Ships like this shouldn’t be this well preserved. It’s… untouched.”

Jon was about to respond when something caught his eye—figures. For a fleeting moment, shapes moved just within the edge of his vision, like shadows passing through the dark corridors of the ship.

“Tasheena, did you see that?”

She turned her light toward the spot where he was staring. “See what?”

“I thought I saw… never mind.” He shook off the feeling. “Let’s head inside.”

They entered through a gaping hole in the ship’s hull, likely torn open when the vessel went down. Inside, the eerie preservation continued. Wooden crates were stacked along the walls, barrels remained lashed in place, and the captain’s quarters were still furnished as if awaiting the return of its master. Jon and Tasheena exchanged glances, both feeling the heavy silence that clung to the wreck.

Tasheena approached an old ledger on the captain’s desk. She flipped through the brittle pages, marvelling at the fact that they hadn’t disintegrated over time. But as she read, her face paled.

“Jon… you need to hear this.”

She began to read aloud from the final entry, dated August 12, 1821:

We are lost. Cursed, perhaps. The crew grows restless, their eyes haunted by something unseen. We hear voices in the night, calling from the deep. They speak in tongues we do not understand, yet we cannot help but listen. Men have begun to disappear, claimed by the sea or by something far worse. We make for land, but I fear we shall never reach it. Should anyone find this log, know that we were not meant to survive.

Jon felt a chill crawl up his spine. “So the ship’s crew went mad?”

Tasheena shook her head slowly. “I think they were haunted.”

As the words left her mouth, a sudden movement in the water behind her made Jon's heart stop. Slowly, he turned, raising his light.

At first, there was nothing—just the dark, still waters of the sunken ship. Then, from the shadowed corridor, a figure emerged. It wore the tattered remains of a sailor’s uniform, its face gaunt, hollow eyes staring blankly ahead. But it wasn’t alone. More figures drifted from the darkness, their forms translucent, their movements unnaturally slow, as if trapped in a dream. They floated toward the divers with an unsettling calm.

“Jon…” Tasheena whispered, her voice barely audible over the comms. “We need to get out of here.”

Jon backed toward the opening they had come through, his heart pounding in his chest. “Don’t look at them. Just move.”

The ghosts of The Carina drifted closer, their eyes following the divers. One reached out a hand, its fingers brushing past Jon's arm. A sharp coldness pierced his skin, and he flinched, kicking back with a surge of panic. He could feel the weight of the ship’s tragic past pressing in around him, the despair of the lost crew clawing at his mind.

Tasheena had already reached the opening, turning to signal Jon when her light caught something else—movement from within the captain’s quarters. A tall figure, wearing a long, sea-soaked coat, stood just inside the room. The captain. His face was drawn tight, skin pulled back over bone, eyes glowing faintly with an eerie blue light. He stepped forward, and though no words passed his lips, Tasheena felt his message reverberate through the water.

Stay. Join us.

“No!” she shouted, swimming toward Jon.

He reached for her, their hands just brushing as something cold and invisible tugged at her legs. Tasheena gasped, thrashing, trying to pull free, but the spectral grip tightened. Jon grabbed her arm with both hands and kicked furiously, propelling them both toward the surface.

The ghostly crew followed, their hollow eyes staring after the divers with an ancient sorrow. But they did not leave the ship. They could not.

As the surface broke above them, Jon and Tasheena gasped for air, tearing off their masks as they climbed back onto their boat. For several minutes, neither spoke, their eyes locked on the still water below.

Finally, Tasheena broke the silence. “They wanted us to stay. To join them.”

Jon nodded, his face pale. “We were lucky to get out.”

They both knew that the crew of The Carina hadn’t been so fortunate. Bound to their ship, they would drift forever in that watery grave, waiting for the next unwary souls to stumble upon their cursed wreck.

As the boat sped back toward the safety of the shore, Jon glanced over his shoulder at the calm sea behind them. Though the sun shone brightly, casting shimmering light across the water, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching from below—waiting, patient as the tide.