Dear New Diary,

I just got a new diary today (that's you!). All of my old ones were kept as evidence by the police, who want to use it to make sure Sid's farms don't make any more cannibal meat. They said his investors want to keep breaking the law to save money on food for the animals, and they have to disband the company or they'll just bring in another guy exactly like Sid to do it again. I'm not allowed to talk about it though (with ANYONE, they said), because they want to keep details of the case a secret until it gets to court.

It's been a crazy month. Flint's birthday was a couple of days before Sid died, before he tried to kill me and Flint. Mine was the day after. We almost didn't make it, because Bull chased us out and we had to drive Sid's truck to get away. Lucky for us, he was drunk, so he hit a tree. Flint drove us all the way back into town before we got lost and parked at the mall. I was surprised he could drive at all. He said his dad taught him when they were hunting, and that he wasn't all bad. I thought he was scary and mean. Either way, he's in jail for helping Sid almost kill us. He might not be out for at least ten years.

Pearl was really mad when we called. I was grounded for two weeks, but I still got to have my birthday party. Flint came over, too. I guess he didn't really get to have a party for his birthday. He lives with his grandparents now on a reserve, and it's really far away, so I wasn't sure if I would get to see him ever again. So we invited them all over, and it was kind of like a double-birthday. Pearl got me a book of monsters, with cool art and stories. I'm not sure how accurate it is, though. The part about zombies didn't look anything like the one I'd met. I told Flint I already gave him the silver hood, but that turned out to belong to his grandpa anyway! So it was more like a gift from both of us, since I'm the one who got it back for them. Flint gave me that weird black stick, which his grandpa says is part of a scythe. They figured I'd like it, for grim reasons. I did. There was an eating contest with ice cream cake, which Jet won. He's doing better now, his mom's making him eat vegetarian and he's not allowed to use a knife to eat or he'll hurt himself. He told me he has "phoenix healing", but I told him he's more like a pig the way he gobbled up that ice cream. It's not a bad thing, pigs are... nice. Usually.

I haven't been hearing any screams lately, at least not from otherworldly beings (unless you count Jet). Pearl made me talk to a school counselor about my "delusions". They had me write out 50 times, "ghosts aren't real", but what do they know? One thing's for sure, the silver hood and bat-skin death cloak were both bogus. They didn't do anything but keep me warm in the freezing cold. Now that I think about it, I might have just imagined I was hearing things because I didn't like what I was seeing. The police did tests on the powder that Sid had in his little can, that he tried to poison me with. It was painkillers! Apparently he used to be a KGB assassin or something, but he forgot that he was just an old man with meds for his back pain. What's weird is that they didn't feel all that different from how I normally feel, but only when I eat meat. It's also the reason I kept puking, according to the doctor. He said one of the side effects is nausea. Sid gave me the powder twice: once in the hot chocolate, and another time with the tea (I lied a little bit, I had to take a sip in front of my grandma so she wouldn't get upset).

One last thing before I go... remember Shirwin? The boy who kept calling me the "Grim Reaper"? He got caught lying about the pen marks. It was actually his dad who started it, because he was sick from the meat like everyone else, and he was mad about losing his job at Sid's chicken farm. He was applying for jobs and Shirwin kept pecking at him with a pen to get his attention, so his dad pecked back really hard with his own pen and made him bleed.

I think that's what you call a Human Cockfight. Nobody in class laughed at my joke, though.

Now that I think about it, I'm not really mad at him anymore. He gave me a cool nickname, and all I had to do was be taller than him and pale, which wasn't hard. If all he wanted was to not be alone, then maybe we're not so different. Also, I saw that he told his dad he loved him in those cute little notes? That takes guts when you're already eleven years old.

- Andrew "Drew" Gonzales Radigan (aka, Grim the Reaper)

* * *

Hey dad,

Just reminding you that there's a game tonight and I need a ride. Mom says you're stuck playing cab driver unless you want to be a tattoo artist for real this time.

Sincerely, Shirwin.

* * *

To MOM from JET,

Thank you for the broccoli (yuck) and carrots (gross), your stirfry is great (for the trash, just kidding). I am so happy eating nothing but vegetables all day (not).

* * *

Dear Gietto,

I'm so glad to hear you're enjoying your meal that I've prepared specially for you out of the goodness of my heart, instead of microwaved frozen diet dinners from the store.

My arm is still a bit stiff from your little tantrum but the doctor says I can cook just fine now that the tendons are healing. Another two weeks and he's told me we can even remove your cast that keeps you from biting yourself.

Love you very much,
Mom.

* * *

February 28th

It's been a month since my dad and I worked for Sid. We'd spent so long trapping animals together, I never thought I'd end up being one of them. When he put me in that cage for pigs, all I could think was, "Is this a joke?". Maybe it was and he was just waiting to tell me the punchline. But I didn't want to find out.

Is it weird if I feel bad for escaping? Like I did something wrong? My dad put me in there and part of me said, "well that's how it's supposed to be, isn't it?" Things go in traps when we need them to. And it was just my turn.

I never thought I'd hit my own dad with a shock prod. That was the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my whole life. Even more than knocking him out, I guess, because once I shocked him I knew I had to finish it. Starting it was definitely harder. Grandpa says I did the right thing. Grandma agrees, says he was going crazy, and he was just thinking about money or whatever. I don't know if money makes people do things like that. It had to be something else. Makes them lock up their kid and try to stab them.

Sid was easier. He was obviously a big white dude, bullying a couple of kids with his power. Dude was crazy, going on about "magic cloaks" and stuff. When I pushed him in, into his meat grinder thing... ugh. I'm gonna be sick. At least it felt like the right thing to do. I almost lost Drew, cause of that stupid cloak he was wearing, but his hoodie was a lot tougher. That kid doesn't work out enough, cause he had me pull him all the way up and he could barely lift himself out. I was already pretty tired from everything so I'm pretty sure I grew three muscles doing that.

I guess I could have written about all of this earlier, but it felt like it wasn't real. The news didn't make it feel real, either. They said he just fell in. Did I just make it all up? Did Drew make it all up? Then why was my dad in prison?

He's doing okay, sort of. He says he doesn't remember doing any of it. Trying to kill us, chasing us down in his truck. I drove his before but never Sid's or anyone else's. That was the scariest thing I've ever done. Lucky they were both automatics, cause I could barely reach the pedal. I had to put my seat all the way up to see the road and had Drew work the gas. His right foot was sprained, but his left works great, and after a bit he got the hang of it.

Oh yeah, prison. My dad's doing a lot of time. The cops won't tell me how long, they just say he won't be out until I'm married. He's not getting hurt or anything, but he looks tired. He's not allowed to drink in the clink. He asked me if I brought him any booze the first time, and I didn't know what I was supposed to say. He didn't even remember my name and he wanted me to bring him booze. If I'm a man now, then he's something else. I brought him one the second time, and he glugged it down. He said, "Son, you're going to have to remember what I've taught you. Be good to your grandparents and don't do anything I'd do." For once, I felt like laughing. It was like old times. We talked for an hour. Then he went back in. I heard that he got into a fight, though, so I can't see him this week. I don't think I'm bringing him any more beer.

I'm going to my old school again, back at the res. It's not bad anymore. Half of the kids there are my cousins, so we're pretty tight. We don't start fights like we used to back in Grade 5. When someone tries to, we shut them down. Next year I get to go to junior high on the bus, but it's probably not the same one as Drew. He's calling himself "Grim" now, I guess trying to own what Shirwin called him. I'm worried he'll turn out like Sid, since the guy was his grandpa and everything. Then again, he's got some good family. I talked with them a bit at the birthday party. Pearl is really nice and smart, and his grandma is a "sarcastic old bag" (her words, not mine). Jet's mom is cool too. She was in some kind of accident but she still brought homemade cookies and a potato salad. All vegetarian food, to make sure Jet didn't cheat his diet, or "irritate the skin under his cast" or whatever. He's lucky to have someone looking out for him.

I've been thinking about my mom again. If she was still here, I wonder if my dad would have been drinking or swinging a knife. Then again, maybe she couldn't have stopped him, and he was going to do all that anyway. I think it would have been better if we'd just moved out together to live with Grandma and Grandpa and left him to sort himself out. At least then he could have come over once in a while. I think more than that, I just wanted her to be there when I became a man. So she could say, "Good job, Flint, now help me move these boxes", or something, like she used to when I was eight. She was always keeping me going from one thing to the next, until I was so tired I could barely move from all the chores. Then she'd make ice cream cones and we'd sit on the patio in the sunset, watching the birds. I guess I never talk about her, because I didn't want to make ol' Bull upset. But Grandpa & Grandma, they like remembering about her. So that's been nice. Rest in peace, mom.

Drew talked a lot about "ghosts" from animals that we were eating, or at least the ones that Sid was selling, after everything was over. He didn't mention my mom or any dead people even once. He also said he wasn't sure if they were even real or if he was imagining them.

It still makes me mad to think about the way dad started drinking, like he thought that was going to make it better. I know he thinks that's just "what men do", but maybe that's just what he says because that's what he wants to do. I think me growing up is gonna be inconvenient for him, cause I've got some other ideas.

Anyway, I'm starting to repeat myself a little, and I've been going on and on for a while. Better call it here.