Day One. I'm not sure why I've started this diary today. I found the notebook and the pens a few nights ago while I was hunting through the kitchens for food. I'm not even sure why I took them, as I'm trying not to carry anything more than essentials with me from day to day now. I guess I just want to leave something behind when I'm gone and I'm sure that that time isn't too far away. I want to record what's happened to me, to the others, so that anyone who finds this will know to get off this island as quickly as they can and never come back. Maybe I just need to talk to someone, even if it myself, to drown out the noise of the drums.

The drums come every night now. They start as soon as the sun begins to set. I remember how amazing the island looked that first time we all stood watching the sunset; the entire placed bathed in the rich red light as far as the eye could see. Up there on the balcony the six of us were the kings and queens of our island paradise. Of course, Rich was already missing by then. In fact, Rich was probably already dead. There were no drums that night, just five stupid kids and one dead kid all talking bullshit and living it up in a villa on an island in the middle of nowhere.

It's all my fault of course. I must have been crazy to accept the offer, but in my position I don't anyone else would have refused either. How many times in your life does a guy turn up at your school and tell you that you are last known member of some branch of your family you never heard of and that you are the sole heir and inheritor of their property on a remote Pacific island? I was pretty sure it was my only chance. An ordinary kid from an ordinary town; that's all I was a few weeks ago.

Now I'm running for my life, living from day to day, not even sure what I'm running from. Except for the drums. We all knew that the drums were bad, that the drums were murderous ... we all knew to run from the drums by the end. So far, I've been the fastest. I've been faster than all my dead friends and faster than whoever is drumming out in the darkness.

The drums are playing again. I have to move.

I've been listening to the drums for about an hour now and I think they are moving away. I guess I've got time to write a little more of my story down. If you're here, then you must have visited the resort. Maybe some of the people who you came with are dead. If they are, I'm sorry for you, but believe me when I tell you that was nothing that you could have done. They were dead from the minute that they arrived here.

The resort was the first place that we came. It was the resort that clinched the deal for me, that made me drop everything I had back home and come out here. I think it was probably the same for the others. When your friend tells you that he has been left a tropical island, the only other thing that you want to hear is that it comes complete with it's own holiday resort and that he wants you to come with him to run it. Well, that's what I though they would want to hear, and that's what I said. I told my five best friends in the world that all their worries were over, that I was going to take them to a magic island where they would have money, prestige and freedom.

I got them all killed.

The drums have stopped. That means it must be nearly daylight. It's safe to travel around the resort in the daytime. Mostly. I'm going to try to get some sleep now. It's safest to sleep at sunrise, after the drums have stopped. You get the rest of the day to find food and get ready for the night that way.

Day Two, already. I started numbering from one, although I suppose I should have started at about twenty or so. Of that, I've been on my own about a week and a half. The days are so short now; I sleep for most of the morning. I'm amazed that I can sleep at all, but fatigue takes its toll and I have to rest from time to time. I dream much more now than I did when I was home; maybe my mind needs to escape the reality of what's happening to me. I dream about Charlie a lot. I miss her so much; I wish I'd never brought her here. The sun is up now; I think it must be about midday ? time for me to search for food.

I've just got back from the kitchens. Rich's body is gone. It was there yesterday when I went back for more food, I remember the way that it was staring face down at the floor. I stopped, I wanted to turn it over, give it something more to look at.. I didn't though. I try not to do anything that would let them know where I've been. But now I know where they've been. They've been to the kitchen and they've taken Rich, which means that I can't ever go back there. What the hell did they want with him? Maybe they're cannibals. Oh God, poor Rich.

We should have moved him ourselves, but he was the first one to go and back then we still had all these ideas about the police coming and not moving the body and stuff. We didn't even know what had killed him. I remember when Pete found him.. Jesus he screamed like a girl. We all went running down to the kitchens and there he was, just laying there face down in his shorts and lou-out shirt. It was surreal more than anything else. Rich was always so full of fun, the big-man who kept us all laughing no matter what we were going through back home. It isn't fair that he had to go first, but in another way I'm glad. I'd hate Rich to have seen what happened to the rest of us after he was gone. He deserved more than that. He deserves more than to be taken away by God knows who or what; but there's nothing that I can do about that now.

I can't go back to kitchens now. They must know that that's where my food has been coming from. If you've been to the kitchens you'll find that I've only been taking the canned food ? all the fruit is poisoned. I think that's what killed Rich. That's what killed Darla's stupid fucking parrot anyway.

I've taken as much as I can carry from the kitchens now anyway. Maybe I will go back, after I've changed my pattern for a bit. Throw them off the scent. I think they are trying to narrow down the number of places that I'm prepared to go. They knew that I would go to the kitchens today, it's the only place that I've gone everyday since this all started. So now I know that they know and that they can get into the kitchens as well, which is probably exactly what they want me to know. Damn, when did I start talking like some Vietnam vet' who's spent six years in the jungle. I've got to get off this island. I'm going down the docks.

The docks are a waste of time. All the boats are gone. They've been taken somewhere, the water is so clear out there that I'd be able to see them if they'd been sunk. Unless they took them out to sea and sunk them ... but I don't think that that's their style. Bastards won't even give me a chance to fix up a boat and get off their fucking island. What's the point? How do I tell people ?Don't go back there! They want it to themselves!? if I'm dead or trapped here forever? I'm supposed to be the SOLE FUCKING SURVIVOR. Unless there's someone else ... Oh God, what if one of the others isn't dead?

I've been to visit Charlie's grave. It's just inside the courtyard, on the leftmost grass bank, if you ever want to visit it. Charlie picked it herself, when it was just her, Darla and me left. We were just lay there, in the noon sun. It was this surreal, serene moment of peace between the three of us. Nobody said anything. God, was there anything to say? I remember holding Charlie's head in my lap when she finally spoke. ?Bury me here? she said, ?When it's my turn.?

I was still full of bravado then, for myself as well as the two of them. ?It's not going to be your turn babe.? I said. She just smiled, ran her hand down the side of my face. ?Just remember ... OK?? Jesus Christ I miss her so much. It was her turn two days later.

Darla disappeared the next night, after she helped me to dig for Charlie. I don't know if they got her or if she just went off on her own. She'd been talking about it, ending it her way rather than theirs. She was always .. dark like that, but I never thought she'd top herself. Guess you don't anyone until you put them under pressure.

I don't leave flowers or anything at Charlie's grave. I've tried to cover it up as much as I could, I don't want them knowing where she is. With Rich's body missing, I'm glad I made that decision back then. God help me, I might be learning to live like this.

Back from my foraging and bedded down for the night. I'm hiding out in the hut at the far end of the south beach. I think they used to keep jet-skis here or something. Don't be fooled by how it looks outside, it's pretty secure inside, and a good place to bunk down for the night. I found a small supply of fuel down here too; I burn a little each night. It can get cold down here on the beach, especially if the rains come.

I want to tell you more about what happened now. I've been thinking about Charlie a lot today; I'm pretty sure that she kept a diary; although she never told me about it. Funny the little things you don't know about someone, no matter how close you think you are. Anyway, I just thought I should try to tell you a little bit more about what happened when we first got here.

Well, after the lawyers arrived at school to tell me that I was the sole heir to a tropical paradise, it's fair to say that things were a little crazy for me. Dad was just as shocked. He knew about the other side of Mum's family of course, but since she died neither of us have had what you would call close contact with them. I remember the stories Mum used to tell me about being brought up India, Africa. Her family were some of the last great colonials, still travelling in pith helmets and gum boots whilst the rest of the world was worrying about atomic bombs and the cold war. That was until she met Dad though. When I was a kid she told me that her and Dad were ?star-crossed lovers?. I didn't know what it meant back then.

I suppose a part of me had always dreamt that there was some treasure buried in Mum's side of the family, waiting for the right person to discover it. The right person being me of course! When the lawyers came, it was like that dream had come true. I couldn't understand then what Dad meant with all his grumbling, ?Nothing good ever came from that side of the family?. Of course, there was nothing he could do to stop me from going. I'm really sorry now that we argued so much before I left; I hated him for telling me not to go. What kid won't hate a father that tried to keep him from something like this?

I guess Dad can tell you all about that part of it. I just wish I could tell him how sorry I am myself, that's all.

They flew us out here, a chartered flight from the mainland. If you came in the same way, you'll know about the landing strip above the north beach. The view as we came in was amazing. No, MORE than amazing. I don't if there is a word for it. I was just awed, by the place. We were flying just beneath the clouds, like God's palm has resting on the top of the plane saying ?That's high enough kids, that high and no further.? I remember Charlie staring out of the window, wanting to be the first to spot the island. Rich was trying on Charlie's grass skirt despite the fact that it was probably half his size. Darla was reading, the only one determined not to be impressed, not to show her excitement. It didn't matter ? I'd seen her buy a grass skirt at the same time as Charlie. Mark and Pete were all up in the cockpit, trying to persuade the pilot to let them fly the plane. Mark and Pete, my two best friends, and the biggest pair of troublemakers I had ever met. I'm sorry it took me till day two to mention you guys. I miss you.

Charlie was first to see it, or at least she maintained that she was. I'm not sure how she could have seen it before the rest of us, especially the two in the cockpit pissing off the pilot, but she did. We all ran to the window, pressed our faces to the glass. At first, it was just a dark black mass in the sea; but as we got closer we could soon see the details of our new home. The twin beaches, north and south on the crescent shaped island. There were high cliffs, to the east, where the sea foamed and surged in and out of hidden caves. To the west, the grasslands gave way to a thick forest. Mark and Pete were already talking about climbing the eastern cliff face, whilst Charlie and Rich were already arguing about which beach would get the most sun.

My eyes were fixed on one thing .. the resort. A collection of eight two-storey buildings, light brown with flat white roofs, with a small clutch of circular, grass roofed chalets around the perimeter. The swimming pool, a tiny glimmering oblong of blue from this distance, shimmered in the middle of the buildings. I could see our whole lives right then, or at least I thought I could. I saw us living here, running the resort. I saw our guests arriving by boat and plane, the porters meeting them to carry their bags to the resort in tiny white golf carts. I saw Charlie singing in the bar, long after all the guests had gone to sleep, with just me for an audience. I saw Mark and Pete taking terrified holidaymakers down the side of the cliffs whilst Darla led the more nervous, or intellectual, on nature rambles through our pet jungle. Rich, of course, was the bartender.

I haven't been out to the airstrip there since then, except to wave off the lawyers and accountants when they flew back out the same night. Did I smell a rat when they all jumped ship (or is it jumped island?) the same night we got here? Not really; we were as happy to see the back of them as they were the back of us. All the contracts had been signed by the time that they left. Really, there was no need for them to stay.

The resort had staff, they were waiting for us when we arrived. We, I, were the new owners, landlords and the only guests. As far as I know none of them left before things started to go wrong, but I haven't seen any of them since it all started. I'm not sure when they disappeared, or to where. I'm not even sure how many there were now; we had met five, maybe six of them. I hate to say it, but it might have mistaken one for another at some point. I was the new boss, and I didn't even take the time to find out the names of the people who had suddenly found themselves working for me. Christ, I think I would have wanted to kill me after that.

I am so tired. I can't keep my eyes open. I have to get some sleep, try to wake up before sunset.

Day Three, I think. It's dark outside. I can hear the drumming; it's close. I think it's moving closer. I have to stay awake ?

Jesus, it sounds like they're on the roof! I think it's just the rain. God I hope it's just the rain. The pounding goes on and on. After a while, your brain starts to change the noise in words. You can here it. Doom. Doom. Doom. Doom. Doom. I can here it now. Maybe it's not my brain playing tricks with the noise. Maybe that's just common sense talking in my ear like Jiminy Cricket. I hope you can read this. I can't put the light on if they are so close.

Couple of hours later and I'm still alive. Obviously. I'm never going to get to tell you how it ends am I? It's not going to be like one of those horror stories where the guy turns around and just says ?and that's how I ended up here? and you realise that he's dead, and so must be dead, and everyone screams as the world fades to black. I'm just going to stop writing one day and then that will be it. Maybe I finish with something profound like ?I'm going outside. I'm going to meet my destiny.? Actually that sounds a bit shit. God I hope these aren't my last words!

My last words (just in case) : I love you Mum, Dad, Charlie. I'm sorry this all happened.

The drumming has gotten a little quieter. Maybe it was the rain after all. I'm going to try to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow, I'm going to build a fire on the beach, try to get a message out.

Still Day Three.

They WERE here last night. They were right outside. The sand was all churned up around the hut when I came out this morning. I've been trying not to leave footprints on the sandy tracks and beaches, coming down to the hut by the rocky path behind it. They've left footprints everywhere; they WANT me to know they've been here. There are paw prints as well, and maybe hoof prints. Did they have animals down here too last night?

When I climbed back up the path I could see their sandy footprints all over the roof of the hut. They were here ... so why am I still alive? Maybe I AM meant to win, escape, do something. What are they trying to tell me?

It's time for one of my rituals today. The phones went dead the same night that we found Rich dead in the kitchens. We tried to call the mainland, call the police, straight away. We still believed back then that it was an accident or that Rich was sick or something. All the lines were dead by the time we tried, nothing but hiss and static when you picked up the receiver. Darla said that she had gotten through the someone when she tried the first time, someone out on the mainland, but the line had gone dead while she was talking to them. I don't know if I believed her back then or if I do now. I think maybe she just wanted everyone to calm down, to think about things rationally. She couldn't have known what would come next. None of us could.

Since then I've been back up the resort every few days to try the phones again. I'm just hoping that someone, somewhere, is wondering how we are or what we are doing and has been trying to get the phones back on. I don't know if I believe myself on that one; but without the boats it's the only hope I have left.

I'm the lobby of the hotel. Oh God, I hope you can read this, I can't stop my hands from shaking. The phones are ... I don't know what the phones are. I can't explain what just happened.

I came up here as planned, keeping to the smaller pathways. The whole place is still deserted. The doors were open and sand had blown in across the carpeted lobby overnight. There weren't any footprints here and I was careful not to leave any of my own. I usually check the phones from the front desk, where the switchboard is. I just picked up the receiver and .. Christ it can't have been real. Am I loosing my mind? I was expecting the usual white noise and static but instead ... I think I got Darla.

The voice on the other end of the line sounded so like her; she was babbling about the island and someone being dead. She was asking for help, for police and a doctor. I didn't answer, I just stood there with the receiver to my ear. She kept talking, kept asking if someone could hear her. I was about to answer when I heard the drums in the background. The drums playing to me over the phone! It was just like the first time that we all heard them, faint at first then louder and louder. Darla, or whoever it was at the end of the phone, could hear them too. That's when the line went dead again.

I can't explain it. It's got to be them, messing with my head. They must have Darla, or maybe they just made her record that. But how do they know that I'm up here? Are they watching me as I write this? I've got to move, I can't stay here.

I'm hiding in one of the chalets now. This is going to be my last day. I can feel it. Something's changed. Everything has started to look black and sharp and deadly. Did you feel this Charlie, did you feel Death stalking closer and closer, his bony hand transforming the world around you? I wish I hadn't been so bold now, when I told you that it would never be your turn. I must have sounded like an idiot, if you were seeing the world in the way that I'm seeing it now.

They've burnt my hut down. The acrid smell of the burning fuel has spread through the resort. All the walls are sticky with residue form the smoke. That means I have to find another hideaway before tonight. I just don't understand why they didn't burn it with me in it last night. Maybe they've started to enjoy the hunt, even as I've started to understand the rules of it. Move fast, travel light, leave no trace, don't stick to a routine, eat and sleep when you can, run and hide when you have to. I've become prey.

Outside, there are huge storm clouds coming in from the north. The undersides, like fat pregnant bellies, are painted red with light from below. I can only guess that they've burnt the airstrip and the hanger down. There must be lots of aviation fuel up there. A column of jet-black smoke is feeding the underside of the storm clouds, bloating them as the drift over the island and blot out the sun. It's starting to get dark.

Everything is burning. I'm running from place to place and everything is burning; the resort, the airstrip, even parts of the jungle. They're burning anything they can get their hands on to feed the thick black smoke cloud that's hanging over the island. Everything is getting coated in sticky ash. I've got patches of it on my face and arms and I can't get it off. It's moving through across the island like a swarm. God, I swear that it keeps changing direction with me. I have to keep running.

I'm down on the beach now. I've got nowhere else to go. I can see the sky from here, so I know that it's not night time yet. Not in the real world. Back up on the island, I couldn't tell. It's night up there now, or at least it's as black and as dark and as deadly as night. The smoke has settled down and with no wind to move it away, it could remain night on that island forever. The drumming started not long before I came down here. That's when I knew I had to run. I don't know where to go. I know that they are up there. Waiting. I don't know they are waiting for; I'm just huddled down here on the beach writing in this damn stupid diary. Please refer to my last words, because I'm too scared now to write anything important. Oh God, I wish I could cry. I want to wake up from this, just wake up in my bed and know that I'm still alive.

The drums are coming closer. I have nowhere to run.