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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1195342
by JMB
Rated: ASR · Short Story · Other · #1195342
a disturbing journal entry found during a missing persons search.
The following document was found during a search for a missing person. It was found in an old, abandoned shack that was entirely in ruins. There was a slight sent of decay coming from it. The search team and I went over to it hoping for some good news. The only clue was a small journal. It was opened up to the page that you will soon be reading. The original text was difficult to decipher at times due to hasty handwriting and from blood stains. We are all losing hope as to weather he is still alive, in fact, we are debating on quitting now. There is very little hope. This entry appears authentic, which is a very bad sign. Although no date was given it was easy to induce that it was written, if it is by the same person at all, between June 5 and June 6 when he had disappeared. With permission from the government and other individuals involved with the case I have been able to present this piece of evidence to the public. The following has been written word for word from the original text that we have found. It reads:

All I have to give me comfort is this piece of paper, pen and these thin walls around me. I’m surprised I have enough composer to write. Why am I writing? I should be on my feet trying to defend myself from this thing. If anybody should find this, I demand you to leave so you don’t end up like me. That's why I’m doing this, to warn. I’m trying to warn people of my gruesome fate. There's no reason to even try to save myself. There's no way I can fend it off with my bare hands and my pen is no sword worth using.

Allow me to put down a brief account of what happened. I can’t be too long since it’s only a matter of moments before it blasts through the walls to feast upon me. Time is slipping away from me. I may not even finish on time. I’m surprised I made it this far.

It started early this morning. I’m always tired when I wake up, a nice brisk walk always helped. Every day I strolled through the forest. I could hear the beast’s growl, but I was ignorant and simply regarded it as one of God’s simple, friendly critters. I never imagined it belonged to something as fowl as this. I always figured it was one of those animals that occupied the world in abundance and not the devil in the flesh. I’ve never heard of anything like these horrors. They don’t belong on earth, they belong in hell!

I’m sorry for getting off topic. I’m so scared, my mind is running all over the place. I can hardly think. Continuing on with my short narrative. I heard it again today, that cross between a growl and a wine. The woods are always dead quite in the morning, I never even heard a mourning dove at this time. Now I know why it’s like this, the animals need to in order to survive. As long as these things are stirring they can’t make a sound.

I heard the twigs snap, previously an all of the other days I never paid much attention to it and continued to walk on through. Today was different, I stopped. That's when it came for me, that behemoth mass of matted, black, untidy hair. It ran like a swift cat. It grunted as each foot slammed on the ground. I stood there dumbfounded for a moment before my mind registered that death its self was coming to rip me apart. That's when I began to run. I don’t know how far I went until I found this shack. I slammed the door found this journal, this writing utensil and a few other items not worth mentioning on this short time scale.

That's a brief summery on how I got into this mess. I can’t see the beast right now, but I know it’s still here. It's circling around this place. I can hear the leaves crunching underneath its feet. I just looked outside, I can only see the white cloud of fog that hasn’t let up yet.

I’ve been sitting hear way too long. Why hasn’t it come to get me? Maybe it’s waiting for me to get out of my shelter or maybe I’m nothing but a toy at the moment. It could rip through like these walls like they were paper. There's hardly anything to this place, it just a frame with wood covering it with an occasional web thrown about. I’d be just as safe out side.

It's pacing outside now. I'm going insane. I’m still not sure how I can write at a time like this, but I am.

I wish it would come and get me now, it would be a lot less painful than what I’m enduring now. Who ever finds this must leave as soon as possible, your life is much more valuable than mine since you have a chance of surviving. Please don’t end up like me, you have your whole life ahead.

I’m just sitting here. I have no chance of making it. I’m a sitting duck. I’d have a better chance turning water into wine. Oh, God help me.

I heard it roar just now. It's the most hideous thing I have ever heard. I hear another one of those wrenched animals. That's why it didn’t come and get me right away, there’re all going to have their share. I’m not sure how many of them there are, there are a lot. There are too many of these things, one is too much.

I can hear them coming one by one. They're all waiting for each other I think. When they’ve completely surrounded me they’ll go for it. They're talking to each other, plotting. If you’re having a hard time reading this, I apologize. My hand is shaking madly, I’m so scared. I can’t begin describe what I’m feeling right now, I can hardly describe anything.

I have no way of telling time. I’m assuming it’s been a few minutes, it seems like hours. I don’t care about time now, all I want to do is make sure everyone is safe and not leave this earth like me.

They're all grunting like rabid dogs. I think they’re going for the kill. They're coming for me now. Now is a good time to put down my pen, it’s been a good friend and kept me some company. If I continue writing I won’t be able to finish my thoughts, I’ll be cut off in mid-sentence. The only thing left to do is weight for them to dig their teeth into my flesh like the stake I was planing on having tonight.

Farewell, at least, better than I have. Farewell.
© Copyright 2006 JMB (pickacard at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1195342