POLICE FILES: CLASSIFIED

*audio message, recorded by Andrew Seifker, transcribed by Sheriff Michael Kerr*

Andrew: Hello, Diary. I knew this day would come. Coughing. You came to me, and I am ready to carry out my mission, a mission from God himself, to hunt the monster in these woods. My wife doesn’t understand, but I know you do, Diary. When I come back, I’ll ditch her for you, there is only you.

Woman(Presumed to be “Diary”): Andrew, this monster will kill you. You must be very careful, and whatever you do, don’t fuck the woman. She’s evil, she’s a ghost. If you do, I’ll be forced to kill you, and everyone you love. Understand?

Andrew: Yes, Diary.

*the woman has not been identified*

Entry One

Diary, I am a dead man. I know this. I crawled into these woods to die, and already I’ve lived longer than I thought possible. I’ve been here an hour. You see, I came to these woods on a rumor. Theres a |*torn out*| in these woods. At least, that’s what the rumors say. I guess I was a fool to believe I could come here, really. There’s no one alive in sight, verified by the video camera I have constantly filming. In a few days, I’ll turn back and report faliure - or I’ll be dead, stripped to the bone by whatever creature lives here. Turning in for the night - I might not be here tomorrow to write, so don’t expect more from me.

Entry Two

I’m still here, to my surprise. Nothing caught on camera last night - not even a squirrel or an owl. Just trees. Lots and lots of trees. I guess that’s why the monster hides here, because of all the trees. I shudder despite myself. This clearing gives me the chills. Maybe the monster is invisible, Diary. I never thought of that before. Diary, you are a real person. You came to me in my dreams and told me to do this, that’s why I am writing you everything that happens. Still no monster, even while I’m sitting and eating my ham and cheese on the unnaturally green grass. Still not a sound disturbs the silence, it’s getting rather eerie. I haven’t seen a single living soul. The sky seems a too-perfect shade of blue, if what they say happened here is really true. They say that there have been five victims, one for each tree in the clearing. One, a little boy who mysteriously went missing after him and his family camped out here. The family went insane and cut out their tongues, so no one really knows what they saw. The second one was a teenage girl on a dare. I bet her friends found it real funny when she was found dead with her face ripped off, almost beyong recognition. The third, another boy, this time way older, out hunting. He emptied his gun into his chest, with only one bullet to spare. That bullet was never found, so maybe it hit the monster? The third was an escaped prisoner. He died of starvation, which would be normal enough, except he was surrounded by food of all kinds. The fourth drowned in his own piss. The fifth ate herself. Literally. She was found dead with the skin of her neck in her mouth. Well, I guess I should turn in. It’s getting really late. Maybe tonight the monster will reveal itself.

Entry Three

Diary, an awful thing has happened! My camera broke! All the film was ripped out and burned! I wonder |*torn out*| Nevermind. We must be getting closer to revealing the secrets of the monster. I’ll have to be careful, because you never know when he might come get us now... How on earth will I prove my findings, Diary? Any ideas? Because I got nothing, and you sent me on this damned journey. Hello? Anything? No? Day after tomorrow, I’m leaving, and that’s that. I swear, Diary. If you sent me on this madman’s hunt for nothing, I’ll kill you, I really swear. I’ll kill you, I’ll rip up your pages and eat them, I’ll... sigh. I don’t know what I’ll do. But you won’t like it. I am |*torn out*|

Entry Four

Diary... I am not alone in these woods. I’ve met a woman, who claims she’s lost after her husband dumped her here. I’m suspicious, obviously, because what if she’s the monster? But, oh Diary, she is hot. And I mean HOT. I don’t know why her husband would dump her off like that. It just.. isn’t right. I mean, she’s really good looking... maybe I can get her to |*ripped out*| Anyway, she has black hair, and she... I don’t really know how to describe her. She looks like something above human. There’s no way she’s a monster. More like... an angel. I’ve seen her looking at me. I think she might like me. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I mean, I have you waiting at home for me, Diary, you said. So I won’t do a thing, promise. Diary, is it safe to trust this beautiful woman? Is it? Maybe she’s just as innocent as we are.

You’re right. I’m just getting a little stir-crazy from sitting around here for so long. If I wait any longer, I might go insane... ha, ha. I’m not leaving tomorrow. I have to figure out this lady... |*torn out*| See you tomorrow.

Entry Five

Sorry, Diary. I just couldn’t help it. I mean, she was so....good. I didn’t mean to, I swear. Anyway, I, uh, I guaranteed that she’s not a monster. That’s good, right? Diary, you’re not mad, are you? Oh, please don’t be mad, I couldn’t help it. Those perfect legs... You’re mad, aren’t you? Please don’t hurt me... I needed a break.... Diary, I’m so sorry. I said I’d figure her out, and I did that, sort of. So don’t be mad... I’ll come home soon. Wait for me, okay? I just... her perfect legs, her eyes, her |*torn out*| Well, I’m turning in for the night, so... I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Right? I’ll see you tomorrow.... Love you baby.

Entry Six

theendisuponusiswearitshereitshereohdiarysavemefromitsavemesavemesaveme

wellineverthoughtitwouldendlikethisiwantedtocomehomeletmecomehome

imtrappedhereyoubitchithoughtyouweremyfriendbutyouwantedmedeaddidntyou

youretherealmonstermotherfuckeryouarethemonsterilovedyoudiarywhybetrayme

ineverdidanythingwrongisawyoulastnightithoughtidideverythingyouasked

thegirlisgoneshesaghostaghostpleasenopleaseno#!@#$%^&* |*torn out*|

DAYTON DAILY NEWS................................................................12/18/13

ANOTHER STRANGE DEATH IN SHADOW CREEK WOODS

A man was found dead in the woods this morning, time of death is estimated to be around 12:34 last night. He was found hanging from a tree, hung with strips of paper tied together. It is unclear how the paper held him up, and it is unclear why he committed suicide. Also found on the scene were bits of chewed up paper, a diary, a destroyed camera, and a tent. The camera seems to have been clawed up. The man has been identified as Andrew Siefker, The salvaged film reveals nothing but a pair of yellow eyes, probably the wild animal that clawed it up. Rumours have circulated about a “monster” living in those woods, but these reports have not been confirmed. Seifker’s wife, who wishes to remain anonymous, reports she “had no idea” her husband was depressed. She says her husband ran away after claiming he had been sent by a woman named Diary to prove the monster’s existence to the world.

His diary suggests the evidence of another woman, but her whereabouts are unknown. He refers to her only as “the woman”, and near the end calls her a ghost in a crazed ramble. Maybe she’s the culprit? So the question remains: Is this man delusional and depressed, or is there a real monster lurking in the Shadow Creek woods?

By John Smith

DAYTON DAILY NEWS.............................................................12/15/13

SEIFKER’S WIFE SUICIDE?

Andrew’s wife Diana was found dead this morning after she committed suicide by chugging a container of bleach. It is unknown whether she was doing this intentionally or if she was drunk, as traces of alcohol have been found in her blood samples. And so, the mystery of Shadow Creek woods continues... what really happened out there? Police refuse to comment. Sheriff Michael Kerr says “It’s just an ordinary suicide. The lady felt she couldn’t live without her husband. Simple.” But how simple is it? Did Andrew run into a malevolent force, out there in the woods? Was he just another victim of the monster? Was his wife merely dragged into the deal? These questions remain, and it seems that they might never be answered. Shadow Creek forest has been closed by police to investigate Andrew Seifker’s “ordinary suicide.” It must not be so ordinary after all.

By John Smith

DAYTON DAILY NEWS...................................................................12/16/13

TREE FROM THIN AIR?

Reports are circling of a tree appearing in the Shadow Creek forest, where Andrew Seifker recently committed suicide. There is now a sixth tree in the clearing which, according to reports, previously had five. These reports have not been verified, however, going back to newspapers surrounding the other strange deaths there, similar reports of spontaneously appearing trees are mentioned. Could this be the monster’s way of tallying the victim count? No one can tell for sure, but Betty Reston says “I’m positive there were five trees, absolutely positive. There is something out there.” Which leaves us all to wonder: Is Betty right? Lock your doors a little tighter tonight, folks. You never know what might be out there.

By John Smith

POLICE REPORT

John Smith, an author for the Dayton Daily News, has been arrested on charges of creating a mass panic.

*audio message, recorded by the police station cameras, transcribed by Rachel Moore*

Sheriff Michael Kerr: Eddie, what on earth is the meaning of this? I told you to keep this classified!

Eddie: I-I did sir, I did. I swear.

Sheriff: THEN HOW DID THEY GET THE DIARY, GENUIS? ANY IDEAS?

Eddie: N-no sir, I don’t know.

Sheriff: What else do they know? do they know about the--”

Eddie: SHH! It’s not safe to say his name.

Sheriff: Right. Sorry. This case is mucking up my brain, man. I mean, we’re hunting a-”

Eddie: Shut up, Sheriff.

Sheriff: Right

*UNFINISHED*

Day 12

Just finished the last of the peanut butter. I never liked the stuff much before. It brought up too many memories of school. But I’ll tell you what, dear diary, I’ve no doubt that I’m going to miss it. The firdge is cleaned out, I threw everything out . Just pushed it for the Diddits to eat. It’s not their fault, they are just as the virus made them. Diddits. Stupid name. But I always had a hangup on lables. I could call them Zombies, I guess, but they don’t seem to be dangerous. They just walk around stuffing their faces with debris. Yeaterday I saw a Diddit eating fallen leaves.

I don’t think they’ll survive much longer. They look ragged, starved.

Two days ago I saw my first ex, Bradly. He is a Diddit now, too. So it’s a Diddit that I did. A done Diddit. Pretty pitiful humor right? But I guess I’m getting into this Castaway thing. Won’t be long before I start talking to Mister Wilson, my vollyball friend. God , I miss movies. Wouldn’t it be funny if Tom Hanks walks over here, Diddit or not?

Should I take those diddits out of their misery? Poor guys. I would definitely do this kindness for Tom Hanks. Brad, that jerk, can go on eating dead leaves. See if I care.

Day 23

I found a coconut in the supermarket. Had to push between a few diddits that were trying to eat the rotten fruit. It was just standing there, but I guess the diddits prefer softer stuff. Now I need to figure out how to open it. I love coconut.

Got a hammer, smashed the shell. Wow, got a splash of sour, spoiled coconut. Too late to eat, by far. I guess it was my fault that I had my hopes up. The diddits took the spoiled thing very happily though.

Maybe being a diddit is not so bad. Maybe they are so happy they don’t need to speak. Sometimes I see that they do have facial expressions. I saw an old lady-diddit today, in that supermarket, she was tearing apart some cardboard, and eating the pieces like it was nachos. She slightly raised one eyebrows suddenly. As if this was so good and she was having a moment. Or maybe I’m reading into it too much. Maybe I'm starving like the diddits and I'm just going crazy.

Day 42

I broke into an apartment, dear diary. But don’t judge me. I’m just hungry. People cleaned almost everything out of the shops whenit started, then died or turend to diddits. What can I do? I needs to gets ma' eats. Anyway, this apartment had a guitar. A fender stratocaster, no less. There is no juice to play it, but I played it dry. Just picking chords and listening to the soft music. God, I suck.

Wow, the owner had a jar of nutella. Fuck, did I have a party. Then as I was yumming away, and dying for a cold glass of milk, the owner of the house and the fender came in from another room. Diddit of course. Just looked at me blankly. And then, when he saw that the door was open, he ran out. I guess he was starving. Poor guy. Reminded me of someone, but I don’t remember who.

It’s strange. I don’t remember people's faces anymore. Show me a picture, and I won’t know if it was just a diddit or someone I cared about. This post-apocalypse is just depressing.

Day 43

Last night , dear diary, I slept in the fender Guy’s house. Had a sugar hi and I found he had some booze. Did shots and tried for the zillionth time to make out the chords for “life on mars”. Bowie tricked me again, with that key change, that I don’t get.

Fun thought: I may be the best guitar player on the planet right now. Now I have a hangover. But the guy also had some bottled water. So I made some coffee and finished off the nutella.

Walked by the park. The diddits ate half of it. Every bush and the lower branches of the trees are all gone. The path with the weeping willows, by the pond that I liked so much, is just gone. The diddits were even climbing the branches to get to the leaves. Ough.

Day 62

Dear diary. I just remembered that today is the day. A year ago today, my BF, the last one I had, Jeremy, released the virus. What started it all. The guy was cooking things in the basement, I came in and asked when the acid would be nice and ready to pop. And he said that he didn't even try making narcotics, just fucking with gene hacking. I laughed at him, used the name Jeromey that he doesn't like. I Told him that he wasn't cool. I dared him to make something cool. COOL.

He asked me what would be cool enough for little old me. I told him even that if he makes a doomsday device, something that would kill everybody, that would be cool. I told him I’ll blow him if he can do that. Well, he took it seriously. He cooked the killer batch and set the virus off. But it didn't work as quickly as he thought. days passed, and no one died. People didn't drop off in minutes like he predicted.

He got frustrated that it didn’t work. Then he made some acid for us and that was nice and trippy. And I blew him and he blew me and it was just the best. Only, six months later the diddits started popping up. People that didn't respond to much when you talked to them. Just walking around aimlessly. "living" off of the flora. Then more picked it up and more and more. Many never turned to diddits, they just died straight away. Jer died too. He didn't become a diddit. So now you know, dear diary, why I call them the diddits. Poor things. It's all on me.

I made this anniversary special. I broke into another apartment and found some whiskey. It was nice, but I think that with the way that I'm feeding myslef, it's a bit off. I shouldn't drink so much. oddly I feel cravings for lettuce. maybe it's vitamin deficiency, maybe I finally diddit.

WARNING: The following is a video transcript pertaining to the Whitfield Oil Accident. It contains explicit descriptions that some might find disturbing.

VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

JUNE 28TH, 1993

DEVIN HOWE’S FUNERAL

(Laughter among the mourners)

UKNOWN MALE, OFF CAMERA: …Sorry about that story, Preach, but by God if it

wasn’t just the craziest night Dev and I ever—

JONNY COLLINS: Alright, everybody…you know, don’t freak out. Remain calm.

DOM FIELDS: Jon, what’re you—Jesus H. Christ, is that a gun?

(Panic among the mourners)

JONNY COLLINS: I just fuckin’ said to calm down! Just…just chill, alright? Don’t worry about the gun. I brought so I can speak my mind, that’s all. You assholes wouldn’t have let me without it.

DOM FIELDS: For fuck’s sake, what’re you on about? Just settle down, no need to—

(Gun firing, screaming from the mourners)

JONNY COLLINS: Dammit Dom, sit down! I don’t want to use it, but that doesn’t mean I won’t, you hear me? you all see this, don’t you? They’re already tryin’ to stop me! I swear to Christ, Dom, next time I’ll aim lower. And don’t think I don’t see you back there, Larry, slinkin’ around and shit. You can sit your old ass down, too. I just need to…just need to be heard, that’s all.

LARRY WHITTLE: (Incomprehensible)

JONNY COLLINS: Yeah, that’s right. Now shut up before I put a bullet in your ass. Alright then, everyone good? Good. You all know me, know I ain’t crazy or some shit. All us oilers stick together. Weddings, birthdays with the kiddos…funerals. I know each and every one of you. I’m not gonna hurt anyone, just as long as you let me tell the truth. That’s all I want. My dad taught me right. The truth may not be convenient, but—

DOM FIELDS: Hells bells, get on with it, then! You’re waving that gun around tellin’ your autobiography, just get to it!

JONNY COLLINS: Alright then, I will. You’ve all been lied to. Whitfield Oil, ran by Dom and cowerin’ Larry back there, they’re full of shit. Devin didn’t die in no accident. I was there, saw it all. Could hardly believe it myself. Imagine that, not able to believe your own eyes.

(Jonny reaches into his denim jacket and pulls out a worn, leather-bound journal.)

JONNY COLLINS: And I knew if I couldn’t believe what I’d seen, you all wouldn’t believe what I’m about to say. So I brought Devin’s journal. I’m gonna read it for you all. Fuckin’ crazy, all of it, but I believe it. You all knew Devin, same as me. Hell, he was the best man at half your weddings. He didn’t go around spinnin’ tales. Alright, then. Let me tell you why this casket is closed.

DEVIN HOWE’S JOURNAL

READ ALOUD BY JONNY COLLINS

FIRST ENTRY: APRIL 23RD, 1993

JONNY COLLINS: ’Few of the widows out there will remember that date. Sorry to make you relive it, but it has to be said. Still, some might want to cover their ears here soon.

JOURNAL: I’ve never kept a journal before, not really anyway. I had a Garfield one in the 4th grade. Bought it at the Scholastic book fair in the school’s library. Cheapest thing they had, but you had to buy something. Never touched it.

But after what happened today, I had to write this shit down. Maybe if I get it down on paper I’ll get it out of my head.

Whittles promoted me to foreman last week. Shit, why couldn’t he have waited a little longer? The old bastard ignored me for fifteen years, why now? Anyway, I was in charge at the rig tonight. All the men were tired. So was I. Twenty-seven hours in, by then. Three days on, five days off. Hard to think about getting a normal gig now, though. Five days on the job, shit. After tonight, maybe I should consider it.

The boys were fucking with me about my new gig, just shit and giggles, but I’m a pretty chill manager. It was two in the morning, most of the work was done, so I let them all relax, just sitting around shooting the shit, waiting for the next tanker to get there.

The tankers aren’t Whitfield. They’re outsourced from one of the hundreds of vulture contractors that sprang up when North Dakota oil hit the news. Bastards had the rigs shedding company men left and right. Sure, the contractors might be expensive, but they take all the liability if shit goes down. Whitfield kept the good ol’ boys around, the ones who know their shit, but everyone else was gone.

LARRY WHITTERS: This is ridiculous.

JONNY COLLINS: What the fuck do you know? Last time you were out at the Rig was to cut the ribbon.

DOM FIELDS: Watch it, bub.

JONNY COLLINS: Just keep your trap shut and listen.

JOURNAL: It was around 3 A.M. when I saw the headlights from the tanker coming down the gravel. I told the boys to start gearing up, but they were taking their time. What was I supposed to do, cattle prod them? Shit, maybe. Anyway, after awhile I noticed that this fucking tanker was coming in hot. That son of a bitch must’ve been doing sixty, jostling all over the place.

The men and I didn’t think much of it. Probably just some young shit out from California, pissed that he hadn’t made his fortune like all the news had promised. People thought North Dakota oil was the new gold rush. Not for us company men, and sure as shit not for the contractors. These guys always treat the backroads like they’re in the Daytona 500.

After a while, though, the guy wasn’t slowing down, and he was barreling straight at the rig, so I rushed over to the guard’s station (unmanned, of course) to cuss him out over the loudspeaker. But I was too late. The bastard broke through the guard rails and crashed right into the rig.

JONNY COLLINS: Again, those sensitive folk might want to cover their ears.

JOURNAL: The explosion blew me right through the window, rolling twenty yards or more in the gravel. When I came to, I realized that my beard was singed and my eyebrows were gone. The air was sweltering. At the time, I wasn’t sure if it was sweat or blood that covered my body. Turns out, it was a bit of both. The rig was hard to look at. That bitch was brighter than the sun. When my eyes finally adjusted, I saw that all my men were burning alive.

It was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen or hope to see again. All my senses were overloaded. The rumble of the smoldering remains of the rig, the screams of the men, my own heartbeat, it all seemed to transport me to some other world, where I felt completely foreign and useless.

The men looked like some wicked demons, freshly escaped from hell. They were running mindlessly through the night. I couldn’t tell them apart. Their skin was black from the oil and the burning. Their entire bodies were covered in licking, sticky flames. Their faces bubbled and popped, hardened and cracked. All I could think was, why aren’t these fuckers dying? That sounds mean, but it would’ve been a blessing. I don’t know how long they kept at it, running and rolling and dying, but it felt like half the night.

Sooner or later the fire department showed up, but the men were long since dead, and they weren’t equipped to put out the rig. Just had to let it burn out, they said, keeping the flames controlled. The suits from Whitfield showed up eventually, whispering to each other as we all stood at the accidental funeral pyre of my men. Those guys didn’t ask me one goddamned question, can you imagine that? The only survivor, and they avoided me like the plague. Don’t you think they’d want to know what happened? Or maybe they already knew.

JONNY COLLINS: Look at that. We’re only through one entry and already everyone is staring at you two like you’d killed their grandma. It’s like they forgot who was holdin’ the gun.

DOM FIELDS: It was a tragedy. We all lost friends that day, Jon. We felt it, same as you. Making us all relive it is pointless.

JONNY COLLINS: Oh, it’s not pointless. What, you think I’d hold up Devin’s funeral just to reminisce? There’s more.

LARRY WHITTLES: I’ve had it. I’m not listening to—

(Gunshot)

JONNY COLLINS: You’ll do what I fuckin’ tell you to, you hear me? Now sit down and listen to the man you killed!

(Silence)

SECOND ENTRY: APRIL 24TH, 1993

JOURNAL: The suits came by my trailer around five this morning. I was awake, anyway. They brought a doctor with them, looking like he’d been dragged out of bed. He checked me out, treated me for some minor burns and cuts. The doc asked if I’d had any suicidal thoughts. Who the fuck hasn’t, working the fields? Told him no, of course. Not losing my pension just to get shipped off to some padded room.

The suits wouldn’t even look at me. I want to tell them exactly what I told the doctor: nothing. I’m not gonna talk. I know that something’s up. I’m not an idiot. But I’m not gonna talk.

Why should I? Look, I loved those boys, and some of them were just that, boys, but what’s the point in stirring the pot? I’ve got bills to pay. Dead is dead, why should I lose my job over it?

Maybe I’m an asshole. I don’t know. I really should just forget it ever happened, go about my life. I don’t know.

THIRD ENTRY: APRIL 27TH, 1993

JOURNAL: Damn my curiosity. It’s always gotten me in trouble, why should now be any different? For the life of me, I can’t leave this alone. I try to forget about the fire and my men’s skins blistering and—oh, God. I can’t forget, and I suppose I won’t. So I might as well try to figure out what happened and do some good on this earth, right?

I’m still off the clock. Assumed they’d either fire me or reassign me somewhere else, but the next morning there was a note on my trailer saying to not report, to take a few days. So that’s what I did. I walked around my trailer, trying to get these thoughts out of my head in anyway possible. Drinking, weed, porn. Hell, I even tried reading a book. Nothing worked.

This morning Larry and Dom called me in. They told me about the funeral arrangements for the boys, that everything was being covered by Whitfield, and that they were gonna take care of any medical costs I had. Also, they’re giving me a nice little pay raise. They must feel guilty, I suppose. Fine by me.

LARRY WHITTLES: You see? We felt terrible—

UNKNOWN FEMALE, OFF CAMERA: Will you shut the fuck up and let him finish?

(Silence)

JOURNAL: I couldn’t help but notice a pamphlet on Larry’s desk. Call me nosy, I don’t care, but that pamphlet has me thinking. It was from National Commercial Insurance. Well. I guess I don’t have a choice, then. Better start digging.

DOM FIELDS: Everyone’s got insurance. What, we were supposed to take a loss? How were we supposed to pay for the funeral costs, huh, Deb? How about you, Kara, could you cover Donny’s funeral, or his debt? We paid it all! Is that a crime? Stop pointing that gun at me, dammit!

JONNY COLLINS: Oh, this? This isn’t a gun. It’s a magnet, and it’s attracted to bullshit.

DOM FIELDS: You little—

JONNY COLLINS: Hush, now.

FOURTH ENTRY: MAY 12TH, 1993

JOURNAL: It’s been awhile, I know. I told you I was bad at this shit. Besides, I’ve been busy. It hurts me to say this, but I turned down the raise. Surprising, I know. I could’ve used it. Hell, I deserved it. But I asked for two months off instead. I needed time to get my shit together, I said. Larry was more than happy to agree. Cheaper in the long run. Really, I just needed the time to bury Dom and him.

I’ve done some digging. Do you know how much Whitfield made, just from losing that one rig? Twenty-five million dollars. Here they’re playing sentimental (even got a puff piece in the paper), and they’re rolling in that kind of dough. And I thought my raise was good. Shit.

Also, I found out who was driving the tanker that night: Jake Barta! Jake-fucking-Barta. He’s old oil, been bouncing around the companies for years. I worked with him for four years while he was with Whitfield. He made decent money with the contractors, I found out from his widow. There’s not a chance in hell he’d risk all that by getting drunk behind the wheel or taking a snooze. The man’s a beast. Or was, anyway. I saw him run 72 hours once, I swear to God, so don’t sell me that shit. Barta, man. He was good people.

It’s not much, I know. I’m not a lawyer or anything. I’ve only been on the naughty side of the court room, but I know this isn’t enough. I’ve still got plenty of time, though. But man, does that raise look good right about now.

Also, I saw something today. Just out of the corner of my eye. It looked just like one of my boys, all burnt and shit. Just like my dreams. Maybe I’m going crazy. Makes sense, why shouldn’t I?

DOM FIELDS: He wasn’t well, toward the end. We all know that. I’m sorry to say this here, but the man committed suicide, what do you expect?

(Whispering among the mourners)

JONNY COLLINS: I would’ve thought the same, if I hadn’t been there. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the truth. And I’ve—look, I know what this sounds like. But it’s all true, and you’re all gonna listen to the rest.

DOM FIELDS: You can’t keep us here forever.

JONNY COLLINS: This pistol disagrees.

LARRY WHITTLES: For fuck’s sake, if you think we killed the man then call the cops, but you can’t keep us here! It’s illegal!

JONNY COLLINS: Illegal? Larry, you think I give a shit about that, now? You think I didn’t know this was against the law? Like I give a shit. I’ll be dead soon, same as you.

(The mourners begin to panic)

JONNY COLLINS: Calm down! I’m not gonna shoot you. I don’t need to. They’ll be comin’ for you soon.

DOM FIELDS: What’re you on about?

JONNY COLLINS: I’ll let Dev tell you.

FIFTH ENTRY: JUNE 1ST, 1993

JOURNAL: I have these damn dreams every night. At first it was annoying, or maybe a little spooky. But now, oh my god, I think I’m losing it. Maybe I should talk to that doctor again, say I’m gonna, I don’t know, shoot myself or light myself on fire, die just like my boys did—

LARRY WHITTLES: You see, he admitted it right there!

JONNY COLLINS: I don’t have the best aim in the world, Larry, but I’ll try to shoot that tongue out your mouth if you keep usin’ it.

(Silence)

JOURNAL: …screaming my throat out as my skin crackles like fat on a steak. God, I could throw up right now, if I could eat first. I see them every night. My eyes open, like I’m waking up, but then all my muscles are frozen. I can’t move an inch, except for my darting eyes. Hell, I can’t even breathe. I’ve looked into it. Doctors call it sleep paralysis, but they can’t explain what comes next.

Smoke starts rising around my bed. It smells just like that night had: burning hair and flesh and oil. I try to tell myself it isn’t real, that I’m dreaming, but They don’t seem to care what I think. They come anyway. The corpses of my men melt out of my walls, covered in brilliant flames. They’re hardly more than blackened skeletons, only tiny bits of flesh clinging to their faces, curling and sizzling greasily. They stumble toward my bed, their joints clicking in and out of place, and reach out for me with their blistering fingers, oil pouring from their mouths and covering me in black lava, and soon my world is dark, my mouth filling with the foul stuff. Then I wake up.

It’s gotten to the point where I’ll do anything to stay awake. But we all have to sleep eventually, and they’re always waiting for me. I wish I could tell them that I’m trying my hardest to find out what’s happened, but my mouth just can’t move.

I found out that Whitfield paid Jake’s wife way more than any of the other widows. $40,000. Jesus, ain’t that the shit. That’s enough to pay off all his debts, I’m sure. Jake was a family man, always had been, but he had a hell of a monkey on his back. He was down at the casino every weekend. He couldn’t beat that addiction. Maybe Larry and Dom knew that. Maybe they told him how he could pay off his debts in one fell swoop, and still be able to leave plenty for his family. Maybe.

JONNY COLLINS: So why did Jake’s wife get it so good, huh? Why not any of our guys?

(Silence)

LARRY WHITTLES: Jake was just as much a member of the Whitfield family as anyone else. If you combined his years as a company man with all the time he’d contracted for us, he’d been with us longer than any of them.

UNKNOWN FEMALE, OFF CAMERA: I got bills to pay too, Larry. I got kids to raise.

LARRY WHITTLES: We compensated all of you far more than what was required.

JONNY COLLINS: We’re almost done.

SIXTH ENTRY: JUNE 15TH, 1993

JOURNAL: So much for time off. Dom came over today and told me they needed me out in the field. My guess is he’d heard I’ve been nosing around. They reinstated my raise and placed me as foreman at the Jennison rig, much bigger than my last.

Just because I’m working again doesn’t mean I’m not still digging. One of the workers over here, Jonny Collins, told me some shit. He says that he spoke with Larry and Dom at the Christmas party about offshore rigging, how there’s more oil in the sea than under all this turf. I looked up how much a rig like that costs. Two-hundred million, and that’s on the cheap side. Sure enough, Whitfield has already started building off of Maine. I wonder where they got the money to get that idea off the ground? All the men know that Whitfield’s rigs have been drying up. Larry and Dom are in debt. It’s all adding up now.

I’ll go to…I don’t know, whoever handles this shit soon. I just hope these dreams quit. They’ve started talking to me. I don’t know how. Their jaws are all broken and charred, but I can still hear their voices. I can’t tell you what they’re saying, because I don’t know. It’s all mumbled and raw. But the feeling comes across, deep in my mind. They want blood, and who could blame them? Fuck, man. I’m on break right now at the rig, and I can still hear them. This isn’t a dream, anymore, I can tell you that.

JONNY COLLINS: That’s right. I told you two about those offshore platforms. When I first read the journal, and the party came back to my mind, I shrugged it off. I was sure you’d heard about those before, and you probably had. But I guess what I said made something click in your mind, because I must be guilty of something. I see them too, now, ever since Dev’s death. They’re always there, out of the—sit down, Dom, I swear to Christ—out of the corner of my eyes. They’re here right now, watching.

LARRY WHITTLES: Fuckin’ lunatic.

DOM FIELDS: Jon, you need help. You’ve been through a lot. We can help you.

JONNY COLLINS: No one can help me. Now, I’m gonna read the last entry, here, and you’re all gonna listen. Then I’ll let you go. I swear it, I won’t harm anyone here if they let me finish.

(Silence)

FINAL ENTRY: JUNE 21ST, 1993

JOURNAL: I’m guilty. I could have saved them, if I’d been tougher on the boys, had been quicker to raise the alarm. But I wasn’t, and I failed. Those men died, in part, because of me. I was lazy and stupid and guilty.

I hope They’re reading this. They don’t have eyes, not anymore, but they’re looking over my shoulder right now. I’m sorry about what happened. I have the truth, written down right here. Let me be your voice, even though I was one of the men who took it away from you. Let me speak for you and set things straight. Please…I see your thoughts. Please don’t do this.

JONNY COLLINS: I worked the rig with Dev that night. I can tell you all, right here, right in front of Dev’s coffin, that it wasn’t suicide. I was standing on the outer railing, smoking a cig, and I saw Dev down there, staring out at the hills. He wasn’t moving or nothin’. He was hardly more than an ant from where I was, but he was frozen like a deer in headlights. And then he burst into flame.

DOM FIELDS: He was working the controls!

JONNY COLLINS: I’d never seen a flame burn so bright. I ran down and out to him with the extinguisher, wasn’t even wondering what the hell had happened at the time. I was too late. By the time I got out there, he was smolderin’ dead. I know now, though, that it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d been right next to him with a hose. They’d chosen

him to burn. And now they’ve chosen me.

(Jonny places the gun to his head.)

LARRY WHITTERS: Jonny, there are children here, please think about—

JONNY COLLINS: I know that. I’m sorry, everyone, but they’re comin’ for me now. God…they look just like he described ‘em. It might be selfish, but I’m not burnin’ like that.

UNKNOWN FEMALE, OFF CAMERA: Don’t!

JONNY COLLINS: Listen here, you fuckin’ matches; I’ll be comin’ for you if you don’t take those two fuckers next!

(Gun firing, mourners screaming. Smoke seems to rise from Jonny’s corpse before the camera cuts out.)

EDITOR’S NOTES

While I cannot with a good conscience support with any amount of evidence what Jonny Collins or Devin Howes had personally experienced, I can confirm that the homes of both Larry Whitters and Dom Fields burned down on July 27th, 1993. Both they and their families perished. As I’ve compiled these records, I’ve noticed strange dreams similar to what Devin Howes described, so I’ve asked the publisher to place a warning at the beginning of this article. The Whitfield Oil Accident is still regarded as such; an accident.

Shaquina and Darius went exploring in the East wing of the House of Hybrids in Norvajak. They came to a room that was so cluttered that they could barely find a path to walk through. They walked carefully until they got to the center of the room where it was empty except for a single desk. Shaquina walked up to the desk as Darius looked around confused.

“I wonder who these papers belonged to?” Shaquina asked as she grabbed a stack of papers.

“I don’t know. Read the first paper, Shaquina.” Darius said as he looked around.

Shaquina read the first couple of entries in a row.

“Year 1: Day 30,

In the tower of the East Wing of The House of Unicorn Hybrids. It was crazy out there today. I don’t know how long I can last without food. There is water but I need to find food, and soon. I can make the food last probably 2 weeks until then, I must ration it out. Be careful out there. If I remember correctly, the kitchen from here is down the stairs take a right, walk straight until I get to the statue of Raphaime, make a left there and walk until you see the entrance to the kitchen. There should be food there.

Signed, Sharrow Shrale

Year 1: Day 45,

I was correct on my path and I stayed out of sight from THEM. They must be stopped but I don’t know how yet. I must get out of here but they are keeping a great eye on the premises. The East wall can get me out of here, but the problem with that is they are inside the school property and on the outside. If I get caught, I don’t know what they will do to me. They have injured Professor Lenobia and killed High Priestess Thorn. They rest of the school is in panic mode and they are being picked off one by one.

Signed, Sharrow Shrale”

“Wait a minute. Sharrow Shrale!! I remember Proffesor Lenobia talking about her in Mythology 101. She said High Priestess Thorn was killed and she took her place. If I remembering properly, Sharrow Shrale was only a young Unicorn hybrid. I will read two more.” Darius said as he found a couple more entries in the stack of papers.

“Year 1: Day 129-131,

THEY are finally getting bored with us and leaving. Students from other schools like the elves, dwarves and fauns are sending the rest of them off. They all left by the end of day 131. They are saying it is safe to come on out and go on back to school. Professor Lenobia took to High Priestess and still teaching Mythology 101.

Signed, Sharrow Shrale

Year 2: Day 114,

There should be no way that they should have been back. I am injured and I don’t think I will survive. I will hang on for another 5-12 days, other than that I don’t think I will survive passed that. My injury is on my left side probably 2 inches wide and 2 feet long, also 4 inches deep. It is hurting me to write this. I am trying to get through this pain without screaming. I hear them sniffing around right outside the door to where I am hiding. They have found where I am hiding. They are banging on the door trying to get in.

Signed, Sharrow Shrale.”

“Who is them/they?” Shaquina asked Darius.

“Them/They is the Draginucous Hybrids. They killed Sharrow Shrale, the best student I had.” High Priestess Lenobia said, startling Shaquina and Darius.

“Ah!! High Priestess!! S... Sorry to be in here.” Darius and Shaqiuna said at the same time.

“No... no. It is alright, Shaquina and Darius. This was her room. I shut this part of the school down because she had died here. Her body was cut to shreds last time I saw her. She protected this whole school from the Draginucous. She... She knew the consequences of her actions.” Lenobia said as she started crying.

“You may keep exploring in here. Be careful though.” Lenobia said as she left the room.

“Didn’t Feather say Sharrow Shrale was her ancestor?” Shaquina asked as she looked at the pages.

“Year 4: Day 191,

Feather of the Fararina Rainbow was born and she shall carry the rainbow pattern with her, forever. Her father, _________, was there and is the one who saved me from my horrible death On Day *****.”

“How is that possible?” Shaquina asked confused.

“How is what possible?” Darius asked her.

“How is Sharrow Shrale still alive? Also, who is Feather of the Fararina Rainbow? Who is the father of Feather of the Fararina Rainbow?” Shaquina asked as she looked through the papers in hand.

“In here!! I found them, Erin!!” Rainbow Feather yelled as she entered the room, scaring Darius and Shaquina.

“Feather, dear. Don’t scare us like that.” Shaquina said as she held her hand upon her chest.

“Sorry, Shaquina. What are you guys looking at?” Feather asked as she saw the papers in Darius’ hands.

“Well, they are Sharrow Shrale’s journal entries. Do you know who this Feather of the Fararina Rainbow is? Also, do you know who her father is?” Shaquina asked her.

“Here is one from her 3rd year. Listen to this...“Darius said with a smile.

“Year 3: Day 9-12,

School has changed to House of Hybrids in Norvajak. I don’t know what they are thinking. The House of Hybrids in Norvajak is pretty much inviting danger to come and play around with us. So far, it hasn’t been that bad since none of the Draginucous has been here. I still must be careful and very cautious of who I am with. I did meet an elf hybrid named Lo’danas Bloodsong. He looks elf but he is half unicorn, like me.

Signed, Sharrow Shrale.”

“Oh... umm. I don’t know who her father is.” Feather said as her ears drooped.

“Oh. Do you think your grandma will know who Feather of the Fararina Rainbow and who her father is?” Darius asked as Erin entered the room.

“Maybe. I am unsure about that.” Feather said as she sat on the floor in the room.

“Come on, Feather. Let’s go ask your grandmother about Feather of the Fararina Rainbow and her father.” Erin said as she smiled at Feather.

Feather sat there, crying. Erin, Darius and Shaquina stopped and looked at her sadly. All three of them walked over to her and hugged her.

“What is wrong, Feather?” Erin asked as she saw a glimpse of something black.

“Sha... Sharrow Shrale was my mother and I don’t know who my father is. Also, my real name is Feather of the Fararina Rainbow.” Feather said as she cried upon Shaquina’s shoulder.

“It is alright, Feather. You were raised by your grandmother and she did a phenomenal job of raising you.” Erin said as she heard someone else crying.

“What is it, Erin?” Feather asked her as she watched Erin walk toward the window where there was a stack of boxes in front of it.

Erin looked around the boxes and saw a male elf. He looked up at Erin and stood up. He was taller than he looked when he was slumped over on the floor. Erin looked at him with a smile and he wiped away his tears. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

“Who are you?” Erin asked him as she touched his left arm.

“I am Lo’danas Bloodsong. I am the elf hybrid Mrs. Shrale was talking about in her entry. She and I had a child before she had disappeared. I don’t know where both she and the baby went. It has been years but I remember that the baby was a white... Unicorn... hybrid... with... a... rainbow... mane... and... tail.” He said as he slowed his speech when he turned and saw Rainbow Feather.

“Father?” Rainbow asked as she looked at Lo’danas.

“Is... Is that you, Feather of the Fararina Rainbow?” He asked as he walked toward her.

As Rainbow and Lo’danas walked toward each other, Lo,danas and Rainbow’s friends fell as the tower shook. Rainbow ran out of the room and outside. She looked to see Deera and more Draginucous coming to attack the House of Hybrids. Her friends came out and stood next to her. Lo’danas had grabbed his bow and arrows. He shot at the Draginucous and hit Deera. She fell to the ground and changed into her human form. Her friends yelled at her no but she ignored them. Rainbow ran toward Deera and slid to a stop next to her. Deera kicked Rainbow away and drew her sword. Deera started laughing and pointed her sword at Rainbow’s neck.

“Why are you so worried about me when your mother died this same way?” Deera asked as she smiled a wicked smile.

“My mother didn’t die this way!! She died to protect me and my father!!” Rainbow snarled as her horn glowed and she pushed Deera off of her.

Deera rolled and Rainbow’s Cross bow and sheath of arrows showed up in her hand and upon her back. She loaded her Cross bow and pointed it at Deera as she tried to stand up. Deera finally stood up and looked at Rainbow, angrily. Deera growled and lunged at Rainbow. She dodged the blows from Deera for a little while and Rainbow shot afew of her arrows and Deera dodged them like they were going in slow motion. Deera screeched and lunged at Rainbow again. Rainbow dodged but the tip of the sword scratched her arm. Her arm went numb and Rainbow shot Deera in the arm for pay back. She gained feeling back in her arm and Shaquina tossed Rainbow her sword. Rainbow caught it and smiled at Deera.

“You don’t know howto fight with that, do you?” Deera asked with a growl.

“I know how to fight with a sword.” Rainbow said as she grimaced at the pain in her arm.

They both fell to the ground and the rest of the Draginucous left with a screech. Lo’danas and Rainbow’s friends ran over to Feather and picked her up. Deera woke up and sat up to see that Rainbow hasn’t woke up yet. Deera growled and changed into her draginucous form. One of the other Draginucous picked her up and they flew away.

“Fararina Feather!! Come on, my dear.” Lo’danas said as the students started to surround them.

Erin knelt down and her other friends did the same when Rainbow’s body started to rise from Lo’danas’s arms in a bright light. A Black Unicorn with a rainbow streak came from the bright light and touched Rainbow’s face. Sylvia Feather showed up in a gust of wind and dust that blew through there.

“Wake up, my Feather of the Fararina Rainbow.” Sylvia Feather and the black unicorn said together as Rainbow’s body touched the ground.

Rainbow started coughing and finally took a deep breath. She rolled over onto her side and saw the black unicorn.

“Welcome back, my daughter Feather of the Fararina Rainbow.” The black unicorn said as she held her hand out to Rainbow.

“Mother? Mother!! Oh, mother Shrale of the Black Sharrow!! How I have missed you dearly!!” Feather yelled as she got up and hugged her.

Sharrow Shrale and Rainbow Feather hugged each other as her friends and Lo’danas stared at them.

“Join us, Feather of the Midnight Sun, Lo’danas Bloodsong, Erin, Darius and Shaquina. Come join the group snuggling.” Feather said.

All of them joined the group hugging and enjoyed the moment.

The End...

Or is it?