The Lost writings Complete parts
The Lost Writings #16
June 14th, 1845
Sometime ago, shortly after I began keeping this journal, I noticed I was not always feeling myself. Many days I would lie in bed wailing. Not in pain or sadness, but out of pure guttural instinct. It seemed like I couldn't figure out the words I wanted to form. The things I wanted to say.
It had only started a few weeks ago, but now I'm noticing more of a change. Now sometimes my cognitive functions stop quite completely. I turn into something I can't quite place... Even now as I write this out I find my mind starting to drift off... off into that... that thing... The monster I have yet to know or meet.. I find myself struggling to write now at this point... It has become increasingly difficult to put together my coherent thoughts. Despite having been fine only moments ago.
Perhaps I should rest and come back later. When I can piece together what is happening.
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The Lost Writings #5
April 23rd, 1845
She's been following me.
I do not know who, why or what she is, but she follows me everywhere. She appears to be some sort of spirit like entity. Anytime I try to draw her I suddenly can no longer remember what she looks like and get a searing pain shooting through the side of my skull. I truly believe that she may not want me or anyone else to know she is here. but I have seen her.
She watched me as I took a bath, unmoving in the corner of the room. Even now as I'm writing she is watching me. Standing totally still in front of my desk. I do not know how long she intends to watch me. Sometimes I wake up, feeling feverish only to see her standing in the darkness. Simply staring at me.
She frightens me... she feels so.. cold.. so heartless. Like an embrace from her might be the last embrace I ever receive from someone. I just need to keep my grip. It feels like I'm dancing with danger. I think she may have followed me from my past or she may even be from the journal itself.
The more I study this journal and it's properties the more confused I become. Every time I draw a chart or a graph it mysteriously disappears. I've had to move everything I need to draw in charts in a separate notebook. Further more the journal burns any page not from it's own journal. I can not fathom why.
She's getting closer. her presence feels angrier now and I think it may be best that I stop writing for now. I do not think she likes that I wrote about her.
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The Lost Writings #20
July 14th, 1845
I can no longer sleep. She sits at the foot of my bed watching me while I sleep. For months she has been doing this, but now she makes sure the nightmares are so strong so powerful I feel myself slipping into territory I have yet to see.
What's worse is that ever since she started these hellish scapes in my unconscious mind I’ve started getting pains. In more than one part of my body the pain is almost unbearable at times. Just this morning when I felt my legs crumble and all of a sudden I was lying on the floor, screaming in pain as I desperately clung to my legs.
It felt as if someone was stabbing me in my legs, repeatedly, getting deeper and deeper with each strike of their dull knife. I even think I saw blood coming through my pant leg. Not a lot.... just enough for me to see it, but after my fit of pain and horror had subsided the blood was gone. Just like that. Gone as quick as it had appeared. I rolled my pant legs up and there was nothing. Not even a hint of what had happened.
I begin to grow tired... not only of these random fits of pain, but of this dreadful spell that seems to have befallen upon me. I am going to try and rest again. I just hope she’ll let me sleep....
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The Lost Writings #25
August 12th, 1845
The rest of my monstrous form has caught up to me. My back, which has now grown blood curdling spikes along my spine, aches, despite me having done nothing to hurt or injure myself. My hands are furry and my nails have grown dark and sharp, making it harder to write these changes in me. My legs have grown spurs and my face has become a gnarled mess of my former self. I grow tired. fighting this.... this evil inside. This darkness that swallows me like water and causes me to drown slowly in it.
I fear no one may ever find this journal... I pray to god if they do, they read my tale and cast this journal away, burn it or tear it apart. I’m drowning... drowning in this dark and I can no longer hold back the monster that holds me.
To whoever finds this... my name is Daniel.... Daniel Scrout. These are my final words... if you find this throw it away. Burn it, cast it into a fire so no one may ever lay eyes upon the faceless woman and her dreaded curse. I wish for no man to become the monster that I have because of this awful book. I can not even think for myself past this point.... I can not
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The page cuts off abruptly and appears tore at the bottom, This is the final entry in the journal.
The end.
