Clara and I visited the science fair in the town centre. It was such a lovely evening and they showcased some extraordinary inventions. Clara was especially fond of the Photorama.
Clara has recently had an affinity towards making imaginary friends. She names this one âPatchesâ and says that he has a metal claw for a left arm and lives in the wooded area near our house. Such an inventive imagination.
Every morning for the past week, Clara gathers herself a lunch for her and Patches and strolls into the woods to play. I much prefer that she spend her time outdoors than to be cooped up inside, drawing all day.
God in Heaven, the sound of screams alerted Miss Cassidy and I into a horrible sight. Clara came running with a large cut on her arm, crying that Patches had done it. The foolish child, she must have injured herself by climbing a tree.
Three days have passed since that incident. I caught Clara talking out one of the windows (presumably to Patches).
She sounded⊠Apologetic.
I can tell that she misses the outdoors.
Heavens above, the boy is real!
Running back inside, my heart sank to my stomach as I lay eyes on the boy. How long has he been living in the woods near our house!?
After much consideration (and insistence from Clara to help him) We allowed him inside. The poor boy was closer to a cadaver than a living child and he did indeed have a metal prosthetic for a left arm.
The boy is absolutely restless, twitching and shaking unnaturally. It took us a few hours to try and calm him down. He doesnât seem to be able to speak or know where he is.
My daughter is beyond a doubt, the bravest and kindest soul  I know. She is able to comfort this boy and insists on being by his side at all times. He must have been utterly starved, as the moment we presented him with food, he devoured it within seconds.
Christ, I may just faint and die.
The boy never seems to rest and has been roaming the halls all night.
I donât know how she managed, but Clara surprised me this morning by presenting a well dressed Patches (the clothes were her fatherâs, from when he was a child).
Patches seems to be less fidgety than before.
The boy is still unable to speak, but he seems to display an unbounded curiosity.
A man came by the house late at night. He seemed disheveled and desperate. He was asking about his missing son and if we had seen him by any chance.
I told him that I had not.
When I asked for his name, he said that it was âAvram.â He did not give me his sonâs name, though.
The name âAvramâ sounded familiar, so I looked through our old newspapers to see if I had recognized his name.
Sure enough, I found it. He had been a well respected scientist who recently lost his son, Mason. The boy was mangled to pieces in an industrial accident.
Miss Cassidy believes we should inform the authorities of the situation. I would be inclined to agree, yet I fear that Mason would be exposed to even more danger if we do that.
I canât bear to imagine the poor boy being studied or put to death like some lab specimen.
I awoke late at night to cries and rustling. But instead of finding Mason, I saw Miss Cassidy at the bottom of the stairs! Sheâs alive, thank heavens, but is knocked unconscious.
I find Avram clutching my daughter with a pistol to her head. He demands that I bring Mason to him, but I donât know where he could be.
Like a phantom, Mason suddenly appears, slowly making his way towards Avram. I am reunited with Clara, unharmed.
I could barely register what had just happened. Mason sliced Avramâs face wide open, giving us a chance to escape.
We ran into the woods, with Avram giving chase right behind us.
I knew that no matter what, we had to run as far and as fast as we could, lest we get shot. Amidst the chase, Mason had split from us and headed down a separate path, leading Avram away from us.
Clara and I never looked back. As we ran, the night was filled with screams and gunshots.
Clara and I made it out of the woods by morning. We never saw Mason or Avram ever again. It was as though it had been a nightmare.
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