Hollowed

Hollowed

Sleep is a necessity. I have come to learn that. Ever since I have been locked up here, my mind often drifts to rest. I peer down at my arms and observe the scared symbols. These were not from my own hand. The asylum keepers think I’m insane but they haven’t been through the tragedy I witnessed. I hope all who read this feel the same as I have that autumn night several years ago. As I write this, know that this introduction to my series of journal entries is only the beginning of a dark journey.

September 25

Today was interesting. During the time of my hikes, I stumbled upon some strange artifacts. Stone shapes and designs. Many people I have shown them to think they are just regular rocks, however, I have kept them as a token of my adventures. The moderate air outside of my home up in the Colorado Rocky Mountains seems to be getting cooler. It is obvious fall is near.

September 30

I woke up this morning, drank my coffee and got ready for work. My jobs as an artist and a photographer have been fairly well for the past few years. A number of my paintings recollect the adventures I have had in the past both good and bad. They are explained through drawings of weird shapes and pictures that only the most optimistic can interpret. The photos I have submitted to local news companies and journalist websites have seem to have grown popular over time, many involving nature and the natural world. 5 days ago, I found some strange rocks, but today on my trek to take more photos, I seemed to have stumbled upon something rather peculiar. A stone blade, about 5 inches long with strange symbols was lying upon the ground, half buried near the base of a pine. As I unearthed the blade, I assume it is just the result of someone’s attempt at making something new. I keep the knife for future research.

October 1

It is finally October. The leaves seem very reluctant to fall but they are getting close. I stand on top of a high precipice, overlooking the wilderness. This area is a small distance away from the trail I primarily use. I stir the dirt with my hiking boots as I think on the angle of the photo. I pull out my camera and am rewarded with a magnificent picture. This can definitely look great on a postcard! I hike some more in hopes to find more strange artifacts but, alas, none can be found.

October 2, Midnight

I awoke to the shuffling and clank of drawers in my study. I race to the area, pocketknife in hand just to be safe. Someone has rumbled through my drawers and left the window open. All that is missing are the rocks I have collected. The knife I found is still locked up tight in my “treasure chest”. I doubt the police would care about some criminal stealing rocks. I lock the window and watch a movie until morning. Tomorrow is Saturday so I am looking forward to a day of relaxation.

October 3

I can’t believe it! The blade is gone! Not only that, but blood is running down my forearms! I clean the wound and look at the markings. More symbols! I hauled myself over to the police department and they spent a while investigating my house. No trace can be found. They recommended a security system which I installed after they said so. I am not looking forward to Monday.

October 15

I am shocked. I awoke to gurgling and witnessed a strange creature peering into my eyes. It was so horrific that description can’t describe what happened. On the side of my bed stood a thin being that had a pale-green tint to its flesh. Long claws reached out and small strands of hair ran down its face. It wore a black robe and had a skeletal nose. The jaw gaped at me with teeth that reeked of dead fish. No ears could be seen and the hollow eye sockets only told despair. I leapt off my bed and barricaded myself in the closet. Inside was a corpse covered in the same symbols that appeared on the blade. Written in blood on the wall were true words of terror. “Some things aren’t meant to be kept”. I dialed the police with the voice of insanity and they busted into my home. Nothing could be found except myself in my demented state, and the body.

I spend days planning my escape but that seems inevitable. I spent months drawing the symbols I saw on the knife in my cell with a piece of charcoal I smuggled in. This is my last journal entry because the time of insanity is near.