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During the 1997 Baja 1000, a thousand-mile off road racing event in Mexico, Herman Rodriguez went missing. Authorities discovered his modified Chevrolet S-10 trophy truck, torn pieces of his racing suit, blood splatters, and a journal that he had written in. The following are all of the entries that were able to be recovered, translated from Spanish.


13/11/1997: I’m about to do the bravest thing I have ever done: undergo the Baja 1000. My mother told me that she has just arrived at the start line and my father and sister will greet me later today. As I put on my suit, I got a call. It was from my racing team’s manager. He told me that my spotter in the chopper is sick and they can’t find anyone else to fill in so I’ll be on my own out there. I’m not gonna tell my family so I don’t scare them. Hopefully I make it out of this race alive!


14/11/1997: My radiator has been broken for 3 hours and the heat is unbearable. It’s almost the end of the year and still the desert of my homeland is hot as hell. I wish I could say that I can go on just from cruising to the nearest pit stop, but if I do that, my engine will blow up. Needless to say, I’ll just find a way to survive this place and get to civilization as soon as I can.


11/21/1997: I haven’t been writing much because I needed to focus on getting out of this predicament that I’m in. I’ve found an oasis surrounded by some dunes, so I’ll go on for a little while longer. And I don’t know what it is, but I feel like I’m being watched. And I have a feeling it’s not because of the vultures circling around my weakened, dehydrated body…


11/23/1997: I’ve seen a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye. I know for sure it isn’t the heat messing with me! It looked like a coyote, but it had features that gnarled it or something. Definitely had some scarring, as if it had survived getting hit by some competitors from all the prior Baja 1000s. Still, I'm carrying onward to what I think is a village nearby. I can see it clearly from the sand.

Damn! It’s abandoned. But I see scratch marks on the walls, almost as if the coyote creature thing had cleared out the people here. I fear that my family may never see me again. I’ll just stay here for a while longer… and out of sight from that thing.


11/30/1997: I saw that thing while I was sleeping. In my dreams it told me, “The sands do not give back what they take,” as I saw a toothy smile begin to form on its hideous face. I will never forget how bloodstained and sharp those teeth are. I’m making a break for it.

Found a car. Still works. Oh shit, I can see it catching up to me! Those eyes! They have hunger and evil! This thing better go fast.


12/01/1997: Finally, I made it back to my truck. I’m exhausted.


The rest of the page had been torn and bloodied. The journal from this point forward has had excessive damage done to it, assuming Herman had been ambushed. Samples recovered found that the bite marks left on the tires were similar to that of a coyote.

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