March 20, 2016: Dana
My name is Dana Crawford, I think. I was born on November 23, 2000 in rural Louisiana, I know for a fact because I have lived in this house since birth. I don’t know anything else, my memory has been slowly slipping and they are coming for me. My parents think I am spinning out of control; I’m surprised they haven’t locked me up yet. Sometimes I wish they had before it began getting worse. If you find this journal, please send help, wherever that may be. I probably won’t know who I am, but please, force me to come with you. My time is ending.
May 12, 2017: Anna
I found this journal nestled inside a small cubby inside my wall in my family’s new house. The things written inside it are unsettling. Dana claims to be being watched, that unknown people are slowly erasing her memory so that they can come for her. I don’t know if I should believe it. She says to believe it. Sometimes it seems like this girl is just talking crazy, but the more I read it, the more I believe it. And it is making my sanity slip too.
In one entry she says she can see dark figures lurking outside of her window at night. She can hear their deep and evil voices as they whisper their plans. The next morning she forgets something new.
In another Dana talks of nightmares. Cloaked figures surround her while she is trapped on an operating table, and they saw into her brain with sharp tools as they chant in a foreign language, attempting to brainwash her. The next morning, she awakes with a bleeding ear and a headache. Let’s not forget the lost memory.
I don’t know if I believe the written words, but they never seem to leave my head. Ever since I found the journal a few days ago, I haven’t slept at all. It has me paranoid, I look out my window every time I hear a noise, and I fear my dreams. Maybe all of this is made up and I should be locked up for possibly believing such nonsense. Or maybe this girl is really in trouble by a mysterious force.
July 12, 2016: Dana
The voices are growing louder outside my window. Sometime I feel the urge to go toward them, as if I am in a trance. It happened last night, and today I forgot more than one thing. I don’t remember my birthday party last year or the name of my first pet. They take small things at first, and then slyly snatch a large chunk of my life that leaves my soul empty. I run around the house, searching for something I cannot touch. My parents whisper things I cannot hear, send her here, and send her there. The voices won’t let them. They always find a way to stop events and take events.
July 26, 2016: Dana
I almost caught one of them in the act today, but it disappeared so quickly. I saw its face, distorted almost like a malfunction on a computer, pixels switching around irregularly. I am surprised I haven’t forgotten already, but I am sure by the next morning, I will.
It just looked so sinister, a mocking grin stuck permanently on its face as if to say “we are coming for you”. This may be my last entry.
May 17, 2017: Anna
I read a few of the entries last night, each gradually getting shorter and short to signal her vulnerability. I feel like I am in a horror movie. My parents are becoming concerned for my social life because I have been locked up in my room for the past week, refusing to go out into the world because the journal won’t stop taunting me. My parents don’t know about it. They think I am depressed, and to be honest, the journal is making me feel this way.
September 1, 2016: Dana
Every time the clock strikes midnight on the eve of a new month, I am getting closer to disappearing. My memory comes closer to being destroyed, and so will I along with it.
When I saw that face, as discussed in the last entry, I think my time left depleted more than it should have. I already feel gone; I wish they would take me already. My own parents have given up hope.
May 29, 2017: Anna
I tried to do some research on Dana, but weird enough nothing came up. I searched every search engine possible, no police reports, no Facebook pages; it’s as if this girl never existed. I need to get justice for Dana, but it appears too good to be true.
I am becoming unhealthily obsessed with her. Maybe that is what she wanted all along, some attention. She could be hiding out in a new house right now, wondering who fell victim to her scheme, and if they will end up just like her. My diary entries are the only thing documenting my thoughts, just as they were for her. We have more in common than I would hope.
September 21, 2016: Dana
Diary, we haven’t talked in a while. That is never a good sign for anything. There is too much to say, and too little time to talk. I have decided to give up trying. The voices make my ears bleed; I can only remember how to speak and only find my diary to refresh myself on the past. The only thing in here contains the darkness. I have given up hope.
Person reading this: be careful.
June 3, 2017: Anna
I am losing sight of things day by day. I wish I hadn’t started reading the journal, I want to burn it. Burning it will not solve anything. Dana couldn’t stop it and neither can I. The curse was left for me.
June 20, 2017: Anna
I am cursed, I was right all along. I am leading down the same path as Dana, into an unknown darkness. Pieces have been leaving me every time I awake, but it is happening at a faster pace than intended. I don’t remember my parent’s names, my street address, and my best friends from my old life. A lot more is on that list.
The voices whisper to me at night. They aren’t outside of my window; they are clouding in my room. I see their shadows on the wall, chanting. I feel them digging deeper and deeper into my brain with their long claws for fingernails. They make me believe things, evil things.
Dana is one of those voices, and I will be gone my night.
June 21: Anna
I bet you were hoping to hear from Anna, I am sorry, but she is gone now. She deserved to feel the pain I went through in my final days, but it needed to be quicker for her. Her time was over, anyway. Her parents were going to leave her. She was going to be dead inside. I did her a favor, I was nice to her. The voices were not nice to me, but now we live among them like the family I’ve always wanted.
If you reached this point in the journal, either you are gone too, or you are next.