[This journal was uncovered at a trailhead in Hoosier National Forest, Indiana. It belonged to Brian Wilhelms, who was reported missing on November 20, 2010. This entry seems to be one of his last.]

11/19/2010
4:27 A.M.

-

Got here about an hour ago. Temp's about 31 Fahrenheit. Been in the stand for about forty-five minutes. Nothing but a few early squirrels scurrying around up in the tree branches. Rifle hunting season started just yesterday. I would'a come out here then, but my buddy Carl needed my help fixing his truck and didn't wanna leave him hanging.

No luck as of yet. I'll keep this updated with any sightings.

—<X>—

11/19/2010
5:02 A.M.

-

I think someone else must be hunting here. Saw him lurking around. No high-vis jacket, just really dark clothes. Either he's trying to stay out of my sight, or he's an idiot. The latter's probably the answer. It was only because of the weird white mask he was wearing that I saw him at all. That dumb*** has a real surprise coming if he thinks he can just trespass like this and get away with it.

I'll go after him now. I'll come back to my stand later.

—<X>—

11/19/2010
5:15 A.M.

-

The ***** ran off. I can't find him. What I did find was this weird-*** stick structure by the creek. It's like a little shrine, almost, with a deer skull mounted on it. There's a weird little symbol on it, too. An eye with a weird X in it.

I don't know what it is, but I bet that guy set it up. Taking it down. Serves him right.

—<X>—

11/19/2010
5:45 A.M.

Something's off. I'm back at my deer stand, and I haven't seen the guy again, but I feel like something's watching me. Like something's breathing down my neck. I don't know why I feel that way. Probably just a lack of sleep getting to me - sometimes it does. Went to bed early last night, but maybe I just got up in the middle of the night and I don't remember it.

Maybe.

—<X>—

No. No. No. No. No. Not good, not good, not good, no nonono no n no no no not good, notatallwhatisthis-

—<X>—

[There's about ten blank pages of space. Looks like the author just flipped to a page and started writing for the next entry.]

[The handwriting here is rushed and sloppy. It's hard to read a few words.]

11/21/2010? I think?
I don't ****ing know what goddamn time it is.

I finally got my hands back on this, and I wanted to finish it off because it might be my last entry. You know that guy? He had some friends. Apparently that thing I destroyed was some weird [illegible]. And the guy's angry. And his friends are angry. All around, everyone's pissed.

They've been keeping me here for the past few days. Where's here? I don't know. I could be in hell for all I know - sure does ****ing feel like it. Who's they? I don't know that, either. They've been feeding me nothing but this [illegible] they seem to have an infinite supply of. It's not that bad-tasting, but I don't have a ****ing clue what it is. And it's not very filling, whatever it is.

****, they're coming. If anyone finds this... goodbye. Hopefully I'm alive.

I probably won't be, though.

[The bottom of the page is splattered with crimson]