October 26, 1993

Hi. So… um. Okay, okay, sorry, to whoever is reading this,

Let’s just… I’m sorry, I’m not really sure what to write right now, but even writing this is helping. Getting out my thoughts as they happen is helping. But… Jesus, okay, okay. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. What do you have to say? They need to know what you have to tell them. Come on.

It’s been… two days, since Sunday night. I tried to write yesterday, but I broke down. I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get any real words out, and just threw the whole thing away. It’s okay, though. I needed the time. I needed to take the time. I just… fuck, man, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to feel. I mean, how am I supposed to feel?

Maybe I should just stop, I mean what the hell? I can’t, I don’t think I can

No. You know what? This isn’t a diary, this isn’t for me. I’m not writing this for me. None of this is for me. It doesn’t matter if I’m holding back tears even now as I write this. This isn’t for me. I’m writing this for you, whoever you are. And… I’m writing this for him. This one particularly, I’m writing for him. I have to. So pull it together.

Okay, so… phew… okay. Two nights ago. Two nights ago was Sunday. I had been doing “training”, if you could even call it that, since the Sunday before. My grandma, realizing I had already gotten too involved with everything, let me in on it all. She told me what she had been doing out in the woods behind our house for the past few months, what she had been dealing with. She mentioned goblins, lots of them, whatever the hell gremlins are, skins, which I don’t even want to meet, and I think a few others that I don’t remember. What I noticed, though, was that she neglected to mention the shepherd. She talked about all the others, and what she had for them, but did not say a word about the shepherd. Even after almost killing me.

Even now, she still hasn’t said anything. She’s stayed locked in her room. I mean, I understand, because the last two days have been… well they shouldn’t have been at all. But still, the fact that she still hasn’t said anything about him, even to me. Even after… … what does it matter? I just don’t know what to do if she’s not going to say anything. I mean, what do I say? What do I say to any of them?

So, my grandma and I were getting ready for the next Sunday, which now was two nights ago. She did not bother to tell the rest of the family what had happened on the 17th, and she instructed me to not do so either. I asked why, and she said… well, she said something about them not needing to know. I apologize, I’m still a little shaken up so it’s hard to remember. But my dad, he had asked me what I had been doing out so late. He didn’t mind my grandma going out. As odd as it was to him and the rest of them, she was her own woman, and she made it clear that she would always be out overnight on Sundays. For her, it wasn’t anything strange. Me, however, I had never done that, nor should I have. My dad mentioned that he heard me in the house making a loud noise, and came out of his and my mom’s bedroom to see the fireplace set knocked over. He saw me run into the backyard in the night, which was past when Grandma wanted us out, and step out of the salt ring. He admitted that he wasn’t too superstitious himself, but he still recognized that I had never done something like that. So he asked me to explain myself.

I couldn’t say anything that I didn’t know what to say. But luckily, Grandma came in clutch. She got him off my back, telling him she had just asked me if I wanted to see what she did on her nightly walks. To make the endeavor less worrisome, she even pretended to relinquish some of her belief, saying there was nothing out there that night but still wanted me to walk her route so I could “know what she gets up to”. That’s Grandma for you. It’s honestly still funny to think about, some 80 something year old telling a dad not to worry about his kid going into the woods at night, and the dad listening.

My dad, the gentle giant he was, seemed to let go of the whole thing. As far as my grandma had made it seem, nothing dangerous had happened and I was with her the whole time (which was pretty much true). If only he had known how much danger we were actually involved with. Nevertheless, my dad just told me not to be so loud if I ever went out again, reminding me that the rest of the house would be asleep, and to do some extra logging with him to make up for it. Even though it was meant as a lighthearted punishment, I’m honestly glad I got to spend that time with him. If only

But okay, cut to two nights ago. Sorry, just…

Okay, trying again. Two nights ago. My grandma got me packed and ready. We had all the stuff, the salt, garlic, silver, iron, oil, even holy water. I don’t know if my grandma was expecting ghosts, or demons straight out of hell, but if you could think of something, she had it. Oh, and the bag. She had her bag. With the stakes and gun and everything.

We went out about 15 minutes before sundown, together this time, to the same spot I had found her the week before. She set up her ritualistic circle, this time a little bigger to account for my presence. I even helped. We had stones soaked in salt water, incense, and some animal feathers, I think. I don’t remember everything, but it definitely looked like some bizarre, oversized dreamcatcher.

So we waited. Just like we had the week before. I don’t think my grandma had much of a plan, even if she’d never admit that. After all, what could possibly be done? She didn’t seem to know him. She seemingly had a few ideas for how to deal with him, but they were only based off what she already used to take care of other varmints. And when Halloween came comes, there are still gonna be kids. There are going to be those teenagers that the shepherd talked about, daring one another to venture out here on the scariest night of the year. And he’d be waiting. Even if we did this next week, what could my grandma possibly expect to happen?

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When the last few rays of light ducked under the horizon, the setting sun finally saying “goodnight”, there was an immediate chill in the air. Not just from the lack of sunlight. From something… creepier. A sharp wind flew past us. We both winced. When we opened our eyes, he was there.

He stood stiff, with both hands on his cane in front of him, staring at us. It was uncomfortable. Somehow he had found a way to be creepier. God, I just wanted him to move. Just barely. A twitch. A flicker. Something. He stood like that for five minutes. After that, goblins started crawling out from behind the trees. I couldn’t help but notice how they all looked different. I don’t know if that’s stupid or not, but yeah. None of them were identical. Slightly different body types, slightly different ears or spots. It just gave me this eerie feeling. That they were their own beings. Again. I know it’s a nothing thought. I don’t know if that should be obvious. But I don’t know, part of me figured they all just would have been perfectly identical to one another, and the fact they had unique characteristics was throwing me for a loop.

They crawled around, occasionally hopping on their knuckles just like the ones had the previous week. They were so… animalistic. I don’t know why, but when my grandma talked about them, I always figured they were like little people. Human runts that ran around screaming at you or something, wearing town rags and hoarding gold. Instead, they were like rabid monkeys. At least the interest in gold was a real thing. What am I talking about?

After about five minutes, the shepherd finally spoke. The first words out of his mouth, directed towards me, were, “You lost your shine.”

I shivered at the comment, though I had no idea what he was talking about. My grandma inconspicuously squeezed my wrist, and looking down, I realized what he was getting at. The week before, I had been wearing a gold chain around my neck. It was a gift from my mom, show had gotten it because I gave a similar one to my dad for Father’s Day years ago. She had thought we should match. They were thin gold chains with a tiny gold charm that hung at the bottom, in the shape of a logging axe. My dad always wore his, and so I always wore mine. It was cute, and I appreciate my mom for giving me something to remind me of my dad, since his work kept him away from us for most of the day. And now I wasn’t wearing it.

It was on purpose, of course. I had been wearing it the week before when I followed my grandma. It’s what had drawn that one goblin to latch onto me and crawl up my body. The gross thing was reaching, clawing for it. And, because of that incident as evidence of the danger I was putting myself in, it’s what my grandma had yelled to me that I didn’t hear. “And leave… your necklace behind!”

So this time, two nights ago… I had. The chain for my father, from my mother, that I had worn for the past five or so years, I took off. And the worst part, I couldn’t tell my parents why. So I didn’t. I just hid it in my room and wore oversized jackets so they couldn’t notice I wasn’t wearing it. All for the shepherd to point it out first thing. Gah. I hate him.

About 30 minutes passed by. My grandma, while staying in the circle, stood up to glare back at him. Despite speaking, the shepherd still had not moved from his position. For thirty. Minutes. I wished she hadn’t moved either. Not that it would have much of a difference. But still, it wouldn’t have made the moment as bad.

She stood up and told him that he was going to go hungry. Just like he had the week before. Just like he would next week. She didn’t look away once. For such a frail old lady, the woman can really hold her ground. It’s admirable. But just once, like I said, I wish she hadn’t. He glared at her back, though his smile remained, as if he wasn’t the slightest bit threatened. Why would he be? He told her his hunger last week had only made him itch for this week. If she was hoping to starve him, she had better been prepared to do so for the next hundred years. He told him he was a patient man. If you could even call him one. But I think… I can’t prove this but… I think the reason he wasn’t intimidated wasn’t just because he could outlast her. I think… fuck, I

I think he knew he would be eating that night.

The air was tense. The stares were, too. I wasn’t sure if my grandma was in control of the situation or not. I mean, I know she wanted me to believe she was. But I wasn’t some little kid could believed my family could beat anything. As far as I can tell, this guy is the closest thing we have to the devil. And trust me, he makes sure you know he’s in charge. The minutes passed, the goblins got antsy. They were the only ones that didn’t remain calm. My grandma and the shepherd were locked in their battle of conviction, and I was just too nervous to move. It wasn’t my place to do anything. I was ready if my grandma needed me, but other than that, I just stayed put. And my shaking body was good with that.

Everything changed when… well it’s just that, I mean I didn’t know that

Everything changed when he showed up. None of us saw that coming. Not even the shepherd. Or at least, he didn’t show it. He was the only one, however, excited about it.

When my dad showed up to the clearing, he was carrying his axe. At the first rustling of the bushes and crunching of dead leaves that he walked out from, several of the goblins around us got skittish and took a couple steps back. The shepherd, of course, did not move. The first thing my dad noticed was me. He didn’t pay attention to the scary man in the woods. He didn’t pay attention to the little green monkey men crawling around me and my grandma. He just looked at me. From there he glanced over to my grandma, and then up at the shepherd. My dad was at a loss for words. Understandably. He gripped his axe tight, but failed to move. Instead, the shepherd was the one to act, inciting, “Ah, feeding time.”

At those words, the seven or eight goblins that circled us sprang toward my dad, crawling on all fours as they ran. Instinctively, the man took action, and he… sorry I

I think I’m just delirious from everything that’s happened. I know it’s even a day or two, I should be better, they would want me to be better, but… I think, I think…

I need to tell you what has happened. I need to. I’m fine. I’m fine. Just… just tired. My dad stood guard, holding his axe in front of him. As the ferocious creatures barreled toward him, he swung his tree-chopping tool, smacking them to the ground. I watched as he moved. He was vicious. I could tell, I, he was treating every goblin that came forth like one of his trees, chopping as forcefully yet cleanly as possible. Swing after swing, I watched what happened to the goblins. They would go down, but they would not say down. Even with all the hearty cuts and gashes in their bodies, the goblins wouldn’t actually die. I think they were able to heal. Or maybe, no he probably wasn’t using the right stuff. Not that he’d know. Dad… I’m sorry, Dad. Grandma knew about the salt and silver and iron and oil and water and whatever the hell else I’m forgetting. Dad didn’t know. Of course that would’ve made the job of goblin-killing a bit harder.

Holding my grandma’s arm within the circle, we watched as my dad fended off the goblins the best he could… I wanted to intervene, but I know I couldn’t. I think my grandma even… I

I think I need… I’ll come back, I just, need to sleep a min

Sincerely, The Hur