There’s been no sign or sound of weirdness at my house since I last updated. I’m happy that things have seemed to calm down. Before I found that room, I was blissfully unaware of anything remotely strange about my home.

I am continuing the journal entries to try and get through to the end.

June 2nd 1856

I awoke as the sun rose. It feels exceptional to be warmed by direct sunlight. Snow drifts surround the camp, some exceeding my 6-foot frame. I hope there isn’t a sudden heatwave to cause flash flooding.

Still no signs of Gregor. It has been several days now, and I fear he will not return. On that note, Foster and I are recuperating, though in no shape to travel. We’ve decided the best plan is to return to the fort and call this expedition a failure.

I have never failed at an attempt in my life. Sure, I’ve struggled through things, but in the end, I’ve always come out successful. This is a definite setback in my personal and professional career.

Rolled oats for breakfast was the best we could muster. Waves of nausea coursed through me as I ate, but I almost immediately felt the benefits of eating. My energy is starting to return.

There is no sign on the ground that anything ever pierced it. It could be that in our illness, Foster and I hallucinated the entire affair.

I will update again this evening.

Until then,

Cpt. Grady White

June 2nd, 1856

Evening is upon us. We spent some time clearing the snow from camp and gathering firewood. A roaring fire is currently keeping the freezing cold at bay. More clouds are on the horizon, and I fear another snowstorm. Hopefully, it will not pack the magnitude of the last.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

I’ve prepared a glass of whiskey for Foster and me to enjoy after another meal of deer venison. We’ve run out of potatoes. I yearn for the taste of a hearty biscuit. We’ve no means of making them now.

Foster confided that he feared Gregor was the voice shouting during the snowstorm. If this is the case, then the poor man is surely dead. There has to be some type of repercussion for this immense failure. I will certainly sit through a tribunal upon my return to Missouri. If I caused the death of a tracker, I should be brought to justice.

I cannot hear out of my left ear. It has gone deaf, which has me worried about my continuing with the military as I am now physically unfit to wear the uniform. Foster still has full use of his hearing, so at least he came through okay.

There were more strange prints in the snow when we returned from gathering firewood. It seems whatever was here yesterday returned. None of our food stores were ransacked, so I am not sure what its aim is.

Tonight, I shall sit just inside the tent flap and wait for it to return. My rifle is yearning to be fired.

Until tomorrow,

Cpt. Grady White

June 3rd, 1856

I dreamt of a pale sunrise. Mist and fog hung heavy in the woods. I stood alone in a small clearing. The sun looked almost white through the mist. I couldn’t feel its warmth. The surrounding forest felt ominous as if I were being watched by some creature of pure evil.

I turned in a circle, but the scene didn’t change. The sun stayed ahead of me, and the trees felt as if they were closing in. A scraping sound, as if nails tearing through the bark of the trees, surrounded me. It was deafening. Then, I saw an aberration of unequaled terror. A beast that defies explanation. It was tall, thin, emaciated, and had the head of a bear and the body of a man. It had long, wicked claws extending from its fingers. Its flesh was patchy, with some exposed muscle and bone peering through. Its hair appeared to be that of a porcupine with a stripe down its head and back. I have never felt so much intense fear as when I looked at this creature.

I awoke with Mr. Foster shaking me. He said I had been screaming and shouting. He said I kept screaming the word “Buer.” I have no knowledge or memory of this. The word is foreign to me. It could be a mispronunciation of bear, which makes sense.

Still no signs of Gregor. I am planning on heading out of these mountains once the weather breaks. It has been snowing for three days. Everything is buried and impassable.

Foster has retrieved wood to keep our fire burning, and with the venison we have, I am not fearing starvation at this point. We boil snow for water. My regret is that I am now nearly out of whiskey.

I shall update you with more when and if anything takes place.

Until then

Cpt. Grady White