May 30, 1856

I awoke to the sounds of rushing water. After quickly vacating my tent, I found a fresh creek had formed overnight, rushing water over the edge to the canyon floor below. There were no signs of a dry riverbed here yesterday, nor had there been storms overnight. I am at a loss as to how this stream appeared out of thin air.

My fellow companions were equally in awe of its mere existence. It should not be.

After breakfast, Gregor, determined as ever, made the choice to ride ahead and scout out the creek to its origins in the hills beyond.

We made the decision to await his return here at the camp, which Foster and I have set about fortifying and making into a more usable space.

It’s approaching noontime now, and I am full of anticipation for Gregor’s return. I shall update you later this evening with more.

Until then,

Cpt. Grady White

May 30, 1856

Gregor has yet to return. The stream has grown, washing out a large swath of land. I ordered the camp be moved out of caution, though I doubt any ill would have befallen us had we stayed. In complete transparency, the appearance and the growth of the flow have sent ghosts into my mind.

What could cause such a sudden burst of water, and where does it come from?

We’ve set camp along a grove of aspen trees. A meadow spreads out before us, with a steep slope on the edge of the meadow.

Foster shot a deer in the field, then we dressed it and cured most of the meat. We helped ourselves to a leg, cooking it on a spit above the fire. It was delectable.

It’s been difficult to keep my sights on the main goal of our trek. Without any signs from Gregor, I am, to be completely honest, beside myself with doubt as I determine whether to keep on or stay here for his eventual return.

I understand that if we moved on, he would have no issue tracking our party and rejoining at his earliest convenience, though I would be amiss if I were to state that I want to put that extra hardship on his already tiring demeanor. He, as we all are, is tired. It has been a most difficult journey to this point, and I would hope to move forward as one cohesive unit rather than leaving a straggler behind.

Twice in the past, I have moved on without a member of my party. The hope had been, as it is now, that the member would reunite with us at the next stop. Twice I have been mistaken.

The wind has risen in force outside my tent, sending a shiver down my spine. I know we are not alone on this mountain, though I have little knowledge, save metal needles, of what that presence might be.

I have given Mr. Foster the task of keeping the fire lit throughout the night. I assume he shall be quite tired in the morning. As a man of distinguished lineage, I am sure he will show no signs of ill mood nor of a dearth of character.

I shall keep to myself for the remainder of the evening. I’ve managed to secure a bottle of fine whiskey, of which I have already imbibed. More than a simple glass, I might add. If this journal becomes a key point of information in any future trials, know that I am quite inebriated and shall suffer the consequences upon the morrow.

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Until then,

Cpt. Grady White

May 31, 1856

I awoke to what I would only call a blizzard. Gregor has yet to return. Foster did keep the fire going, and to his outstanding character, managed it through the most brutal of storms. I slept the sleep of the drunk. My darkest dreams spoke of a creature walking towards me with little clothing, flesh rendered from bone, and a head like a wolf.

My demeanor is, shall we say, salty. I have vivid images of this horror in my mind, though I cannot convey on paper or in words what it truly looked like.

Gregor should be back by now. I fear the worst. We have either lost our guide, or he has abandoned the mission entirely. Either way, it leaves Foster and me to continue on this mission without our most endeared companion.

I shall update you after the day unfolds.

Until then,

Cpt. Grady White

May 31, 1856

The day has come and gone. No sign of Gregor. The snow fell throughout the day, leaving a hard path ahead of us. I fear we may be forced back to Ft. Collins. If this is to be, I feel that the exploration of these mountains shall be delayed indefinitely.

Mr. Foster procured food in the form of two small deer. We’ve cleaned and hung them in the trees near the camp. Fresh venison steaks and potatoes made for a delicious dinner.

Foster and I shared a few drinks this evening as we discussed our options. He is confident in Gregor’s imminent return. I, on the other hand, am not.

The snow measures 29 inches in our camp. We kept a routine throughout the day of keeping the area surrounding our fire and communal area as clear as possible, though at times were forced to seek shelter in the tents.

Winds have begun to pick up, sending tendrils of snow into the corners of my tent. I am certain the morning will find us hopelessly marooned in snow drifts. The worst case of this could have an unfortunate end.

I have been hearing a sound traveling within the wind. I clearly state now that I am in control of my faculties and have not become inebriated. There has been what I can only explain as a whisper as if from the mouth of fate itself. I know no other way of describing this. Such a faint yet overwhelming sound I had never heard in my life.

I am not a religious man, though I have my beliefs firmly in place. I could describe this whisper as the voice of that belief. What it said is unknown to me. I shan’t attempt to decipher it here.

I’ve hollered for Mr. Foster, though the cutting winds made it impossible to hear anything. When morning arrives, we shall discuss this sound.

Until then,

Cpt. Grady White

May 31, 1856

A light appeared as if dawn were breaking. It carved aside the darkness as if the very sun were bearing down on our camp. My timepiece confirmed with me that it was just past 2:00, and the sun was not due for at least four hours.

Mr. Foster was at my tent flap as I arose. He had a frantic hinge to his voice as he called me forth.

“Captain, you need to see this. It’s urgent, sir.” I thought the lad was about to cry. I stepped from the tent and was met by a brilliance I’d not experienced before.

A blinding white orb hovered in the center of camp, slightly muffled by the heavy snow falling around it. I would give its measurement as a three-foot perfect circle. As I looked on, it began to change. At first, it was subtle, stretching into an oval. Then, with much more speed, it transformed into a square before rapidly changing into a triangle.

I walked its circumference, and it was indeed a 3-dimensional object. A pyramid shape that glowed a brilliant white.

As earlier, I heard a sound carried on the wind. It was a voice, though not discernible. Waves of sound built around me, and the pyramid shape turned 90° and rocketed into the earth with such a force as to knock us to the ground.

Mr. Foster was shaking, and I noted a stream of blood running from his ears. He motioned to me, and I realized my ears were bleeding as well. Such a force I have never experienced! Cannon fire is a mere nuisance compared to this sound. It throttled the land around for several hundred yards. Snow that had piled in drifts was now simply gone. Branches had fallen to the ground, stripped from the trees as if they were blades of grass.

How we are alive is beyond me. We doctored each other up as much as possible, though I fear we will have permanent damage to our hearing. I feel lightheaded and unwell. Mr. Foster says much the same. After I finish this, we will set the tents again and attempt to rest for the remainder of the night.

Until tomorrow,

Cpt. Grady White