July/August ? 1869

I hear talking. Not from people, though. The bushes that have grown up around me are far too thick for any sound to carry. The town is gone now. The forest has swallowed it up like a bitter pill, and now the memory of it is fading. The parasites have died, and the ailment is no more. The bushes that have risen are thick and suffocating. Their branches are deep scarlet, and their leaves are near black. They have wicked, curved barbs, threatening anything that dares to get too close. The barbs, it seems, are pointed at me.

I can’t quite make out what the voices are saying. Sometimes it’s all I can hear, and sometimes it's barely there. It's always present, never clear. Maybe it's a song. It has a certain intonation, ups and downs, but it’s not a sound you or I could make. I’ve never heard a sound like it, but it makes me feel as if there will never be another sound again. It’s louder at night. Somehow, the stars pierce the thick canopy that has grown above me. The voices seem to like the stars. They get faster, wilder at night. It never repeats the same way twice, but it's more predictable in the day. Everything is more excited at night. The leaves flip and sway, the moss glows, and the forest comes alive with vibrations. Maybe it's from the bugs.

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I’ve found a solution to my struggle with nightmares. I’ve elected to simply not sleep. It's very effective. The days and nights all blend together, into one big stream of time spent watching trees. It gives me more time to listen to the voices. I’m not hungry or thirsty anymore, and I’m never too hot or cold. Every day the noises and voices grow a little louder, and a little closer. Maybe soon I’ll catch a glimpse of what makes them. It must be some kind of animal. Why would there be any other people around? The town seems so long ago now. It feels like a dream,

like it may never have been there at all. Perhaps this massive, strange forest is all that ever was here. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I can hear someone saying that something isn't right. This isn't how it's supposed to be. But that voice is getting quieter and quieter, while the voices from the forest draw closer, louder, closer.