6th of April, 1983
An old woman by the name of Cynthia Droug came skipping into my office this morning, with a childlike expression. She sat down on my desk and whispered in my ear, "I want to tell you my story tomorrow." Then giggled and left my office. Rather creepy I must admit but my colleagues told me that there is nothing to worry about and that she comes and goes whenever she pleases.
Phoning up beforehand to book an appointment, and scaring the other doctors by whispering to them some weird line like, "Hear my story," or, "He is coming for you." One person who heard it is in an institute right now, though he had underlying health problems and must have had nothing to do with Cynthia's story.
It pains me to say it but I am rather curious about this "story." So the next time—if there is a next time—then I will ask her to come and tell me her story.
—Dr. Robert Smither.
Extra Note: I think she must be bipolar or schizophrenic, it would be a rather good thing if I could diagnose her and get the woman some help.
7th of April, 1983
Cynthia kept to her promise and came into my office this morning to tell me her "story." Though she did not tell me straight away, she just stood in front of my desk staring at me with a weird little smile on her face, as if she knew something that I did not. It took over a minute until she finally started speaking. It was fortunate for her that I had not decided to kick her out!
Anyway, she said to me that over the next five days she would come tell her story.
So with a smile she began, "He came to me in the middle of the night when I was twenty-seven or something. And honestly I was scared at first, I mean Scratchy"—that is what she called whatever the thing was—"was a horrible looking creature, still is," she giggled to herself and then cautiously looked around the room.
Then with a wave of her hand she carried on, "You see he reassured me, good old Scratchy and said, 'I want to play with you.' Well immediately I played with him and I haven't looked back since! He is really nice and if you worship him he will make all the bad things go away... But if you don't well then he will hurt you..."
"He hasn't hurt me but he has commented on how he has harmed others who tried to run away. I mean there was this one man who didn't want to play with Scratchy anymore and he was sliced in half! Well that’s me done, I'll be back tomorrow." She suddenly ended rather cheerily and skipped out of the room before I could stop her.
I guess she said she would tell me the story over five days.
—Dr. Robert Smither.
8th of April, 1983
Well today Cynthia came round to my house in the early hours of the morning, which rather frightened me. Firstly now she knows where I live—must be stalking me—and secondly she was standing on my bed.
Fortunately I am not married.
She leapt of my bed and said something about Scratchy wanting to play with her all day. So she decided to come here at this time, so not to anger him, and tell me what this "Scratchy" looks like.
From what I can remember from that conversation—I was half asleep through most of it.
This hallucination, creature or whatever you want to call it, had no facial features only three large claw marks across its face. It had no legs and moved itself across the floor with two long arms that had two claws on the end of each wrist. The resulting movement would make a scratching sound across the floor, hence the nickname "Scratchy." The skin was stretched and a grey colour, and its voice sounded more like birdsong.
Even I laughed at that and had to ask her, "Why would such a horrifying creature have a voice like that?"
The look she gave me was nothing any human could give, "He has that voice because people find the sound of birdsongs trusting and if his victims trust him then he can devour them."
I shall never forget that part of the conversation.
—Dr Robert Smither.
Extra Note: I need to remind myself to get a restraining order on her after this story is done.
9th of April, 1983
Cynthia came to my office this morning and simply stared at me for a minute before leaving.
So much for her telling me her "story."
—Dr. Robert Smither.
Extra note: I must be going insane I keep hearing, "Worship Him," everywhere.
10th of April, 1983
Worship him. Worship him. Worship him.
11th of April, 1983
Worship him. Worship him...
17th of April, 1983
Sorry the last five pages have been covered with the words 'Worship him'. But I can finally see now why Cynthia plays with him. He is so much fun! I can tell you the day after Cynthia did all that staring (fun fun fun) Scratchy visited me. And I was scared at first but then he said, "Don't be scared you're my friend." I immediately smiled and nodded. We played all night; I haven't slept for a week! Why did I even sleep? Sleep is boring, when you can play play play!
Even Cynthia came to me yesterday and we painted the walls with a beautiful array of colours, especially red! Unfortunately Cynthia is dead now, I woke up and she was torn apart her organs were everywhere. The police came round to see me and punished me.
What did I do? I only painted the walls red.
Now I am in a mad place, no one knows who Scratchy is. And it’s so sad without him. Least they let me keep this diary.
Well all I have to do is wait for Scratchy to play with me.
18th of April 1983
He came back! Last night it was! We had so much fun, and he painted the walls red. Yay red is my favourite colour! Though a lot of the patients have gone missing... I can't see why...
Though I did ask him why he did all this.
And he simply said, "You remember that mysterious scratching sound you can sometimes hear in your room. That one you want to put down to just the cat or dog, but you know it isn't. You know it is far more terrifying, far more dangerous. But you are too scared to open your eyes, because every man, woman and child knows that I come for them. And if they open their eyes, then we shall paint the walls red together."
If there are any other diary entries reporting about this creature then they are either destroyed or unreadable, because of a thick red paint that covers the rest of the pages.