Hello. My name is Andrew and well... recently I found a journal. May not seem so special but believe me it is. The reason I’m recording this is to warn you. You may not understand now but you will after reading the journal. And please... if you come across a brown, fairly ordinary looking leatherback journal... don’t read it. Please. Don’t be like me; don’t let your curiosity get the better of you.
18 June 1998
Hey there, I’ve never taken a diary before, but I have decided to start, because a random leatherback journal arrived in the post before I came here, to Boston, and that journal had some insane man’s ramblings in it (great inspiration, I know), and also - apparently, it relieves stress.
I really hope so; anyway, I am just doing my job in Boston, looking at the culture and doing some photography. In case it wasn’t made obvious, I am a cultural photographer that does shots for many different things. Emphasis on the "I do", that doesn’t mean that anyone uses them... Anyway, my wife and baby son are back in L.A, while I take a few weeks down here, trying to at least get some form of income. Going to go to sleep now, its round midnight I’ll write up tomorrow.
19 June 1998
Hi again, got back round 6. Just looking at the pictures from today. They are all a bit strange. The first three are slightly blurry near the back. The smudges seem to be getting bigger as I go through the 21 pictures I took today. I watch as they grow ever larger. On the eighteenth picture, it seems to be a bit clearer. I can see a man. Tall, thin, and faceless. Well, faceless, I mean too shadowed to see even though he clearly does have a face and with that, he seems to be facing in my direction. Weird. I look at the next one, and a cold shudder ran down my spine. It’s him. He is closer now, still staring at me, a creepy smile etched upon his face. Oh well... I’ll shrug it off for now, probably just a coincidence anyway. Bye until next time.
20 June 1998
Hi again. It’s been a tough day... and yet again all of my shots were blurred in one area at least, and I’m starting to blame this on my old camera that I’ve been using for 9-(almost 10) years now, since I was starting amateur photography as a kid, until now, when I’m still doing amateur photography, and I just don’t have the heart to throw it out; more worryingly though, I have noticed... him again.
You know, the man from yesterday’s photos? Well, he’s still in 16 or 17 of my pictures today, and seeing as the odd one out was an accidental shot at my feet... I am getting really concerned. I mean best case scenario: He is also a photographer, and has the same ideas as me. Worst case scenario... well... I don’t really want to say, a stalker maybe? I know my friend and his friend Josh… or was it Jack, had a problem with a stalker…. Report back later.
22nd June 1998
I’m giving up. No more photography, well, for now anyway. I can see him getting closer, and yet... I still don’t remember that man being there! Okay. I’ll tell you today from the top. Today I was taking a visit to Forest Hills National Park, to take a shot (no pun intended) at some nature pics. As you can guess, I was fairly useless. But in the shots I did take, I still noticed the man in the pictures, yet walking towards me as if it had only been a step farther than each previous picture, and there is no doubt that he is approaching me and only me.
24th June 1998
I’m scared. The logic is screaming at me, you’re not scared now, are you? But I am. He is coming for me. That, I am sure of. Why though, I have every doubt. I don’t know what he is, either. He is in about ninety percent of the pictures, maybe more. Always closer, his eerie grin stretching wider over his inhuman face.
That was yesterday. I’m not going anywhere today, after this morning. I went outside round 8 am, took a picture on my camera, and returned inside. After I printed it out, a horrible, cold chill blossomed in my chest. He was there. Staring right at me. Grinning, that ever-present smile of his etched upon his inhuman features.
Now I am truly scared. I am locked up in this rental, staring at the wall, afraid to do anything but worry. Who could he be? It isn’t a coincidence. I know that. He could be a stalker. A murderer. He could be anyone. Strangely doesn’t seem… human. I sound like those paranoid agoraphobics. He just has an inhuman, dark aura. I don’t know. I am just going to wait all night, and just survive off cold toaster waffles. Fantastic. But it’s better than going outside, that’s for sure.
25th June 1998
I’m alone, hiding in my hotel bathroom. I grabbed my camera, took a few pictures, and then started printing them. I quivered with fear as they come out. He’s was not there. A small sigh of relief rolled through my body. This morning, as I ripped open yet another packet of toaster waffles, I felt a presence watching me. I whipped around. No one there. I am really, really freaking out here so please--
So, it may not seem so shocking now, and you may be wondering why it ended so abruptly... well... The writer’s body was found inside of his locked hotel bathroom, with multiple stab wounds all over his body and face, and some toaster waffles next to him. The only possession of his that remained in his area was his camera, with the photo memory cylinder removed.
The police confiscated that and, well; only I know the fate of his final possessions as... they arrived in the mail yesterday, 19 years after the short but eventful journal. The small package that arrived only contained a small cylinder, and the journal. After I read it... I had an impulse to put some research into the man, and found out that he is.... was an early 20’s photographer that died under mysterious circumstances. No name was given, and no address or anything along those lines was given.
After my disappointing search, I decided to publish the photos on the cylinder, and I did see the said pictures from the journal, even his slip up shots of his feet and of blank walls... but there was only one picture there that was not mentioned. The said picture was a faint dark-greyish backdrop with a darker, heavier, yet centre shape in the middle.
Under further inspection... and a few hours’ worth of scanning and enhancing, I found that the picture was... of a face, a relived, almost psychopathic face with... an almost ecstatic grin. Despite all of these contributing factors, I made myself buy a cheap, old camera from a secondhand charity shop, (as growing up with a single, poor mother is not very rewarding money-wise).
Anyway, the man said it was about 30 years old, so I should expect some glitches from it, and I decided to take a picture of a nearby monument, and in that photo, I saw lots of blurs and... A man... just like the journal man had... and the reason I am writing this now is because I couldn’t figure something out... after all of the descriptions of the psychopathic, supposed murderer... I see him now and... why does this man look so much like me?