This journal belongs, or rather belonged to, a young man of his early 30s. His name was Caleb, and according to those who had known him, he had been the happiest of men. Devoted, caring, and always there to help someone who needed him. However, his last days had, supposedly, shown other whys. Caleb has since disappeared, after a bizarre array of paranoia, anger, and seemingly, delusions. The things he have written, at first, seem sane, but slowly spiral into that which only a sick, or truly scared, person could think of.

January 18,

I've decided to start writing. I never thought I'd do so, but I figured one day, it could be a very pleasurable thing for me to look back on. Perhaps, even for my son, if he is interested in his father's life. I'm planning on writing down any information or important events that happen in here, among these pages, so nothing will be forgotten.

My son, Dylan. He's very young, right now. Only six years old. He was born to me while I was 27, and my wife 25. He's the sweetest little boy you could ever meet. Outgoing, and definitely not quiet, but sweet. I don't think he'd ever hurt a soul if his life depended on it. He has his mother's hair. A nice, soft blond color. It looks almost platinum, in fact. He has our eyes, though. Her shape, and my color. A light foggy-blue color. He's so adventurous, those eyes of his always sparkling in wonder, amazement, at every little thing of the world... I'm proud to be his father. I always will be.

My wife, well, she's a deep thinker. Sometimes, it seems too deep. She's into think that are obviously fake. She admits, she knows they're fake, but she loves reading of them. Unicorns, dragons, ghosts, and everything of the like. I don't overly approve of it, at times; some stories seem to unnerve her, but she wouldn't stop reading and researching if I tied her to a pole and handcuffed her hands to her legs. It's much easily to just let her be with her projects than to try and stop her.

Speaking of, the princess of the castle is calling. Seems Dylan got stuck somewhere, again.

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January 20,

Nothing really excited or worth mentioning happened yesterday. Today, though, my boy and I ventured out into the woods across the street from our home. It was nice and bright out, so it'd be easier to avoid any objects blocking our path, but I still kept a close eye on Dylan. I didn't want him to get hurt.

He seemed completely mesmerized by the things around him. We saw a rabbit perched on a stump, eating something. Birds chirped in the trees above us, though it was hard to see. Most of the trees had thick foliage covering anything above. There were some that were bare, though, in patches of the forest. We could see a couple birds up there, which Dylan happily pointed to and laughed at. He felt they were like his best friends, at that point. He loved the nature out there.

Such an adventurous boy. My boy.

Nothing much else happened. I guess I'll close up, for the night.

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January 23,

My little family took a small trip to the park, today. Dylan sat on the swings, smiling back at his mother as she helped pushed him. Then he called out to me as he got sky high (at least to a little boy's point of view), "Look, daddy, I'm like a bird! I'm like a birdie, daddy!" I couldn't help but laugh and smile at him. His birds, again. Such a sweet boy.

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January 27,

My boy and I have been going out to the forest, again. Not every day, but every other day at least. Dylan loves it, and continues to point out every little thing he sees. He said he saw a man, though, soon after we had entered the forest, but I hadn't seen any... I figure he just got a tree confused with a man, or something, and I really don't think much of it. None the less, we had an enjoyable day.

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February 2,

We're going to the forest nearly every day, now. Dylan begs me until I give in, and take him. His mother doesn't seem to agree with it too much, but I'm not sure why. She just said a little boy shouldn't be exposed to places like that at such a vulnerable age. I think she's just worried he'll trip on a stick and hit his head, though. I'll be careful. He's my son, and I won't let anything hurt him.

That's a daddy's job, after all, right?

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February 3,

Dylan saw the 'man' again. He seemed nervous this time though. Insistent, even. "I saw him, daddy, I did! Another man, like you! Daddy!" He seemed... Scared. But I didn't see anything. He has a very active imagination... It was probably the same tree. It was near the area from before, after all.

Only a tree... He didn't seem to enjoy this trip much, though. I think I'll take him to the park, tomorrow, instead.

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February 4,

Went to the park today. Dylan didn't even go to his favorite swing. He sat in the grass and stares into the trees. His eyes, for once, looked dull. Nearly lifeless. He looked genuinely depressed, which shocked me. I asked him what was wrong, and his mother tried to comfort him, but he refused to speak to either of us. Instead, he simply stood up and went to play in the sand, near the under the tube slide. After exchanging a couple of confused glances, his mother and I went to sit on a bench and watch him, figuring that maybe he began to feel better on his own.

It looked almost like he was drawing in the sand with a small twig, making the lines of whatever he was drawing fine, precise even. I couldn't really tell what he was drawing. It looked like a circle with a large X through it, but I couldn't be completely sure. When the drawing was finished, Dylan slowly put his hand over the picture he had drawn, staring down at his hand, as if he were in thought over something.

After watching him for a few short minutes, my wife and I turned to talk to each other, wondering what might be going through our son's head. It just didn't seem normal, to us. All of a sudden, though, we heard him screaming. Not in fear, though, but pure anger. Our heads snapped up, and he was yelling at another boy, who looked absolutely terrified, and was now crying. We quickly got up and went over to assess the situation, and the other boy's mother soon came to comfort her own boy. She stared at ours, who was still yelling in pure fury, as if he were some kind of savage creature. She had never seen a child act in such a way.

To tell the truth, neither had I. I don't think I ever will, either.

When the other boy's mother led her child away, we looked down and started questioning out own. Why had he been yelling. He pointed down at where his picture had been, and practically growled about how the other boy had ruined it, and he'd have to redo it. Indeed, the picture did not look as precise as it seemed to have been made. But was a picture really worth getting worked up over?

None the less, he quickly crouched down and began to remake it, his eyes wide now, as if suddenly scared, but he was still panting from his previous outburst. When he finished it, I looked upon it in confused, but my wife looked at it in shock. "What... Why did you draw that, Dylan?" Dylan didn't reply. He didn't speak the rest of that day, and refused to eat dinner that night. He went up to his room the moment we returned home. Not a noise came from him.

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February 6,

Couldn't write yesterday. Couldn't. Dylan was missing. I had to find him. Had to. He didn't come down to breakfast in the morning. Went to his room, his window was open, the bush below crushed as if by his feet. He left his own house. I went out to find him. Out to the forest. He loved it there.

Loved it.

I went back out to the forest. Went to the place where the boy had seen his 'man', before. The place where the trees were stripped bare of their bark. Now, in the wood, were shallow scratches. One looked just like his picture. Others said things like 'Didn't want to', and 'Horrify', and others seemed to be pleaing for help. When did these get here, and who wrote them?

I then continued to look around. I had no idea where my little boy was, where he could be... Was he even in this forest? After seeing those messages carved in the bark... I hoped not. Behind me, I heard the faintest noise. Almost like the wind... I turned to face it, and I will never. Forget. What I saw.

My boy. Something held him. He was limp in its

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February 9,

Couldn't finish three days ago. I can't think right now. Can't think. My thoughts are foggy. Distorted. That thing... Held my son. It stared at me. Had no eyes to stare, what was that thing? More arms. dangling. Reaching the ground. Slowly moving towards me. I couldn't move. Couldn't think. My son, my son... It left. It just up and left. With my son. Was he breathing? Was the thing even breathing? Not human. Not human. Not normal.

I see it in my dreams. I see it when I shut my eyes. Eyeless. Mouthless. Faceless. Only indents. No features. No fair. Pale white. He took my son. Took him. Where? Why my son, why? Was that the man? Was it?

Went home. Wife was going crazy. Screaming at me. 'Why did you let him go? Why didn't you watch him? Man? Are you crazy? What did you do to our son?' She was in hysterics. Blamed me. Blamed me... I left. Couldn't handle it. Couldn't handle the screaming, the accusations.

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February 11,

That thing won't leave me alone. Even now. I see it. Every time I shut my eyes, everytime I look behind me, in front, side to side. It's everywhere. Is it mad I saw it; does it even feel emotion? God, why won't it leave me alone? I want my son. I want my son... Leave me alone... Just leave me alone you demon...

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February 12,

Didn't even go outside, today. Stayed locked up in a room. In the corner. Barely moved except to eat. I didn't even want to do that. Even though I could see the whole room...

I know it was there. Watching. Waiting.

Waiting for me. Waiting for me to slip up. It wants me to know that I am its prey... And the food chain will not change. Can't let it take me... I can't let it take me. No. No, I won't. I won't let it. My son. I'll get him back. This is a nightmare...

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February 14,

I saw it again. I saw it just outside. Or was that a tree? Not a man, just a tree... No such thing as monsters, Dylan, no such thing as monsters...

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February 16,

In my house. It's in my house. I know it is. It has to be. I can't stand this. This thing is going to get me. Going to get me, steal my away, stole Dylan, stole my son...

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I can't eat anymore. Can't drink. Can't sleep. It hurts. It hurts so much. Every time I shut my eyes, I see it reaching for me. Every time I try to eat, I can feel it eating my mind. I try and drink, and it suffocates me with those arms. Those tentacles. Those... Those apendages.

Not human it's coming don't want to go...

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Help... It knows me now. It knows me now. Searching. Reaching. About to strike. End it, end it, END IT DAMN YOU. I DARE YOU.

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What day is it? I don't know anymore. Can't remember. Can't remember anything. Nothing. All distorted. Fuzzy. Foggy. Can't remember. Can't think... Oh God... There's more than one. Saw shadows. Shadows. Not one. So many. So many, reaching, reaching, coming...

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I'm coming soon, child. Coming soon. All over. No more... Let them take me... Only choice... End my suffering. End it...

End of the journal. At the scene, there was blood on the floor, as well as a small knife, but no body to be seen. The finger prints were that of Caleb, hinting at suicide, but with no body to be found, there it is unknown what truly happened there. The only evidence we have for sure is this journal, but judging by the entries, he was not sane in the first place. It's a dead end case, now. He's been missing since, and we've not found any other evidence.

End of report.