CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I purchased a journal at an Algerian Market. The final entries told a horrific tale" Creepypasta

Episode Date: December 31, 2024

Happy Friday the 13th!CREEPYPASTA STORY►by JLGoodwin1990:   / i_purchased_a_journal_at_an_algerian_marke...  Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"-    • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep...  ►"Long Stories"-    • Long Stories  FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter:   / creeps_mcpasta  ►Instagram:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Twitch:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Facebook:   / creepsmcpasta  CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only

I travel a lot. Without getting too in depth about the particulars of my life and career, I will say that my job ends up taking me all over the world. I've been to just about every continent on the planet, with the exception of somewhere like Antarctica, and the number of countries I haven't stepped foot in rapidly shrinks every year. It's absolutely amazing, as I've been able to see and partake in so many different customs, cultures and lifestyles. And one thing I always love to do is purchase a souvenir to take home with me, a sort of keepsake to mark my first time in a new country that I can take down from the shelf and look at

when the nostalgia hits me. It can be anything, whether an ornamental figure, a glass, or a book. That's where the reason I'm posting here comes in. You see, a few months ago, I was sent to Algeria to help oversee a business deal that a client was involved in. The main dealings had wrapped up, and after a few days of exploring the capital city of Algiers, I decided to take a final stroll through one of the many bazaars I had come to a door perusing in my off-time the day before my flight left back to the States.

I'd already had it in mind to find something to buy as a memento, and so I strolled past the vendors selling fruit and various foods. looking for something interesting. And as I passed the table which was selling various bits and bobs, it caught my eye. It was an old leather-bound journal, clasped tightly shut with what appeared to be a belt closure of some kind. The leather looked extremely weather-beaten and worn,

as if it had sat in the burning desert sun for decades, and the edges of the pages I could see were yellowed with age. My curiosity peaked. I pointed to it and asked the cellar about where it had come from. Rather strangely, he seemed wary of saying exactly where and when it had come into his possession, instead only saying that he stumbled across it during his travels. My curiosity, now firmly in the red zone due to its mysterious nature, I inquired to its price.

He had no sooner quoted me a price than I was pushing the money into his hand. It was practically a steal. However, I admit one thing which unnerved me, to say the least. As I hurried back in the direction of my hotel, I chanced a look over my shoulder and found that the man was watching me leave. A strange, almost intense look on his face. That night, my bags packed and lying in bed, I found myself unable to sleep. After trying to tempt the Sandman for a few hours, I finally gave up, and wanting something to pass the time, I picked the journal up, unbuckled it, and opened it to the first page.

To my surprise, I found the entries were in English. The journal had belonged to a British explorer and adventurer whose name, according to the inscription on the back cover, was Liam Wentworth. The date inside ranged from the late 1940s to the early 50s, and I read each page with rapt attention, extraordinary images swirling in my mind as Liam narrated to me expeditions which ranged from continental Europe to Africa. I couldn't help but smile as the infectious excitement in his writing pulled me further and further into the past, and I almost wished I could

be transported back in time to join him. That was, until I began to read the last expedition log in the journal. From the very first entry, I could tell there was something different about this particular journey. Something about the man's words filled me with an unexplainable sense of unease, and as the entries went on. I felt any sense of excitement and wonder wash away like a flood victim. The initial uneasiness first replaced with tension, then a strange sense of paranoia. And finally, as much as I hate admitting it.

Fear A palpable sense of fear and existential dread I've never felt before. One which raised all the hair in my arms and, even in the safety of my hotel room, made me turn on every single light, banishing away any shadows in the corner, especially because the final written pages are stained with long-dried liquid that. God, I still hope, isn't what I think it is. And when my plane took off from Huari Bamadine the next morning, my window giving me a clear view of the sprawling Algerian desert

stretching out away into the distance. I involuntarily shuddered. For months I was unsure what to do. I considered taking the journal to a historian or museum to verify its authenticity, but I'm worried that it will be simply written off as a hoax or a forgery. A few friends and acquaintances of mine I have shared a little of the contents with have met it with the same response. It has to be a stunt, just something to scare whoever bought it.

worse still, I've had some of the worst nightmares of my life, horrible dreams that wake me up covered in a sheen of sweat even months later. Finally, though, I've decided to just share it. This is transcribed exactly as originally written and are all relevant entries from Liam's last expedition. Let me know what you think of it, and if there is any shred of truth to what you're is written here. As much as it might cost me work in the future, I may never step foot in that part of the world. Again, Monday, 23rd of June, 1952. After a four-month rest, another

adventure is at hand. A fortnight ago, I received a call at home from a wealthy American, a business magnate by the name of Talley. Apparently, Mr. Danvers had boasted of my qualifications an invaluable help during his expedition to Maritania at luncheon with him, and when told of a similar endeavour that the man wished to embark on in a nearby country of Algeria, he instantly recommended me to him. I was already interested when he told me of his intentions, and after he quoted me the fee he would pay, I hastily accepted. The amount of money offered is the kind that not even many film stars in the country receive.

Indeed, it is triple what Diana Dawes was reportedly paid recently for a part in the last page, and with my dear sister's health always in flux, it is an amount I would be a fool to refuse. And so, after much planning and subsequent connecting flights from London, I am now in the city of Algiers, where the rest of our party have assembled. I first met Talley as he met me just outside the airport. A tall lanky chap with thinning black hair. He instantly struck me as inexperienced with such expeditions. It set me a little on edge, if I may be frank.

Too many parties have tragically failed due to such sponsors. Yet as I was taken to a nearby cafe and introduced to the rest of the team, I felt somewhat relieved at the faces that greeted us. Three of the expedition's nine members are ones I've been. have worked with before. Sorin, a hulking giant of a Dane. Richter, a quiet yet intimidating German, Anne Moretti, whose boastful demeanour sometimes hides how brilliant of a leader the Italian can be. Three of the four, excluding myself and Talley, are people who have heard spoken of in similar circles. Blake is the group's archaeologist, a fellow Brit and a luring brunette who seems as if

she should be on a movie screen instead of here. Corin, the group's medic, a bloke who earned the scars on his face from his time in the war, and Samir is one of our two guides, a man whose wild hair and beard doesn't seem to match the intelligence that I see behind his eyes. The final member of the group is our second guide. An almost gaunt young man no older than 20, whose name I was told, is Tarek. He did not speak when introductions were given. Instead, he merely nodded at us.

I find he gives me an uncomfortable sort of aura, but according to both Talley and Moretti, he is indispensable to our ultimate goal, which is when discussions shifted over to our ultimate aim. In a hushed tone, Talley leaned in and told us of a tale he had stumbled across during his dealings in the area. It hinted about a great treasure lost in the desert decades ago over the phone, but as I listened to him extrapolate, I felt my jaw drop open. According to accounts, a decade and a half or so ago,

a group of soldiers belonging to the French Foreign Legion, searching for a safe haven, had stumbled upon a fortress built into a vast mountain range. Centries old, the structure had been. abandoned, and after discovering that a pump connected to an underground water source of some kind, the soldiers had set up a base camp, complete with radio and arsenal. They stayed in contact with their superiors for approximately five months, reporting back periodically and requesting supplies. Then, on the sixth month, the fort went silent. No matter how long it was hailed, no one ever answered the radio calls.

A reinforcement group had been sent to try and ascertained what had happened to them, but they seemed to disappear into the desert as well. Eventually, all of the men were declared lost in action. It wouldn't have been the first time that soldiers had met their end on the receiving end of the local swords and guns after all. Fearing further casualties, the fort was declared a hostile zone and any further attempt to reach it was forbidden. As the years went by and with the outbreak of the war,

the fort's location and the reports on it were lost in the shuffle, further hampered by the fact that it seems someone in a high position had stricken it from all maps and public record. But somehow, after hearing the stories, Talley had used his connections to obtain one of the only remaining maps which marked its location. As he finished, I cocked an eyebrow and asked him how this all connected to what he had lured me with here. The reports of a vast, lost treasure.

An almost childish smile spread across Talley's face. You ain't heard the best part yet, my dear boy. That was when the penny dropped. According to a radio report that the fort's commanding officer had made, they had found in the bowels of the fort, a room which, when breached, had revealed a staggering amount of jewels, coins, and other treasures. The exact monetary value it had never been calculated, but seeing how most of the hoard was dated back to the Ottoman Empire, it had to be a tremendous amount.

By this point, our sponsor had our undivided attention, and dreams are being forever logged in the history books danced in our heads. That's when Talley let us in on the most important fact of this expedition. If we locate the fort and find the treasure was only a tale or fail to find it at all, you will all be paid the exact amount I quoted you. He began, his eyes twinkling. But if we do find it, each of you will receive an equal share of the treasure, in addition your name's forever written as the finders. To say that you could have heard a pin drop amongst us would be a grievous understatement.

For a moment nobody spoke. I was the first to open my mouth. Yes, bloody hell, yes! As if my words had been a sort of catalyst, everyone else piped up with their own agreement. Tally beamed. He knew he had ensnared us, and he reveled it.

it. He told us that we would board a plane bound for Salah in the next day. From there, we would continue on Land Rover's into the desert itself. And with that, he bid us goodnight, retiring with Moretti to their hotel. After a few drinks, the rest of us disbanded as well. And now, here I sit, staring out the window at the rising moon with my pen in hand. I am beyond thrilled. The prospect of becoming wealthy beyond my wildest dreams of being able to afford all of my sister's medicine and procedures, to say nothing of my own frivolities and fantasies is intoxicating. And yet, I can't help but feel a strong sense of trepidation over what I was told as well. The fact that two different groups of soldiers seem to simply disappear without a trace,

It gives me pause. Even though I attempt to push it away, a smaller whisper of dread climbs over me. I picture the men carrying at night, guns frantically aimed into the darkers. Something moves towards them. But surely anything that happens to them so long ago, any people who did them harm surely have moved on. Which means, we should be perfect. safely safe. I worried too much. Tuesday, 24th of June, 1952. I wrote this entry by the firelight next to my tent and the only thing that banishes away the almost impenetrable darkness

that stalks the edges of the flickering embers. Early in the morning, just before the sun rose, our team boarded a chartered plane and flew south to insular. There we found two land rovers, paint shimmering and fresh off the production line in Solyole. They had been specially ordered by Talley for the journey. Supplies and enough fuel to last as a fortnight were loaded on board, and, after wedging ourselves inside the space that remained, we set off in a westerly direction, following the road past towns with names such as Gar and Olaf.

Finally, we passed the Ruegarni, and after a last look back at civilization, we left the road and headed out into the desert itself. Saying that the intense heat would rival the flames of hell itself would not be much of an understatement. The sun beat mercilessly down upon our vehicles, turning them into saunas, and as we were attempting to conserve our water supply,

soon we all felt the first inklings of heat exhaustion. After stopping to quench our thirst quickly, and following the blessed liquid with lunch, we continued on as the sun dipped lower into the sky. As I was riding with Talley, I had the opportunity to ask him about Tarrick. The man still gave me a bad feeling, and I inquired as the why he was so important to our expedition.

After all, I asked, would simply Samir not make a decent enough guide? It was then that he revealed to me the secrets, surrounding the man. Tarrick was one of the few men left alive who had seen the fort with his own eyes, or so he claimed. He had told Talley of a time as a small boy, travelling through the desert with his father and grandfather,

and spying on the horizon, perched the top of mountain range like a century, the imposing structure. Both of his elders had warned him away from it, telling him that it was a cursed place. "'load of local superstitious bull,' Talley said to me, "'waving a hand as if to physically repel the words. "'For my part, I too did not believe in such things.

"'And yet, at his words, I was unable to suppress the shiver "'that flurped my spine slightly. "'It felt too coincidental, "'too close to the feeling of dread that fell over me last night.' "'The second thought came to mind. as if pushing away the emotions. I asked, with not knowing if the young man was telling the truth, how he could be sure he was not simply luring us into the desert for a sinister purpose.

With a small, almost concealed wink, he raised his shirt, revealing a hidden pistol underneath in a holster. He informed me that several others were armed as well, and a shotgun and ammunition were among our supplies. Liam, my boy, relax. I have thought of everything. We'll be ready whether the locals have any surprises in store for us or either of our guides do.

Just enjoy the trip in the meantime. I pray that his confidence is not misplaced. We are a long way from where anyone could help us if things were to go belly up. And that is in all. I'm the only member of our group still awake. All the others. have retired to their tents, or in the case of Tarak and Samir, into the land rovers to sleep.

The only sounds I hear are the crackling of fire and the soft, almost lonely sound of the wind whistling in the darkness. And yet, I can't help but feel watched. Even though we are certainly the only people for miles, I feel as though eyes are upon me, upon all of us. It is a feeling that is most unwelcome, and it makes me again wonder about the fate that befell the French soldiers. I find myself shooting the looks out into the dark every few lines I write, almost convinced I will see eyes staring back at me from the blackness. As much as I don't want to, I must retire to my own tent. Dawn will be here soon enough, and we will need all of our strength for the next few days. days. Thursday, 26th of June, 1952. After a second day of driving straight and following both

the map and directions that Samir tells us Tarak had given us, as the man speaks no English, we seem to have finally arrived at the base of a mountain range. According to Tarak, these are the mountains in question, and we are not far now, less than a day away. I crane my neck to look at the imposing walls which rise higher over our heads. I'm not a good estimator of such things, but I would not be surprised if the top lies hundreds of feet above us or more. If the fort is real, then how are we to get to it from down here? All questions that will have to be answered soon. For now though, I will go and sit with the others, eat supper and go to sleep. If we are being told the truth.

Tomorrow will be the day. Friday, 27th of June, 1952. It's real. I find that even as I write these words, I feel I'll suddenly wake up from a dream. And yet, right there in front of my eyes is the bloody thing. Tarik was indeed telling the truth, and it looks exactly as Talley heard. The structure is perfectly nestled. the top and similarly among the mountains, surely built there by some Ottoman architect or

soldier with a perfect idea of strategic planning. The fort has a clear view down the desert where we stand below and is set far enough back that the surrounding land act as a sort of natural shield. It is the perfect choke point to say the least. Churchill himself would be impressed. According to Blake, the style and architecture is indeed indicative. of the Ottoman Empire, either Arabic or North African. The three front turrets rise imposingly above the rest of the complex, their windows dark and unrevealing of their secrets.

Surprisingly and thankfully as well, there will be no need to worry about climbing. Tarak pointed us to a set of steps carved into the mountains themselves. They are fairly steep, but they surely beat the alternative. As it is late, We will make camp here at the base tonight, and in the morning we will pack all our supplies and make the climb to the fort itself. Admittedly, I must admit that the feeling I had in the desert two nights ago remains. In fact, it almost feels stronger in a way. But with the excitement palpable amongst all of us, I refuse to let it sour the mood. It'll be stored away in the recesses of my mind.

Tomorrow we begin to take a step towards both history and possibly fortune. Saturday, 28th of June, 1952. I write from inside the central courtyard of the fort itself. I was correct in my assessment that it would be a steep climb, but aside from a few scrapes among all the bloody knuckles suffered by Soren, we reached the top uneventfully. From there, we found a pan. path already made, albeit almost hidden by the ever-sweeping sands, but the cracked wooden rail

that marked the edge of the cliff showed the way. After a trek of about a quarter of an hour, we found ourselves at a gate which marked the outer rim of the complex. The top was wrapped in barbed wire, and an unlocked gate sat half open in front of us. Richter, feeling that we would be better off closing it behind us, walked into a neighbouring guard post, and lowered a barrier to prevent anyone from entering when our backs were turned. Together, we made our way up a steep path to the front of the fort itself. At the front gates, we discovered a relic from the First World War, a French FT tank sitting empty and half buried in sand.

The turret faced away from us, back the way we'd come, and I wondered both how it had gotten up here and what it had been put in place for. With a last look at the armament, we pushed open one of the two colossal wooden doors and entered the fort. We found ourselves inside an expansive courtyard that stretched out before us to both sides. To the right was what appeared to be a smaller courtyard of some sort, embellished with a few small bushes and date palms. Wondering over to it, I found that the far end of the smaller space was a fountain, a rusted pump. The pump set into the back corner. Tentively, I put my hand out, gathered some water from the fountain, and raised it to my lips.

The water tasted somewhat stagnant, but otherwise was fine. Reaching out and operating the pump, I found it readily supplied fresh water. Turning, I found Moretti beside me. He smiled. It's a water garden. Well then this solves any concerns of it. running out of water, there must be an underground lake or river somewhere beneath us. I agreed with him, and after a last look around at the peaceful scene, we returned to the others.

After telling them of our discovery, we set our supplies down and began as a group to explore. Aside from the water garden, there were two main buildings inside the fort. The largest building, according to the rickety wooden sign hung by the front. front door declared it to be the living quarters, while the second sunken building was designated the arsenal. After a small deliberation, we chose to enter the main building first. The interior showed that nature had taken its toll on the fort, beams had collapsed from their upper levels, and sand rose up in small mounds, making us have to navigate around the debris. The rest of the quarters were in much the same condition, though with much more signs of life. Pills,

rugs and other furniture were around. There were also plenty of candles and lamps hanging from beams above, all of which we lit as we passed. We located the radio room, which I noted with a pang of unease had been vandalized. Both the radio and telegraph machines had been destroyed. Clearly, someone had not wanted anyone to send any messages or calls for help. What made the scene worse was the obvious signs of struggle, which were ever present throughout the whole building. Some of the group didn't notice, but I saw that Soren and Richter, along with myself, the three who saw the most combat in our lives did. The spilled chairs, crumbled blankets and broken glass and wood all told a tale, and it was one that made the feeling of dread

rear its head in my mind. And worse, the feeling of eyes on me was at a feverish pitch. As we made our way through, my head swung about like an owl, looking not only to the shadows, but up into the rafters as well. At one point, as I brought up the rear of the group, I felt as the fingers as slipped along the nape of my neck, and my pulse quickened, my breathing going shallow as I froze on the spot. Terror filling every fibre of my being, I welled around, and found no one. All I could hear was the soft creaking of the building and the whistling of the wind outside. Not wanting to remain alone, I hurried after the others. After leaving, the main quarters and with daylight fading fast, we made a quick pass through the arsenal,

where we discovered a grisly scene. In the fort's jail, we discovered the remains of a man dressed in one of the old uniforms which designated him as part of the French Foreign Legion. His body seemed to cower in the far corner of the cell, away from any of the bars. Stranger still, Samir pointed out that he had locked himself inside. A set of keys could be seen by the desiccated corpse's hand. From what we could tell, the man hadn't died of any injuries either. Muretti summarized he must have either perished from hunger or thirst. We retreated back to the courtyard afterward, where we set up camp in the water garden.

For this I'm eternally grateful. While the living quarters may offer more shelter from the elements than the tents, I would not be able to sleep a wink inside. I feel constantly on edge after what has been seen today, and I pray to the Lord that, in time, they will fade from memory. And I still feel we are watched. In fact, the feeling is stronger than it ever was. as if whatever is doing the watching is almost directly over us staring down.

I wonder if the feeling has anything to do with the corpse in the arsenal jail. After all, what could drive a man to such terror that he would rather face a slow death from lack of food and water than it? Perhaps, I hope to never find out, nor where the rest of the soldiers disappeared to. I hope we can find the fable treasure quickly and be gone from this place. As much as I love adventure, I long for being back in the bedroom of my home in Maidenhead. Monday, 30th of June, 1952. Two days have passed since my last entry. We've continued to work to locate any hint of the treasure, but have failed to find any trace

of it anywhere in the fort. I'm beginning to think it may never have existed. Talley is trying to bolster all our spirits, but I can sense him begin to grow weary. Like the rest of us, a foreboding feeling that has hung over my head like a noose seems to have spread among the expedition. I see it in all their faces.

It increased when we found more signs of a struggle around the fort. Fingernail marks etched into the walls as if someone were dragged away, spent ammo casings and more. I catch others swinging around erratically, as though they had sent somebody near them. I caught Samir, Tarak and Corin huddled together, whispering softly to one another. When I approached, hearing words about leaving spoken, they stood up straight and gave me a strange look before moving quickly away. I also find that Blake tends to stick close to me now. She says it's because she feels safest with another from Britain, but I know there's a deeper reason she would not admit.

Back in the war, my sergeant had told me that paranoia is one of the forces that whittle men down the quickest. I do believe he is right. Tuesday, 1st of July, 1952, we are trapped. During the night, I awoke to hear a thunderous crashing sound. But in the darkness, I didn't know what it was. When daylight broke, we set out for the steps down to the Land Rovers. We found that, during the night, something had caused a large section of them to give way. Whether it be a crack in the rock which caused the landslide of some sort, it doesn't matter.

The section is too vast to be able to safely jump down from, a gap of over 200 feet. and without rope we couldn't climb down. We are stuck, hundreds of feet above the desert floor with no signs of people anywhere. Fortunately, Tarragun formed us through Samir that he believed as a boy he had seen a way down further down the ridge. After a quick deliberation, it was decided that Samir, along with Richter, would set out and try and find it. The weapons we had brought were finally broken out from our supplies, and the two men were given a pistol each, along with a small supply of extra ammunition and two torches. They said they would attempt to return at nightfall if they could not find a way down. It is dusk now, and they have not returned.

I worry that they might have slipped and fallen to their deaths, or worse, may have successfully made it down and bolted. While I may have worked with Richter before and heard good things about Samir, in a situation like this, even the most rational men can do the wrong things. I... Wait. I thought I heard something. The silence has fallen again over the fort, but for a second, as the wind had died, I almost swore I heard a cracking sound in the distance, two, three times.

They're nothing. But it sounded too small to be gunshots. It can't have been. I hope they come back soon. Wednesday, 2nd of July, 1952. Samir and Richter never returned. At dawn, I volunteered to try and set out to find any trace of them. Blake asked to accompany me, as did Corrin,

who said if they were injured, they would need his training. So, gathering the medical kit, we prepared to leave, when Maratti stopped us. I want you to take this, he said, reaching into a supply bag. He withdrew the shotgun, what I instantly recognised as a Winchester model 1897. Handing it to me, he also pulled out a box of shells and passed them to Blake, who placed them in a pack. Be safe, and God be with you. you, he said. I nodded, and holding the gun tightly in both hands, the three of us stepped out to the fort and, after locating two sets of footprints, set out following them.

None of us spoke a word as we followed the trail along, occasionally having to navigate around boulders and pass treacherous narrow paths in what I hoped would lead to our compatriots, our friends. But as we continued on, the footprints seemed to endlessly continue. I began to feel as though we three had, like them, seemingly slipped into an alternate reality where we would be trapped forever, alone. That was when we discovered the end of the tracks. I don't mean to say that they led to a way down, or even to the edge of the cliff.

Rather, both set. came to a halt in the middle of an open space dominated by low hanging cliff faces behind us. This, this doesn't make any sense, Corrin said as he looked around. Where the hell did they go? Neither of us could answer him, but as I focused again on the tracks, I noticed two small details I hadn't before, ones which made my heart begin to beat quicker in my chest. The first was that the footsteps, once so oddly and in rhythm with one another, suddenly began to erratically dance around each other, almost as if the men had begun wildly spinning around, looking in all directions. The second was the glint of brass I saw, hidden among the sand.

I reached out with one hand, and, brushing away the top layer that had settled over it the night before, found myself looking at several springs. spent bullet casings. There were approximately three or four of them, all clumped together as if someone had emptied a revolver on the spot. I picked one up, rolling it over in my fingers. The beating sun made it almost too hot to handle, but I could instantly tell they were fresh. Fairiness and dread began to gnaw at my insides. Something had happened here.

That was when I heard Blake gasp. Turning, I found a staring at a section of wall behind and to the left of us, a section which had been obscured by an overhang before. Her face had gone as white as a sheet, and her eyes wide as saucers. With a trembling hand, she pointed at something and moaned out three words. Mother of God. A single smear of blood ascended the rock face. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to spite my dread into full-blown terror.

Quickly arching my neck, I could see where it led to, but it was obvious that its owner had been dragged upwards and in a violent manner. Instantly, I raised the shotgun, feeling my hands go cold and clammy. Blake and Corrin huddled behind me as we looked around rapidly both at the overhang above us and farther down the path all I could hear was the whistle of the wind

nothing more and that fact alone terrified me to no end that whistle that silence it all seemed to hold her threatening edge to it now a prelude to something horrific to come I motioned silently for the others to begin to back up behind me, alternating the shotgun's aim between the area above us and in front of us,

trying not to make any noise. We slowly began to move back to the fort. As we retreated, I swear I thought I heard a small pitter-patter sound of pebbles moving. I thought I saw a slight blur of motion just beyond my line of sight. My heart was racing in my chest, and my mouth turned as dry as cotton. In my time during the war, I'd bore witness to many horrific sights, many atrocities.

More than once I was sure I was about to die, and I swear on my sister's soul, that I never felt as terrified as I did in those moments, my hands holding the gun beginning to shake. Despite feeling as though whatever had taken Samir and Richter were lurking just beyond our field of view, you. We made it back to the fort unharmed. As soon as we were inside, I dropped the shotgun to the ground, and I found what must have been the board to barricade the doors. I picked it up and slammed it into place in the large metal hooks. As I did so, the others raced out from the water garden, demanding to know why we were sealing them inside. Corin turned to them as we finished. His eyes wild and

face Ashen in the fading light. Because Samir and Richter are dead, that's why. His tone slammed the words home, and I saw horrified looks cross everyone's faces. Even Tarex, even if he couldn't understand us that well.

Trying to remain calm, I stepped forward and, with as much rational clarity as I could muster, explained in crystal clarity everything we had seen. Everything. we had come across. As I finished, a deathly silence settled over us all. In those moments, all we could hear was the wind, which had now risen from a whistle into a howl. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, and it cast eerie shadows over the fort's courtyard. Nobody dared speak,

as the implications of our predicaments sunk in, until I began to hear a little of the low wine. For a moment, I was unable to discern where it came from. But as I looked around, I realized it was coming from Tarak. The Algerian looked, if possible, petrified to death and beyond. His face held the expression of one which had just had a death sentence passed on. The wine intensified, and he suddenly began to babble, speaking rapidly strings of sentences I didn't understand. What is he saying? Talley demanded. Maretti, knowing a little Arabic, raised the hand to silence him and stepped forward, asking a question to the panicking man. In response, Tarrick babbled some more at him, and after a moment I saw Moretti's brow furrow in confusion.

He asked another question and received another panicked response. Talley stepped forward. What did he say? Please tell me. Moretti continues to look at Tarek for a moment, then turn towards us. I'm not sure, but I think he says that they are in the mountains. They hunt in the mountains. And they are why his father and grandfather warned him to stay away from here.

Suddenly and without warning, Tarrick turned and bolted for the fort's living quarters. I saw Moretti begin to take a step after him, but then stopped. We watched as the man slammed his shoulder into the door, rushing inside and slamming it shut behind him. Fortunately, we did not hear it lock. After a moment, Talley turned back to us. He took a deep breath. Right, everyone. We need a plan.

The man's words seemed to bolster us, and we quickly and quietly began talking among ourselves. We decided it was no longer safe to stay outside, and following Tarrick's footsteps, we would shelter at night in the living quarters, barricading ourselves inside. We would also try to repair the broken radio, to try and send a call for help.

Blake, in addition to being an archaeologist, was also proficient in repairing equipment. Our plans set in motion, we grabbed our supplies from the tents and moved inside. And now we all huddle, trying to sleep in shifts in one of the main bunk rooms. Blake sleeps beside me. I can hear her uneasily rolling over as I write. Corinne is doing the same a few cuts away. Saurona Moretti patrol the halls of the building with two of our four remaining guns. Talley holds on to the third, and in the meantime, I've traded Moretti the shotgun for a pistol of my own. I know I should try to rest.

My own patrol shift will be in a few hours. And yet, I cannot. I feel as though my dreams will be worse. Dreams seeing what happened to Samir and Richter. Seeing them dragged upwards to a fate, I feel it is a blessing not to know. And I'm terrified that if I close my eyes, I'll open them to find something looking at me, half hidden in the shadows from the dull light of the lamp over our heads, ready to leap and in my existence in a blister of pain and horror.

Please save us. Thursday, 3rd of July, 1952. I write today with what feels like for the first time in an eternity a shred of good news. Blake has given an initial inspection of both the radio and telegraphs and has come to the conclusion that, while it will take a small amount of time, the damage dealt to both is within her means to repair. She told us that it will take, with a combination of supplies found within the living quarters and from her own bags, a maximum of the two to three days to get them back up to snuff. I can also report that during Soren and Moretti's watch as well as, accompanied by Corin, my own, we saw and heard no trace of whatever lies out there.

I hold no delusions that they may have left, though. All throughout the night, I could feel their eyes upon the fort, especially when I passed the window. several times I would stop in front of them, swinging my head around and squint into the blackness. Of course I saw nothing, but the hair that rose in my arms every single time assured me that if the night were able to withdraw and allow the secret it covers to be visible, I would have borne witness to a sight both blood-chilling and macabre in its appearance. In the past, I often wish that God had given us the night vision.

that large predators were bestowed with. But now, I'm beyond thankful, he did not. For the most part, we have remained inside the living quarters, only venturing outside for brief periods of time to fetch water from the water garden. The fear and tension felt when doing so though is palpable enough to slice with a bloody razor, especially as it sits directly next to the main wall of the fort. it was my turn to refill our canteens, my head swiveled around in my neck, not unlike an owls, turning this way and that, and feeling that if I allowed even a second to glance away

from a particular spot, I would turn to find the last thing I would ever see, gazing into my eyes. Fortunately, due to the material the fort was built with or its position against the mountains, the interior remained relatively cool, even as to the material. the noonday sun beat down to the point I could see both up close and in the distance the air itself shimmering from the temperature. I do have to mention one thing. Ever since Tarak fled inside the building the other day, he refuses to try and help us in any way. When asked by Moretti, all he would do is shake his head and repeat the words he spoke to us the other day. words about the ones who live in the mountains before retreating into a supply closet.

He remains there only coming out briefly for food or water before returning to it. One other important thing to note, as we had some free time on our hands, I used it to further explore the living quarters, thoroughly checking every lockbox and supply case for anything we could possibly use. In most I found only medical supplies and, in the upper levels of the building, two cannons along with fuses, gunpowder and half a dozen cannonballs. However, as I further explored the upper areas, I found a metal lock box that, after breaking the H-lock with a bottom-eye revolver, held two flare pistols within. Each one has a single flare already loaded inside with no sign of additional flares nearby. I showed them to Moretti and the others who agreed that they should be stowed away to be used

if any sign of life was spotted in the desert below. These may be what end up saving our hides, Talley said. The sun is setting now. And with the descent of the orange, almost blood-red sun over the horizon, It feels like whatever safety we felt in the daylight is disappearing before my very eyes. I pray, we make it through the night. Friday, 4th of July, 1952. The screams.

I find it a struggle to put ink to paper, the object horror and shock that I feel this morning. But I must, if only to try and help preserve the fleeting sanity that almost seems to precariously cling to me. Last night, Soren and I were tasked with taking the first watch, patrolling the halls and rooms until half-past one in the morning, when we would rouse and be relieved by Moretti and Corrin. Soren carried the shotgun while I remained with my pistol. Slowly, silently, we moved through the building, occasionally convening to confirm no sign of trouble and poking our heads into the bunk room to check on the other.

The only sound that could be heard, aside from the whistling wind and creaking of the ancient building, was the soft ticking of the watch on my wrist, its unstoppable march seeming to bring a little comfort to me. That was when I heard it. At first, I couldn't identify the sound. It was too far off in the distance and too muffled to properly make out. It barely carried on the wind, almost being whisked away completely. But as the moment spilled over into minutes, I realized that it was slowly grown louder, which meant whatever it was. It was getting closer.

Feeling my heart began to race in my chest, I raised my revolver and pulled back the hammer, my eyes straining to sea in the darkness. The sound continued to increase in volume. and for a moment I froze. For a moment, I'd almost recognized it. A shiver passed through me as I gripped the window sill tightly in one hand, the other shaking slightly as I aimed the gun into the black. That was when a hand fell on my shoulder.

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Whirling around to find Soren standing beside me, the shotgun raised toward the ceiling in his free hand. hand and an intense look upon his face. He looked at me. I hear her too, he said simply, in response to my unspoken question. For another moment, the two of us stood there, straining our ears as we held by the window. The sound continued to grow nearer, and I felt another shiver passed through me. I couldn't understand why, but I almost swore I recognized the sound. Finally, I whispered back to Sauron.

What is that? He remained silent for another moment or so. Then I saw his face go slightly pale in recognition, his expression changing from stone to clearly unnerved, screaming. There was another stretch of silence between us as we both strained our ears. I prayed for a moment that he was wrong. as the wind fell for a moment. I felt the blood in my veins turned to ice as it came again, clear this time. It was indeed screaming.

What's more, the source was unmistakably human. I had heard far too many men to count scream on the battlefield during the war. Heard men shriek their last after they had stepped on a landmine and lay, blown apart, and rapidly bleeding out on the ground, with it too dangerous to try and retrieve them. I heard the screams of captured Germans in the bunkers, as operatives went to work extracting information on them. These screams not only rivaled them, but surpassed them. They were the most horrible, panicked, and pained sounds I'd ever heard a human being utter.

It sounded nothing less than if the screamer were being flayed alive. alive, feeling every single cut and peel of their skin. And then the terror I felt compounded as the second rose up. A second scream, one which rose and fell beside the first, occasionally overlapping it, until it sounded as though we were hearing the damned souls of hell itself crying out for release. His eyes wide, Soren turned to me and said only three words. Rouse the others. Soon, we were all standing by the window. Every expression, a mirror of fear on the other, as we listened to the infernal sound that, now, almost sounded as if it were coming

from just beyond the sealed front doors of the fort. Blake clasped the hand over her mouth, closing her eyes and leaning against me. I wrapped an arm protectively around her, pulling her close to me as I looked at the others. Corrin looked as though he were about to faint from terror. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he breathed. I saw Talley swallow hard, but it was the look that swept across Moretti's face that drew my attention. It was one of recognition.

He fought to find his voice for a moment, then softly spoke. His voice almost lost to the shrieks outside. Samir, everyone turned to look at him at this single word he uttered. I felt a small wave of confusion wash over me. Then, if possible, I saw Soren's face grow even paler than it already was. Almighty, that is Samir, and that other scream. I remember how Richter yelled as he broke his ankle a few years ago. That's him.

Fresh waves of horror rolled over us like the sea. as the information sunk in. I had been on the same expedition with the two men when Richter had broken his ankle climbing a rock. I prayed to the God I hoped to us listening that they were wrong. But in my bones, I knew they weren't. I knew we were hearing the screams

of our two lost compatriots. Talley suddenly began to turn towards the stairs to the lower floor, yanking his own pistol from his holster. We have to help them, he yelled, beginning to sprint away. Just as quickly, Soren and Moretti began to chase after him, telling him to wait. Still holding on to Blake, I jerked my head for Corin to follow and hurried after them. When we descended the stairs, we found Soren restraining Talley, his face enraged in the flickering light of the lamp above. Let go of me, damn you! he yelled, attempting to kick the larger man to fire.

free himself. Muretti leaned forward towards him. Use your brain, you stupid fool. There's a reason why it's coming from just outside the fort. It, they, whoever or whatever is out there, wants us to go out there. It's a trap. Talley kicked at Sorin again, but this time it was weaker. You don't know that, he protested. They could have fought their way back, Sorin shook his head. after what Liam and the others found. No, they couldn't, especially not after two days. I'm sorry, Mr. Talley, but Alessandro is right. They are counting on our emotions to get the better of us.

It's designed to lure us out into the open. Talley closed his eyes and turned his head away, almost in denial of what I had realized was true myself. But I could see the word sinking in. He slowly slumped. Zarin releasing the man and allowing him to crumble to the ground, pulling his knees towards him and wrapping his arms around them. Standing in the narrow hall, we all listened to the screaming of our two friends continue outside for a few minutes. Then, as he began to feel as though the sounds would drive us all mad, they slowly began to move away.

The screaming grew fainter, the sound of the wind beginning to mask it again. until finally, we couldn't hear it at all. For a moment, nobody moved. I glanced at my watch, seeing that it was a quarter to three in the morning. I hadn't realized how long the terrifying ordeal had really lasted. Finally, Talley stood up. He refused to meet any other eyes and slunk back upstairs. Corrin followed closely behind him.

I felt a sense of worry it wasn't. I saw in the second man's eyes. The look was akin to one a cornered animal wears and revealed that he was close to the edge. Soon all of us had returned to the upper levels, Moretti relieving me of my watch and ordering me to try and rest. But sleep is the last thing I feel I could obtain right now, not when the horror of what we'd experienced is still so fresh in my mind. Blake has somehow managed to drift back off, though I can tell her dreams and nightmares by how she moans and wriggles in her cot. So I write, not knowing what else to do. I pray for the rising sun to come soon and banish

away the small taste of hell that I witnessed tonight. One last thing. I only noticed once we returned from upstairs, but not once during the entire ordeal did Tarak join us. I only saw when we returned upstairs, peeking out from the closet to stare at us with wide eyes. The look on his face is one I remember well from the medical tents, on the faces of wounded soldiers who knew they were about to die. It was the lock of a man who has resigned himself to his fate. Saturday, 5th of July, 1952. Whatever lives in these godforsaken mountains, it will not allow us to make a call for help. Blake finished repairing both the radio and telegraph today.

For a few moments, we clung to a tiny scrap of relief like a shipwreck victim to a life ring. We crowded around her as she began to send a distress call, tuning to the proper frequency. Something answered us, but not what we had hoped. Almost as soon as she hit the transmit button, a sound spilled from the speakers. At first it was too soft to make out, but soon grew in intensity until we could clearly recognize it, whispering. Voices, dozens of them or more, all whispering in a language none of us could ascertain or understand. It was not Arabic.

I doubt it's a language any human is spoken in their millennia, if ever at all. The sound made chill after chill shoot up my spine. I could see horrified looks in the other's faces. The whispering continued, soon joined by screaming. And I swear, I heard Samir and Richter's screams among the others, the same screams we heard the other night. Finally, the radio just seemed to die completely. the glowing dial dimming to black.

No matter how much Blake fiddled with it, she couldn't get it to turn on again. And no sooner had she turned to the telegraph using Morse code to type out an SOS than we received an answer, far quicker than anyone could possibly respond. I remember the look of confusion on her face as she reached out and pulled the small piece of paper from the machine, raising it to her eyes and reading it. When she lowered it, she looked to be on the verge of tears. What does it say? Moretti asked her gently.

She took a moment before answering, swallowing hard. No saving. I find myself terrified now. Not just for my life, but my very soul. Sunday, 6th of July, 1952. Sorin is gone. I was roused shortly before dawn by Moretti, who gazed down at me with an expression which shocked me.

Throughout the entire ordeal, the man had attempted to remain calm. Now, as he pulled me to my feet, I found myself staring at an almost panicked face. Trying to keep his voice level, he explained that when he had not seen Soren crossing his path after doing so thrice before, he had gone looking for the man. He discovered the shotgun leaning against the wall near one of the cannons, with no sign of him at all. What's worse, as there was not a single sign of a struggle. It was as if he'd been ambushed and simply lifted up and out of the world with neary a splash of blood or a scream. He handed me the shotgun, asking me to help secure the building with him.

quickly and with the worried eyes of the others turning on us as they awoke we swept through the living quarters our guns at the ready and eyes darting around to my dismay we discovered that the door to the courtyard was still bolted from the inside indicating that soren hadn't walked out which meant whatever had happened to him had happened in here every shadow cast by the flickering candles and lamps now seemed threatening. Whatever safety we felt inside torn away like a favourite blanket from a child. I wanted to say my eyes were playing tricks on me, but I fear that as I moved through the living quarters,

my eyes occasionally would spy something moving swiftly and silently among the rafters over our heads, only stopping for a moment to watch us before darting out of sight. Once the door broke, and despite the door being locked, we left the living quarters and moved out into the courtyard.

We still found no trace of the man, and the front doors were still barricaded. We made a quick pass through the armoury, still finding nothing, before quickly stopping to refill our canteens. While water is obviously not an issue, we will soon begin running low on food. But I fear it is not starvation. That will be the end of us. Sunday, 6th of July, 1952 addendum. The screaming is back. It came just after nightfall.

It is still Samir and Richter screams, sounding almost exactly as before. Only now, I hear Sorens deep, guttural cries among them. God, I don't want to die here. I don't want my fate to be whatever theirs are now. Now, 7th of July, 1952, Tarak is dead. At first, when we awoke, nothing new seemed out of place. The same creaking of the building could be heard, but nothing more screamed of the change, until I went to try and bring the Algerian some water and food.

I found the door to the supply closet standing wide open, and when I peered inside, it was empty. Feeling tensions suddenly erupts from my body, I turned and began calling for the man, attracting the attention of Moretti and Talley who were on their patrols. Once I showed them the empty closet, the three of us fanned out, all calling the man's name, and Maretti calling out what had to be soothing words in Arabic. But there was no response at all, aside from the confused calls of Corrin and Blake as they awoke and joined us. That was when I saw the open front door. The sight of the living room's door hanging wide open,

gently waving in the breeze and showing the sand outside, the sun just beginning to spread across it filled me with a sense of dread. Quickly I called the others, and after a quick discussion, Moretti and I moved outside, while Talley closed and bolted the door behind us. We instantly spotted a set of footprints in the sand, moving away from the building out into the centre of the courtyard. We followed them, seeing that they'd stopped near the steps of the armoury,

as if the man had contemplated running to it, before turning and headed towards the front doors of the fort itself. Even from here, I could see the board had been pulled down. It now lay haphazardly on the ground, and one of the great wooden doors had been pulled slightly open, gripping the shotgun tightly, the two of us moved and looked outside. Nothing moved in the stillness, and beside the wind, no sound could be heard. I looked to him, and he gave a short nod before stepping outside.

Instantly, I felt far more vulnerable with other buildings around me. Just as when I had gone looking for Samir and Richter, my hands turned cold and clammy, and I nervously eyed the still shadowy areas around us. Every sense was on alert. We followed the man's footprints as they continued forward, and with a sinking feeling, I realized that they were heading for the edge of the cliff. Retti seemed to have realised it as well,

and I saw him tentatively take a few steps forward, putting one hand on the rickety wooden rail and peering over the side. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he closed his eyes. Bloody hell. Quickly, I hurried to his side and looked over. A small sense of vertigo overwhelmed me, and I felt dizzy looking down at the straight drop, but I instantly spied what the other man had seen.

Tarek's body lay far below us, his arms and legs spayed out in various directions. Bright crimson blood splashed out around his body. Even from here, I could tell he had not landed on the sand, but had instead slammed into one of the boulders at the base of the cliff. The man had jumped, knowingly taken his own life. I whispered a silent prayer for the man, hoping that God would have mercy on him for such a terrible sin. Then I looked at Moretti.

All he could do was shake his head. We stood there, attempting to process it all. The noise behind us caused us to turn around. The pit batter of sand and small loose rocks being shifted aside. Instantly all thoughts of Tarrick vanished as the sensation of eyes on us returned with a vengeance. Terror began coursing through my system and we aimed at just about everywhere possible. Nothing moved now.

I knew he could feel us being observed, being stalked. Without delay, the two of us ran for the fort, rushing inside and pushing the door closed, before again setting the barricade. Just as quickly as we moved to the door to the living quarters, banging on it and yelling to be let inside. To our relief, the door emboldened, revealing the ashen face of Blake as she yanked the door open. We hurried inside as she closed and redid the lock. Before we could tell her what we had found, she pointed back towards the hallway to the stairs. You need to see this, she said, before leading

the way back towards the main bunk room. Moments later, we found ourselves at the supply closet that Tarak had hidden in. The others crowded around it, and I noticed something I hadn't before. In my haste to locate the man, I hadn't noticed that, using a small, sealed can of black paint and a brush which had been left inside. He had written something hastily on the wall in Arabic. Tally turned to Moretti, asking him if he could read it. He stood in silence for a time, either unable or unwilling to answer. Then he turned towards us, his face grim, roughly trekked. Translated, it says that death is better than what fate awaits those who are taken.

It is dark now. Night has fallen again, though mercifully the screaming has not returned. All I can think as I sit here writing is that whatever lies out there, whatever watches us from the shadows in here, up in the rafters, that I now know isn't a trick of my eyes. It is slowly toying with us and pig. us off one by one. They have taken our strongest members first, a strategic move that reveals their intelligence,

and drove possibly the only person in our party with any knowledge about them to the point he chose to take his own life rather than face them, whenever they are. They will not stop until we are all dead. Tuesday, 8th of July, 1952, I saw them. Dear, sweet, merciful God, I wish I hadn't. I wish I hadn't decided to take a torch with me when I was roused by Talley to take a second watch with Corin. I wish I'd ignored the urge I'd had to turn and look out the window.

I wish so much. But if wishes were horses. It happened just a little before four in the morning. I just finished speaking briefly with Corinne. Ever since yesterday, I grew more concerned for the medic. The man looked nearer and nearer to insanity, and I fear with a loaded pistol he may do something brash or violent if he snaps, but he assured me that he was still as sane as he could possibly be in such a situation, and feeling somewhat relieved, I moved off to patrol the outer

hallways again. As I passed a window which looked out over the courtyard, the ceaseless sensation of being watched suddenly spiked. I felt the biggest shiver yet shoot up my spine, and I reached down for my belt. I chose to take a torch with me to light up any dark corners. I flicked it on, turning and aiming it out toward the window into the dark towards the armory, and I saw it. It crouched, almost feline-like, on the roof of the armory, arms and legs wrapped around a section of stone for support. As my light fell upon it, it looked towards me before quickly leaping out of sight, but not

before I had time to see the details. The sunken eyes, sunken so far back that it almost looked as if it hadn't none. The recessed nose, almost entirely erased from its face. The mouth filled with jagged, razor-sharp teeth that could easily tear a man apart. All of this filled me with an existential horror I only ever felt when hearing about hell during church sermons. But it was the one additional detail that slammed me like a freight train. The torn, tattered and decaying uniform that hung of its emaciated body.

It was a uniform I instantly recognized. I had seen an identical, albeit much more intact one on the corpse of the man in the armory jail. The uniform won by the soldiers in the French Foreign Legion during the First World War and into the 1930s. As my mind scrambled to process the information, another shape darted in view of my torch beam, and this one nearly caused me to scream, because it wore a different, much fresher uniform. The same one that Richter had worn when he set off with Samir that day.

It is midday now as I write this. I have not told anybody what I've seen. I know I must. And yet, I cannot. I cannot bear to share the horrible truth that I now know, what Tarrick almost certainly knew, and what made him choose death by his own hand over it. Even though I now know that none of us will leave this mountain alive, I feel that it would

be too cruel for them to know. Those things out there, they may have been hidden in this mountain for Lord knows how long. When the fort was first built centuries ago, they may have watched as it was constructed, but the horrible part about them was that when they came for them, the same as they came for the French soldiers stationed here decades ago, as well as the rescue party, is that they did not kill them. They did not devour them, as horrific a fate as that might have been. It would have been a mercy in comparison.

They dragged them off, and they changed them. They somehow turned them into more of their own. And they have done the same thing to those of our team, who they took, some people. here, Richter and Soren. That's why the screams we heard always came back, because even though they're not the same men anymore, they're not even human anymore, their souls have been stripped away, leaving what I can only describe as demons spewing from the mouth of hell itself to wear their bodies. They still retain enough of their intelligence to know how to lure others to them, like a duck hunter with a call to draw their prey out into the open.

Talley says he wants to try and use one of the flare pistols to signal anyone who might be nearby. I haven't had the heart to tell him that even if anyone human is nearby, they know better than to approach this place. They know it is cursed. It is only a matter of time before they come for the rest of us. God of mercy and all of our souls. Wednesday, 9th of July, 1952. These will be the final words I'll ever write.

The others are all gone, and I'm the only one who remains. Night is coming fast, and if I do not act quickly, I know they will return for me as well. So even if nobody finds this journal of mine, I feel I must put to paper how it ended. If nothing more than to serve as a warning for anyone who hears the tale of this accursed place and finds themselves one part brave, two parts full to try and reach it. What awoke us was not the hellspawn that lay in wait for us. It was a sound of arguing, of babbling screams, and finally the sound of a weapon of some sort being discharged.

I remember the look on Blake's face as she awoke, looking at me with wide, dull-like eyes. I snatched up the shotgun from beside me, seeing Moretti pulling his pistol from his waist. spend as he shot to his feet. In unison, we sprinted for the hallway outside the bunk room. And we opened it. It was to a truly grisly sight. Tally lay on his back on the floor. A shocked look was permanently affixed to his face, his wide eyes glassy and forever staring at the ceiling. The sparks from the flare that had been shot into his mouth still spewed from inside, the horrific

a big smell of burning flesh filling the hallway. Standing in front of him, still pointing the flare gun, was Corrin. When he turned towards us, I instantly knew the man had snapped. An insane grin was plastered on his face and his eyes flew about in their sockets. Instantly, Maretti and I raised our weapons, but before anything could be done, Corrin had shoved past us and raced down the stairs. We heard him unbolt the front door, and running to the windows, saw him sprint across the courtyard to the armory, disappearing down the stairs. A moment later, we heard the faint sound of the door slamming shut. Nobody could speak. When I turned back, he was to find Blake standing over the body of our sponsor, unable to stop crying.

Quickly, I raced to her and embraced her, allowing her tears to soak my shirt. After a few minutes, her crying had reduced her sniffles, and she pulled back, wiping her nose with her shirt sleeve. I looked to Moretti. The man looked beside himself with shock and confusion. He hadn't realised how close to the edge his medic had been. Then he regained his composure, looking towards me with a steely edge in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was deadly calm. We have to go after him. I was unsure as to why. After murdering our sponsor, the man wanted to pursue him,

whether for a twisted sort of retribution or a sense of duty to those under his leadership, even in such extreme cases I'll never know, but I didn't dare argue with him. I knelt down, gently prying the pistol from Talley's hand and trying not to look at his face. standing up I handed it to her Can you fire a gun? She looked at me and nodded after a moment nodding in return I quickly retreated back to the bunk room

picking up the pack with a still-held shotgun shells and slinging it over my shoulder returning at the others and together we headed downstairs and out the front door the wind howled as fiercely as a banshee as we made our way across the courtyard, all three of our guns shifting around aim. I remembered what I'd seen the night before

and felt my muscles tense, gaze shifting to the tops of the ridges high above the fort. I felt I would see the demons climbing quickly down towards us. Thankfully, I saw nothing. Reaching the steps, we descended to the front door of the armoury

and found it unlocked. stepping inside the gloomy interior we moved slowly occasionally calling out corin's name not a soul answered and for a moment i wondered if the man had been taken as well when his back was turned after all we had barely explored the building choosing to huddle inside the living quarters as we rounded a corner though i saw signs that he was still here barrels of of gunpowder lay on their sides, the black grain spilling out onto the floor. A workbench had its tools scattered about. That was when I noticed the hole in the floor, one I hadn't seen previously. I would have ignored it completely if it hadn't been for the sparkle that came from something lying next to it. As we approached, I realized it was a diamond, one of the largest I'd ever seen in my life. And when I peered into the hole,

I couldn't help but feel my mouth drop open as I saw precious gems and gold coins that filled the entire hole piled into what I could tell was a hidden room below. The treasure had been real. Even in our predicament, the three of us couldn't help but look at each other

and laugh softly. Well, at least we know that the stories of the treasurer, was true, Talley was right," Blake said softly. For another moment we stared, then we slowly tore ourselves away from the treasure, moving on and calling out Coren's name. Still, nobody answered, and I began to feel that we should simply leave the building. As much as I understood to a degree Moretti's reasoning, this was being dangerously foolhardy. I never had a chance to voice my thoughts.

As we rounded the final corner to the jail, a shot rang out. The bullet striking the wall, not a foot from Rettie's face. The three of us leapt back, pressing up against the wall for cover. Another shot rang out, then another. For a moment, an eerie silence fell over the hall. Then I heard Corinne scream, the insanity audible in his voice. Stay away. I found the treasure. It's mine. Mine. Mine, not yours. Ranty chanced to look around the corner, snapping his head back as the third shot rang out.

He's managed to get the keys from the dead man in the cell and locked himself inside. He told us, and he's got some of the treasure scattered around him. He looked at us, and I already knew what he would say before he opened his mouth. Scram, we have to go. Quickly, the three of us backtracked through the armory to the front door. We slipped outside and began to run across toward the living quarters. They were waiting for us. We had barely made it halfway across the courtyard,

when what I can only describe as a blur of motion flew down from the window of the living quarters. I saw Moretti look up with his shape, rocketing towards him, screaming, saw him raise his pistol to fire. He never even had a chance to let up a single. shot. The creature slammed into him, knocking him to the ground and sending the revolver tumbling from his fingers. The beast looked at me, and with a horrified realization, I recognized the blue eyes set deep in the already recess sockets. Then, gripping Marita's shoulder with one of its clawed hands, it leapt off the ground, pulling the screaming man with him

as it rapidly climbed the rock and out of sight. We had no no time to grieve or process any of it, because the rest came for us. Everything blurred together in those moments, much as it does in war when adrenaline and reflex takes over. I cannot remember anything clearly, only faintly recall the sounds of deafening gunshots as we fired at all we could see. The motion of reaching into the pack for extra ammunition for Blake and myself, the sound of the two of us shouting and screaming, and the pain.

enraged cries of the creatures as our shelves and rounds slammed home. I was dimly aware that we were moving towards the water garden. Next thing I can recall is the silence. I found Blake and I slumped against the wall near the fountain. She pulled me closer to her and she cut some water in her hands, using it to sprinkle over my brow and drip into my mouth. The refreshing blessed liquid brought me back fully, and when I asked what had happened, she told me, after a time, they had all

retreated. None had died, even after we fired at them, but they still retreated. As I looked around, wondering for a moment if we'd succeeded in frightening them off. My eyes fell in a sight which wrenched whatever hope I'd had left from my soul. The sun was beginning to set in the the sky. I instantly knew that the only reason they had retreated was to wait until darkness fell again. It had been a strategic move. They would wait until night blinded us when they could still see perfectly, and then they

would come again, either to kill us, or drag us off like the others, like I'd seen the B-Sorren had done to Moretti, to make us like them. In those moments, any remaining thoughts of surviving fled from me. I said nothing, however. I climbed to my feet, looking around, then I looked down at Blake. She gave me a strange smile. Even still, it made her look beautiful. I smiled back.

Finally, she sighed and pushed the mousy hair behind her ear before looking up at me. What do we do now? didn't answer her. Instead, I simply shook my head to indicate I didn't know. I waited until she had lowered her head and closed her eyes. Then, before she could open them again, I swung the barrel of my shotgun and aimed. I find a sort of peace in that she never knew what was about to happen. And now that I am done writing my account of all this, I have but one thing left to do. I refused to let the demons change Blake into one of their own. As much as I know, my soul is damned to hell for the unforgivable sin I have committed against her. And it is the same

mercy I will give myself. I am going to follow the same path that Tarek took. I will jump from the cliff. I will face my own death at the hands of the rocks below, rather than the fate that has befallen the others. That is, beyond all shadow of a doubt, a worse fate than any death imaginable. I pray for my own soul. I pray for blakes. I pray for tallies. I even pray for Cawran's.

I hope that, like the soldier before him, it is thirst or hunger that takes him. Please heed the dire warning this journal contains. While those treasure above you, do not attempt to close. and retrieve it, you will not live to spend a single bloody shilling of it. The beasts above have claimed it, and the fort is their own. Let it be if you value not only your life, but your humanity and very soul. For if you don't, you will find yourself facing a fate that is more horrific than written about in any tome.

And please, if you find this, get word back. back to my sister in Maidenhead. Tell her I'm sorry. God forgive me.