The Dark Somnium - The Cursed Settlement

Episode Date: October 29, 2022

This is the next installment of the creepypasta series "The Settlements" series, written by Page Turner, make sure to check out the original story and support the author!  The Cursed Settlement: https://dubbedemotions.wordpress.com/2021/12/19/the-cursed-settlement-pt-5/--- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/darksomnium/message Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Hey everybody. Before this video starts, I wanted to let you know that I'm going to be joining the Chilling app. And Chilling is a subscription-based service that provides a new home for scary stories. You can find ad-free narrations by many talented narrators that you might recognize like Swamp Dweller and Autumn Ivy, who played Aldoan in the NFC series I did. And the app has a really interesting feature where you can control the ambience in the background while you're listening. The story that I'm going to be starting with on the app is, by a young SETI, who has been featured on the channel a few times. And you can also get a free trial of the service to test it out and see if you like it.

I'm excited to join, and I can't wait to see what all of you think of it. And with that said, enjoy the video. Looks like these flurries will be another blizzard soon. Come on, let's get you to the cabin before you freeze over. When this storm blew in, I knew you must be on the way. We're thrilled to have you back with us so close to Christmas. No, it's no trouble at all. The neighbors have been restless the last couple of days.

I figured I ought to play it safe, so I grabbed an umbrella and hit the trail. I'm glad you made good time. Thanks to those thunderheads, it's going to be full dark out here soon. Hey, we're home, family. Here you go. Ethan, good job with the fire. You earned yourself first use of our newfangled portable battery. It's the dawn of a new day with this long-lasting puppy.

Thanks again, friend. you discovered something that actually motivates the boy. We never thought we'd see the day. Here's the one you left with us last time. So, is the person who invented these things super famous? How can you not even know their name? All right. Trish is right.

We better get started. I can't keep talking through sun-up. Get yourself settled while I set the scene. If you want to hear the daily dribbles of Jamestown Life, we can go back when we finish the good stuff. For now, I suspect you'd prefer to hear the juicy bits. What can I say? Stories are my six, well, seventh sense?

Besides, it's adorable how you breathers are fascinated by death. You got all the time in the world to be dead later. Go out there and live. Visit a library, get hot water from a faucet, buy food for weeks at a time. The possibilities are endless. Oops, got excited again. Sorry. Anyway, we're skipping all the way to 1752 tonight. Such a long time passed, a descendant stopped leaving in the boogeymen.

With each generation, the population increased and more land was needed. Eventually, the stories came to be known as tales concocted to prevent children from playing near the river. Yep, you guessed it. Our genius legacies decided to expand Durg Lake. They built a bridge and everything. No, their bridge was later destroyed. The one there today was built in the early 1900s by the government. Locals fought it every step of the way, but you know how it is with infrastructure.

Ethan, if you don't want to hear it, put on your headphones. Sorry, he's just touchy because he was one of the geniuses. To be fair, it wasn't his fault. His father was to blame. The boy is descended from James, but great-nephew was a mouthful. He was only 18 when that mess happened. He didn't know any better. It's harder to accept this lifestyle at that age.

It's kind of you to be concerned, but don't worry. Look, he's already lost in Spider-Man. No, no, the boy is far too lazy to write. We'll be reading my own great-grandson's journal. Nicky was a chip off the old block. that boy done me right proud, you know, once he got over his skepticism. He was only 21 himself, but he was lucky enough to make it out alive. The weird part is, me and Trish had a front row seat for the whole ride.

And believe me, we tried our best to stop them, but there's only so much we could do. Sometimes, kids got to learn the hard way. You don't just die and pop up the next second as we are now. Goodness, no, it took almost 20 years to just poke stuff. I don't think anyone could hear us for nearly a century. Even then, it was barely above a whisper. Appear in human form, with substance? Converse for extended periods?

You're talking more than 200 years for this swagger. Well, if we hadn't gotten mixed up with the demon and its blood sacrifices, sure, probably could have sped things up a bit, but being dead is no reason to drag other people down. Hmm, maybe you're right. I think laziness does run in the family. We had the hang of things well enough to help a few, but even now, we don't go near the demon's nest. We're drifting to the mumboes and jumbos again.

All that will come out in the story, natural-like. I'll fill in some missing blanks as we go, but Nicholas did a fine job, especially for a young age. Now, you'd think so much time passed that it would take a minute for things to care. off, but nope. They were being watched from the first tree down to the last person out. You better believe that. April 12th, 1752. After nearly a year, we are finally moved to our new homes.

I cannot help but laugh at how this space was avoided for silly superstition, though I do wonder if the water was once genuinely clear, it would be fascinating to discover the true cause of such a transformation. Regardless, it is teeming with fish. You can hear them splashing about at all hours. As for the reports of the land's deterioration, it is honestly not so bad. The soil is more suitable to farming across the river, but that hardly means it is uninhabitable. With a little extra care and irrigation, our crops will grow.

Since the removal of dead trees and shrubbery, Durg Lake is uniquely picturesque, very unlike that of traditional scenery. We are surrounded by a forest of large, twisted trees whose branches reach out in strange curvatures, bending at odd angles. I have never seen their like. Thick gray moss hangs down in sheets, accenting the greenery in a somehow beautiful, gloomy way. I cannot express how wonderful it feels to sit in my own home, writing my own memoirs.

The silence is a glorious thing I have rarely experienced in such eternity. When I am ready to start a family, I must add additional rooms to retain a private space. Hopefully by that time, these strange notions will cease. I believe the old stories have affected me in a small way. The moment I began this entry, an odd sensation overcame me. It is as if someone stands looking over my shoulder. I expected the feeling to fade, but it grows worse. There's a tickle at the back of my neck and a chill down my spine.

At least I have the comfort of knowing I am not alone in my paranoia. Ethan thought he heard a man call from the forest, and my sister claimed to see a disfigured face in the window. Father would enjoy a hearty laugh if he read these words, but it is worth noting how easily the power of suggestion can manipulate one's senses. I am sure others follow our example, but keep the matters private. If dangerous wildlife is nearby, it will not take long to dispatch. The farmhouse is no longer secluded from neighbors.

In case of attack, help is not far away, but I do not believe such an event will truly take place. Much time was spent in the area during preparations, and nothing was seen to justify such concern. Ah, damn, one careless slip, and now there's a strike across the page. Alas, that is enough foolishness for one night. I am eager to retire. Tomorrow will be a long, hard day. The Hampton's crop restorations began at sunrise. I volunteered because farming is vital for the community, and not at all for the reason to be near Kenneth's lovely daughter, although if I were ready to begin courting, she would make me a lucky man indeed.

April 13, 1752. It was a mistake to indulge such nonsense last night. These wild ideas of monsters and demons have taken root in my brain, and now they blossom into pure matter. I'll not have it. There are no such things as ghosts or spirits. Do you hear the insanity in those words? One must take stock and look at the situation as a whole, outside one single, small-minded existence. Which is more likely that a silly wives tale rings true, or that, being aware of such tales, my mind warps situations to fit the narrative. Any who chooses the former clearly has no respect for science. We are no longer in the dark

ages, one must adapt to the modern world or it will leave them behind. I digress. I should not become flustered over such trivial mishaps. If nothing else, these anecdotes may amuse my grandchildren someday. I must admit, from the comfort of home, the situation does seem humorous. Even the boys at the lake had a scare when placing the fish traps, but their incident is easily explained. In the process of stealing supper, alligators destroyed their names.

Yes. My experience was more confounding. Alice fetched us from the field when lunch was ready. She and her mother prepared enough food to feed the volunteers, and tables were set outside to accommodate our large number. While preparing my plate, I heard Mrs. Hampton calling for her youngest, Florence. The child was assumed to be in her room, and, as a gentleman, I offered my assistance. After ascending the stairs, I turned right and followed the long hallway to the old.

open door on the left. Florence's room was brightly decorated with flowers, and the child stood at her window, seeming not to notice my presence. She turned when I spoke and came a few steps closer. When I relayed her mother's message, she inched forward a little more. Thinking it was a game, I extended my arm, asking if I might escort her as a proper lady, but she did not find the offer charming as envisioned. No matter what I tried, there was no further reaction. She mirrored. She mirrored. I nearly stood there, expressionless. My stomach begged for the delicious smells wafting through the open window. Losing patience in my hunger, I resigned to the knowledge she would soon grow bored and follow.

Upon returning, I informed Alice of my less than successful efforts, but she appeared confused and gestured toward the stables. I nearly choked when I saw Florence riding atop her father's shoulders. I believe, if nothing else, my fellows would describe me as a sceptive. sane, reasonable man, one who was not easily shaken or deceived. Yet, I cannot explain how this happened. No matter how I replay the scene, I do not understand where I am mistaken. You must picture it precisely as I state, for I wish others to appreciate the magnitude of this riddle.

From leaving the child's room to seeing her at the stables a few minutes passed. We dined in clear view of the home. Never was it out of sight. The barn was at my back, with forty yards of open field between structures. I would have considered it an impossible task to move from one to the other without my seeing, yet it happened. I am simply baffled, even more that the child played her part so well. That alone is a worthy feat, but the sheer logistics behind getting her to the stables are

on another level entirely. Florence did not act alone. The plotting was Kenneth's doing of that. That I'm sure. It is not that I'm a poor sport. The illusion was artfully done and masterfully executed. There is no denying that. I simply wish to know how.

But they will not reveal their methods. In fact, they will not admit to trickery at all. They insist I saw a different child. The notion is absurd. Even if multiple ten-year-olds were roaming about, one could hardly mistake her golden curls and blue eyes. If this is not my own doing for showing interest in the details, had I remained aloof, their bragging would be endless.

Now it is more fun to leave me in ignorance. Perhaps sleep will bring clarity. It is a theory worth testing. Oh, then I thought I was long-winded. I forgot how philosophical that kid used to be. Anyway, no matter. I just wanted to make a quick notation for the sake of accuracy. Do you know what a doppelganger is?

I had a feeling. There's quite a few misconceptions about them, but just keep in mind, they are not in any way a ghost. They're two completely different breeds. Think of them as low-level demons. They used to be human, but when passing to the other side, they landed in the unpleasant place. On rare occasions, one finds its way home, but needs a new identity to be free. See, Trish gives one little tidbit, and now it's 20 questions. So, hell down, friend.

We caught all night. April 14th, 1752. It was another day of strange occurrences. If tomorrow was not better, we may have to re-evaluate our position. While I do not relish the notion, I must admit the necessity. Ken Hampton may be a crafty devil, but I could not believe he would force the stresses of this night upon his family by choice. Honestly, I no longer know what to believe. At dusk, all others departed, but I dallyed in the stables.

Florence's soft voice startled me from thought as she extended her family's invitation to supper. I accepted gratefully, if not suspiciously, but is that surprising after the ruckus of last night? It was not likely I would fall for the same trick twice. I kept the child in sight, watching for any sign of co-conspirators, as we left. the barn, someone hiding in the trees shouted a gargled cry for help, but unwilling to traips through the forest, I quickened our pace. While impressed with Florence's feigned fright, I am almost certain it was Donald's voice.

Even if slurred speech concealed his identity, the girl's brother was supposedly on a hunting venture and not expected to return for several days. A likely story indeed. If that were not enough, Mrs. Hampston shrieked in the ear-splitting scream at the side of us. She was descending the steps with Mr. Hampton close at heel when we entered through the foyer. Penelope's cry shook me, sewing doubts in my previous perceptions. Without speaking, the couple rushed upstairs. When they returned, I could see the loss of color from their pale faces. I cannot conceive how one fakes such an emotional response. Perhaps what began in jet...

Blast! How have I ruined yet another page? The damn. and Penn has a mind of its own. No more of this. I have no opinion on the matters. I simply state the facts as they occurred. Let others determine what lies in truth. Now, be gone whatever foul force foils my hard work. The Hamptons claimed to see Florence in her room only seconds before, but they cannot argue

with the sight of her before their eyes. The lost, confused looks they wore were admittedly familiar, but it is a hard concept to accept. At Kenneth's suggestion, we all sat to dine, recounting each event in precise detail. Mr. Hampton explained they were dressing for supper when Florence appeared in the doorway. She reported my acceptance of the evening invitation, and Penelope instructed her daughter to likewise prepare. She watched as the child ran into her own room. When the parents passed her door moments later, the girl was brushing her hair.

Not wishing her to dally, they paused in the hall. They insist they did not continue down the stairwell until Florence trailed behind. Then, seconds later, they saw her in my own company. I have never been so utterly at loss for explanation. I feel as though all I once believed has been called into question. Ethan continues facing challenges at the lake. Not only have they lost more nets, but a horse was taken. Its cries were heard through the village as it was dragged from shore.

When the first men arrived, they saw the beast's head disappearing beneath the choppy waters. It seems as if our next priority will be hunting the alligators before a child is lost. I grow increasingly wary as I ponder these circumstances. Once again, it instills the sense I am not alone. Twice now I have glanced over my shoulder, expecting to find a visitor. It is overwhelming how strong the sensation grows. I believe I am at my limit. It is time to retire in preparation for another early start.

April 15, 1752. It was a somber day. Good men have died. Late in the night, the Hamptons woke to the sound of agonizing screams and frantic banging. Kenneth quickly recognized the familiar voice, begging entry, and rushed to unbar the door. He gasped at the bloody sight crumpled before him as he struggled to drag Judd Crawley inside. Once across the threshold, the injured man fought assistance, demanding every entry point be secured. Ken humored Mr. Crawley, latching the door before further examination.

A dark, crimson trail marked their passage through the home, but it was already too late. With aid from Penelope and a newly lit fire, they were able to see the horrifying extent of Judd's injuries. Had the man survived, it would have been without his left arm or leg, but he soon lapsed. into unconsciousness, dying minutes later. His shoulder remained attached by only a few bundled nerves, his knees twisted at a nauseating ankle, and puncture wounds bore deep into his thigh, exposing the muscle and tendons beneath. Mr. Crawley never said what attacked him, and I am beyond speculation, lest another page be marred, but most assume a bear.

Mrs. Hampton is terribly distraught Florence witnessed the gruesome sight. The curious child was caught spying from the balcony, poking her head between the banisters. Alice ran to her sister, but the girl was already gone. My considerate future wife found the little one pretending to sleep soundly in bed and considered her work finished. Worried for Donald's safety, after multiple nights alone in the dangerous forest, we have formed a search party, which will depart at first light. It is vital I rest soon, but there is more I must write while memory is fresh.

Unfortunately, Chud was not the only death suffered. This evening, I was told of the Johnson's family tragedy. What they have endured these last days is unimaginable, even more so that it was kept secret. Not that I blame them, I myself had much the same instinct, although it is doubtful I have the fortitude to remain silent if faced with true adversity. Their tale is so unusual. I wish to record it precisely as told. Edmund and Grace Johnson are a young couple with a frail six-year-old son.

Benjamin has always been sickly and therefore does not play about with other children. As they have been unable to conceive, the boy is without siblings and prone to loneliness. None were surprised when he developed an imaginary friend. It is a common enough thing. The parents were merely pleased at the sound of their son's laughter. The boy developed this friendship during the first night in his new home. By the next noonday meal, he was insisting a plate be prepared for Mr. Long. At first, the parents found it endearing and encouraged the boy's imagination.

They asked questions about his new companion, finding the answers odd, but harmless. Over the course of that day, they learned Mr. Long is 842 years old and wears a black dress which covers his feet. He is bald, with stark white skin, a crooked nose, and uneven yellow eyes. The imagery is admittedly disturbing, but stranger still is what happened next. After putting the child to bed, Edmund and Grace sat at the kitchen table discussing the odd descriptions of Mr. Long. During this conversation, Mr. Johnson stated the price of a dog would be worth distracting the boy from such hideous ideas. The moment those words were spoken, Benjamin's shrill cry rang through the house.

The parents rushed to his aid, confused and terrified. As they burst through the door, a dark mass seemed to disappear through the wall, and items in the adjoining room could be heard crashing to the floor. Grace held her son as Edmund searched the house, but nothing was found. They waited until the following morning to question the child. He was incapable of expressing what? transpired, but understood why. Somehow, Benjamin was aware of the dog comment. He repeated Edmund's words verbatim, claiming Mr. Long perceived it as a threat. I have personally been

inside the Johnson home, and I can bear witness the rooms are situated far apart. Their son relayed progressively sinister messages until the Johnson's terror came to a climax just before dawn. Once again, they woke to the sound of Benjamin's desperate screams, as they charged. charged in, a solid black form could be seen enveloping their son's body, choking off his agonizing wails. The mortified parents lunged forward, but an invisible force propelled them backwards. They watched, paralyzed, as the malignant mass warped into an almost humanoid shape, and black, wispy tendrils forced Benjamin's lips apart, opening his mouth far past its human

limit. The snap of his jaw echoed in the small room, earning fresh shrieks of agony from the health hopeless parents. As the form slowly forced itself into the boy, his throat tripled in size. In a last act of desperation, Edmund screamed into the cold darkness, offering his own body in exchange. The black mass left the child like that of a snake leaving its den. Faster than human eyes could track, it flew across the room, forcing itself into Mr. Johnson.

Grace watched in horror as her husband's body turned into a purple, bulging nightmare. With a sudden realization she was no longer held in place, the determined mother acted without hesitation. Returning with Edmund's rifle, she pulled the trigger before the possessed man could rise to his feet. The stench of sulfur filled the room as Grace carried her son away from the carnage. Mrs. Johnson had moved back to Jamestown proper to be with her mother and says the boy has no memory of the tragic events, something she considers a blessing, no doubt. I do not pretend to know what plagued the small family. I only document the facts in hope of one day reviewing these pages as a true man of science.

Perhaps then I will understand what pieces this puzzle misses. For now, all I can do is rest in preparation for tomorrow's search. All right, it is definitely time for a break. No way. Mr. Long is not a doppelganger or a demon. We think he's a strangely powerful ghost, but it's hard to be sure. He was here long before the first settlement, and I doubt anyone ever finds a way to get rid of him. Who knows what kind of tricks he's picked up since this story?

It's not a dress, it's a cloak. The kid didn't know what to call it, and Nikki was a bit too shook up to think anything of the detail. Actually, the advice came from yours truly. We felt really bad for that poor kid. We weren't very good at communicating yet, but putting all our anything. into yelling instructions, got the job done, sort of. It was honestly the only way to save Benji, and it was still Ed and Grace's decision. We only gave them ideas.

The choice to act was all their own. Trust me, most parents would have done the same. I know we would. Hell, we also stalk the shit out of every man intent on searching the woods. You know as well as us that Donald fella is long dead. There was no point in watching more die on a whole. hopeless mission. It's surprising what you can do to someone's food if you hover around the kitchen long enough. Those answers will come in due time. You'll find out more soon enough. So,

while we're on a break anyway, I couldn't help and notice that bulge in your pack there. I think the cricket, I don't need to breathe. I think we're about to find out if ghosts have tears. The stand, it, and evil things are my favorites. It's like you knew. Uh, they did? My family is the best. Hey, that means you too, you know. I'm speaking for all of us when I say you're every bit of member. If you'll have us, that is. Uh, no wonder you were so eager to get back before Christmas. Okay, I know, I know, I'm doing it again. Though in my defense, I think you only hindered the process by distracting me. Don't know how you expect me to sit here reading this drivel while those babies are waiting. Well, that's not my fault. You should have told me to mind my own

damn business. Fine, fine. At least let me hold him. Well, what are you waiting for? Sit your ass down and we can get to it. April 16th, 1772. I want nothing more to do with this vile place. I will need a few days for planning and preparations, but by this time next week, I shall be far away from here. I woke an hour before dawn, feeling nauseated, but determined to participate in the search for Alice's brother. If the worse happened, she would need a reliable friend close by to ensure no dishonorable friends try gaining advantage of her grievous state. By some strange coincidence, four members of our search party also fell ill.

In the end, only five of us wandered the woods. To collect more men would only delay us longer, and if Donald lay injured, each passing hour further decreased his chance of survival. With all of us armed, our numbers should have been sufficient, but I never drew. I dreamed, and all my wildest imaginings I could never have conceived such possibilities. It was a clear, sunny day when we entered the forest, but an hour into our hike, dark, foreboding clouds rolled across the sky. Joe Harper and Travis Miller decided they would pursue a secondary trail to speed the search.

I am sure they are as dead as I am of the coward's intent to return home, but they were never seen again. If Ethan and I marched two miles deeper into the foreboding woods, I still do not understand how it could become so dark during the brightest part of the day. Had I not known better, I would have believed it the middle of the night. While stopped to prepare our torches, a torrential downpour broke loose from the skies. Not even the forest's thick canopy could protect us from the rain. Finally, after much struggling, we managed to keep one flame lit under the protection of two men's

totes, stumbling along awkwardly, but became lost, unable to tell which way was home with our limited vision. We were not fools. We knew it better to stand in one place than wander about aimlessly, and that is precisely what we did. For hours we searched our small area, until finally, the torchlight reflected off a shiny metal object, tangled in the branches above. Ethan retrieved the item with great difficulty, and we were crestfallen to see it was unmistakestead. Donald's pocket watch. It was impossible not to connect his treasured keepsakes location with that of the old stories. A tree-hopping demon seemed less of a drunkard's rambling as we failed to locate any sign of a climber upon the bark.

Even if Donald found need to conceal himself, there were at least three nearby trees with limbs better suited to a man's reach. As we followed the near trail, rain continued to fall in sheets of cold, fat droplets, soaking every layer we would. war and chilling us to the bone. We huddled together, seeking the warmth of our meager flame, but it felt as if ice formed on our very souls. That is when we heard something enormous barreling through the forest approaching at inhuman speed. I do not know how to describe the cacophony of noises as giant limbs snapped beneath a heavy weight, and thousands of leaves cracked in unison as they fell to paint the forest floor. All the while, thunder boomed overhead as lightning illuminated our surroundings and brief flashes of eerie blue light. I did not see Kenneth die,

but I heard his screams long enough to know it was not a quick death. We ran blindly through the maze of trees until I tripped, falling hard into a tangle of roots and losing our only meager source of light. Ethan stopped to help me up, and we saw it was Donald's mutilated corpse over which I fell. My cousin was quick to regain his composure, dragging me by the arm until I resumed independent function. I do not know if I could have stopped with a situation reversed. So complete was my terror. Selfish bastard I am. I thought of nothing but survival. I did not know where we were, or if we ran in the right direction. I only thought to flee the sounds of pursuit that gained on us with every step. My brain could not accept when the giant beast sprung forward,

blocking our escape entirely. I was frozen, malefic gait, struggling to take in the gruesome sight before me with the blessedly small light of day remaining. That creature, it is exactly as described down to the last disturbing detail. Lesser men may remove their own eyes at such a sight, but I cannot let Ethan's sacrifice be in vain. I only live thanks to the bravery of my dear cousin, who, without thought or care for his own life, threw me from the demon's path as he advanced on the evil beast, judging by the sickening squelps that sounded with a rifle blast, I can safely assume the brave man's one shot

aimed true. My heart broke into pieces of the horrible noises to follow, but I cannot look back lest I be next. One moment I was crashing through the forest, drowning in misery, and the next, I was home, standing in bright, warm sunshine. Somehow I found my way to the other side of Durge Lake near Jean Kirby's home, and not a drop of rain had fallen. If I had not tripped, forcing us to waste precious time, Ethan would be here now. I reported the horrible experience as we gathered in the Hampton home for the final time. I will never forget the look on Alice's face as I broke the tragic news.

Upon relaying the last gruesome details, several others came forward with their own unexplained experiences. Teresa Harper left her home to fetch a pail of water from the lake when a single, sharp cry rang out. Her husband followed her tracks to the water's edge, but no prints existed to indicate where she next went. In the grand scheme of things, it's not surprising she was never found. Bonnie McIntyre complained her daughter talked to the empty corner of her bedroom on a nightly basis, and she was not the only one. Simon Clovers, the man who witnessed the horse die of the lake, admitted to seeing tentacles wrapping around the animal's head as it was pulled under. As Dan Freeman

Recounted his experiences of seeing a deer walk on its hind legs, Philip Matthews said he too witnessed such a sight. Panic broke out as several people began talking in unison, but Uncle Nelson quickly remedied the chaos by reminding all that we stood in Mrs. Hampton's den on the night she lost her husband and son. Needless to say, we are ready to admit our folly, and we will leave this place tomorrow. Personally, I will take great pleasure in watching the bridge burn once the last man is across, then I shall make very serious considerations into the type of man I wish to be and do whatever necessary to become that vision. If I am lucky, perhaps I will have half Ethan's bravery and integrity.

Oh, it's okay, friend. Do you need a tissue? Look, if it makes you feel any better, Trish baby's the absolute shit out of that boy. I know we like to joke, but honest, we're all quite happy here together. Scouts on her. I mean, come on, just look at him. He's so lost and whatever he's watching, he doesn't give a single fig about how he got here. Now perk up. It's time for the last entry. April 19th, 1752. I refuse to let that place drive me mad. Now that survivors are safely back in Jamestown, I have decided to go east, to college where I will become a man of science. When properly educated, I will unravel these mysteries. Until then, I can only record the events in preparation of that later date. Perhaps by then, the elders will trust me enough

to reveal the demon's name. If the legends are true, I must admit there is no reason to divulge the information at present. The day after I returned from the cursed woods, all of Jamestown assisted in our move. Our dead were transported, so they may be buried with their families. And every wagon was overloaded with the children of desperate parents. Most could not afford to leave all possessions behind, but they could not take chances knowing what happened to the Johnson boy and the now poor Florence. Alice was in her room when she heard her mother's pained scream. She discovered her sister wielding a kitchen knife with proficiency beyond that of a small child.

I know she will likely never forgive herself, but her quick action saved Penelope's life. Her mother's wounded shoulder bled freely, but it was not lethal. Somehow, amidst the chaos, Alice noticed her sister had no reflection in a mirror. She describes her actions as help from a guardian angel, for she does not understand how she knew that to mean Florence was beyond saving. Grabbing a nearby firepoker, she put an end to the being posing as her sister, and now her mother will make a full recovery, physically speaking, of course. I personally escorted the grieving woman across the bridge to safety, but it will be a long road to recovery after their heavy losses.

Throughout the days ahead, I came to learn more horrific tales of those lost due to their ignorance. Just as my forefathers warned, we slaughtered our own the moment we expressed our plans to escape. Part of me still suspects the events of last week are a nightmare, but with each passing day, my hopes of waking fade. Parker shot his wife and children in their sleep and witnesses report seeing him enter the forest, but he has not been seen since. Jim Williams lost his hand when Mrs. Williams woke him with a hatchet. He killed her as their children screamed, and he has not spoken a word since. If not for his eldest son, we would not know what transpired.

Each family now has a similar tale. All told, 26 souls were lost because we believed our intellect superior to the those before us. The number would surely be higher, had our neighbors not so graciously assisted our retreat. I believe my time away will be good for mind and soul. It is my greatest wish to return as a man who is capable of providing Alice with the life she deserves." I know Nikki got off to a rough start, but none of us are half as smart as we think at

twenty-one. Hell, he wised up faster than most, and he did go on to be quite the man of science. I'm glad you agree. People tend to forget how hard it is to believe this stuff when he weren't raised with it. Of course he did. As if you had to ask. I'll tell you what, the hardest part of the whole ordeal was making him mess up the journal. Broke my heart to see those beautiful pages stained with stray ink,

but it was for the greater good. I guess the info on doppelgangers was a little more sparse than I remembered. Must have confused it with the next part. My bad. It's okay. We'll get there. One more thing before you go. Can I ask you something? I've seen it referenced in movies, but don't quite understand. Are you familiar with the YouTube?

I think... I think that's how you say it. One of these phones has a picture. Oh, good. Okay, so you've heard of it. Well, that sounds neat as hell, golly. I wish we could get internet in here. Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. Our lives are infinitely more entertaining since you came along, but there's so much we miss out on. Sure, we have plenty of extra phones we'll never use.

Why? You need one? We have a wide assortment to choose from. Yeah, most are new, but... Ethan, bring me every phone now. Our best friend is going to fill them with the YouTube downloads. I don't know. I think... I think this is what it feels like to be speechless.

You mean there's entire channels dedicated to people reading scary stories? That sounds a little too good to be true. Who's your favorite? Dark Somnium? Okay, well, I'll check it out. Did you know Somnium is Latin for dream? What do you mean, it's not just stories? How can it also be a community?

Dark family. My, that does sound like a dream, doesn't it? But I won't be able to talk with them? Oh, well, maybe something. Someday, I'm just excited to hear new stories. I know I said it last time, but spare me one last sappy moment. I truly wish you the happiest of holidays, my own special dark family. As always, we shall eagerly await your next visit.