Diary Entry June ?, 1926
It’s the middle of the night. An hour so late I can’t tell if it’s today or tomorrow. I so hope it’s tomorrow. Because after the terrible nightmare I’ve just had, I don’t want to go back to sleep.
The nightmare began with me snug in my bed inside the cottage.
I was sound asleep in the dream, awakened suddenly by a strange noise outside.
I went to the window to see what it was and saw someone moving past the mighty oak.
The person was wearing a black cloak, the hood pulled up over their head.
Even though I couldn’t see the figure’s face, a stirring of fear told me exactly who it was.
Azra.
I knew from their movements, which were so unlike the way the others walked. The cloaked figure seemed to glide, as if floating an inch off the ground. Even though I was frightened by the sight of it, I also couldn’t stop watching.
It was…bewitching.
Perhaps that was why, when Azra passed my window, I decided to follow. That it might be dangerous—or even cost me my own life—was something I didn’t consider. All I thought about as I slipped into the sultry night was that I needed to see what Azra had planned.
I tried to stay completely quiet as I followed them away from the cottages to the surrounding forest. The figure moved quickly into the trees, unfazed by all the daisy wheels carved into their trunks.
Azra moved so fast, in fact, that I could scarcely keep up.
Occasionally I lost sight of them, and frantically scanned the forest, fearful that they were sneaking up behind me, intending to attack.
But then I’d catch sight of their figure again far ahead of me and scramble to get closer.
Eventually Azra pushed through a clearing in the trees, and I knew that I had been led to the circle of crimson moss and the massive rock that sat in its center.
The place that had caused such unease the first time I saw it now felt doubly evil with Azra present.
I remained hidden among the trees, refusing to take a single step into that unholy space.
Watching from the woods, I saw Azra approach the rock. And that was when I realized I was trapped in a nightmare. Because the rock wasn’t bare—
A person lay sleeping atop it—
Katrina!
I almost cried out when I saw her, stopping only when I realized the sound would alert Azra to my presence.
I stayed quiet, knowing that the only thing worse than seeing Katrina on that rock would be feeling myself atop it.
A wicked, selfish thought. I knew that even then, and I whispered a silent prayer that God would eventually forgive me for it.
I think he might, because in my defense, Katrina already looked dead lying atop that rock. Like a corpse in repose. In my mind, there was nothing in my power to help her. As Azra crept closer to Katrina, I stopped praying, too overcome with horror to continue.
Stretched out on the rock, Katrina began to stir, and I realized I had been mistaken.
She was still alive! All joy about that fact immediately passed when I saw Azra draw a sharp knife from the depths of their cloak.
Holding the hilt with both hands, Azra raised the knife, its blade glinting in the moonlight.
On the rock, Katrina opened her eyes.
And when she saw the knife, she began to scream.
I woke after that, grateful not to have seen anymore. Now I sit here, shaken and soaked with perspiration, writing in the light of my bedside lamp, relieved that it was only a nightmare and nothing more.
But wait.
There’s something on the floor.
It looks like—
Dirt.
That’s what it is. I just slipped from bed to examine it. Several large ovals of dirt that look— Why, they look like footprints. Leading from the door to— Oh, God, they lead right to my bed!
I don’t know how they got here. Someone must have snuck into the cottage while I slept. It’s the only explanation, which leaves me so shaken with fear that I might pass out.
Who was here during the night? Why did they—
Oh, no.
No, it can’t be.
I can’t believe it!
I just checked my shoes, which again aren’t where I had left them before going to bed. They, too, are dirty. Caked with mud and pine needles and bits of dead leaves.
I don’t understand how that could be—unless the footprints belong to me.
Could I have been in the forest during the night? I don’t remember being there. I remember nothing but my nightmare. Dear God, could such a thing be possible? I hope not. I hope this is yet another dream. One that I will soon wake from and forget all about.
Because if it’s not, it could mean I really was in the woods.
And that the nightmare I just woke from wasn’t a nightmare at all.