February 10, 1923

The page I typed for my journal yesterday is gone. In its place, I have found a sheet of charred black paper, and upon was inscribed, in the most barely visible, barely legible letters: "Forever."

The world outside my window has changed four different times today. First it was a city made of glass, then it was a cabin built by a lake, then it was a cobblestone street surrounded by trees, and now it is a field with a single tree in the center, from which hangs a noose.

In each of these scenes I have seen the great black beast, always in the distance, always looking directly at me.