October 13, 1863
        On this date of October thirteenth, I find myself curious about the smell of rot in the air. The weather is cold-bitten and frigid, yet the stench lingers in the breeze. Dead bodies everywhere. This plague is a creeping doom, wandering aimlessly from victim to victim. It's a ghost of sorts, terrorizing the town with its fatal destruction. Sometimes I speculate when I write- speculate over the strangeness that follows me everywhere I go. I dared not say this aloud, for the people of this peculiar town would have me locked up... forever. Or even executed.
        Some days when I sit down at my desk, pick up a pen and write, I tend to fall asleep. I awake some hours later to find myself drenched in not only sweat, but blood as well. I don't understand these blackouts, for, I never had them before. I seem to have dizzy spells late at night. Once in a while it leads to nausea, and I have to vomit the fire from out of me. None of this actually makes any sense, nonetheless I seem to find it harrowingly familiar.
        The other unexplainable matter is the origin of the secret man. He appears in my dreams, from behind my doors. He's awake in my bed when I fall asleep. He seems to be interested in me, or maybe in the work I was in. On quiet nights he emerges from the shadows and talks to me, but after departing I seem to forget the point to our curious discussions. Curious because I find it rather hard to accept such nonsense from any divine human, although he need not be such a mortal as I, nor truly divine.

October 16-
        Today, I rode into town and saw two of the latest executions take place. It frightened me to see those dead bodies dangle from the ropes. The trees reminded me of ancient people from a far away land, lost and bewildered. I wouldn’t blame them if they were. Over three thousand executions had taken place on those same very trees. It’s a place where witches die. And I find myself feeling more and more guilty. The strange man visited me again last night. He smiled at me with broken lips. I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t say anything. I just closed my eyes and waited for him to go away. Of course he didn’t and we ended up getting into a heated discussion about God and the Devil. Why does he speak of such things?

October 17-
        In the kitchen I found a severed arm. A human arm. It was fleshy still and the flies had just gotten to it. God, I didn’t know what to do, so I just buried it out in the yard. I stayed inside for the rest of the day and made sure I didn’t go out tonight. But I was fearful. Perhaps I should have gone. At least I would have been in a public place with people all around, watching and staring. It wasn’t late at all when the severed hand came floating back into my house. It brushed up against my neck when I was taking a nap. It’s finger moved, gesturing for me to follow it. I shivered where I stood and indeed followed it out of the house and to my side yard. There I found the man whose arm I had been following. His body was hidden in the tall grass beside the house. His face, through my tinted lantern, was in the expression of shock and panic, as if he had suffered a horrendous death. But, what death would have that been? I never did find out. There were no other wounds on the corpse besides the obvious. I suppose he died from fear.
        I dragged the body back into my home, wondering what I should do with it. The arm laid beside it... dead, as if it never had moved at all. I picked it up by the rotting fingers and dropped it on the body’s chest. It made a hard thump then rolled off onto the floor. I knew I had to burry the corpse. The yard wasn’t an option, I had to go some where to dispose of it. The cemetery would have been a noble place, but there was too much security there. People have been known to rob graves in these parts... and I fear that the corpse I tossed over the back of my horse was a victim of just that. So I left the body and the arm at the train station with a newspaper in front of its face. Horrid as it sounds... very horrid.
        I rode back home faster than I ever had before- and being a sixty eight year old man that’s quite an accomplishment. What deaths have I suffered in these past couple years? A body here, a hanging there. Family and friends dying like old haggard cows in the western desert heat. And before getting into bed, the secret man returned. He licked my cheek and handed me an eye ball then vanished into smoke. I looked at the eyeball sleepily and realized it was the eye that belonged to the corpse I had found in the yard. The same corpse that I had left at the train station. God, when will all of this end. When will all of this end.

October 19-
        An old friend passed away early this morning. His name was Andrew Fagan. We both served in the military before I became a Marshal in the town of Luxbury, just west of Nashville. After I retired, I moved back here to West Salborn, Connecticut where I met up with Andrew, and he and I were virtually inseparable until he had fallen ill nearly eight months ago. The doctors had no idea what was wrong with him, but they did know that it was contagious. He could not have contact with anybody, including his family and friends... and me. I was imprisoned for about a week, then was set free as I showed no signs of the symptoms. However, the doctors and nurses who had worked on him night and day fell ill, as did his wife and Timothy, his only son. I grieved hard those past few months. There was no way I could accept his death. And now he is dead and I feel some sort of relief, for now he is in a better place. And a relief because he is no longer suffering.
        Last night the secret man... this specter, crawled into my bed again just as I was about to fall asleep. He grabbed a hold of my neck with one hand, and with the other he violently pulled down my sleeping attire and forced his hard prick inside of me. I tried to scream but it was locked in my throat. He pumped deeper and faster and toward the end... I actually started to enjoy it. He came all inside of me then vanished, relieving me of his clenching hold. I finally fell asleep and dreamt. I dreamt of death and blood and of a land that killed dead people; digging up their graves and mutilating the corpses. God, how could this be!

October 21-
        More friends fell ill to this gruesome illness. I decided to leave the house for the day only to be witness of more executions that took place on the withered trees. I could not help but laugh at the irony in that; that perfectly healthy people were dying while sick people, children and mothers and fathers, lay naked in their beds shivering, growing weaker with each day. The horrid thought of death played in my mind for the rest of the day. I could not shake it. It brought me back to the specter. Could he have been the cause of all of this? After all, the townsfolk were perfectly healthy before I found him in my sleep. Could he have been Death himself?
        I held my sore head in my hands until I arrived into town. Ed Johnson greeted me as I stepped off the wagon. He told me about the dead bodies found just at the edge of town. The town marshals and the doctor brought them all to the hospital and later burned them after discovering that they had died from the illness. He had said he wished it were small pox, because then he would feel better knowing what in the hell we were dealing with. I frowned. He feared for his family. He had a beautiful wife and two young daughters who could not be much older than ten.
        The subject changed. He began tell me about his blacksmith business and how he had to work harder just to make ends meat. I wanted to bring up the specter. I wanted to tell him everything that had been happening in the past few days, but I could not. No doubt I would be under suspicion and would most likely end up at the gallows. I suddenly felt ill then... terrified for myself and for this little town of ours.

October 22-
        The specter woke me from my slumber in the early morning. He told me more suspected witches will be hung and burned tomorrow. I couldn’t say a word for a very long time. I watched him leave my room and return with another corpse. I knew this person. She was the wife of Ben Stevens, a deputy marshal. Her body was naked and bloody with dirt and mud caked all over. I closed my eyes, pretending this would all go away. But it did not.
        Once again, I dressed the body, placed it in my wagon and disposed it at the train station. Very little people were there at four-thirty in the morning and most of them were hobos and idiots. I so wanted to see that body buried... in this case reburied because later that day I found out from the specter that it had been unearthed from its grave, but he told me that it was not he who had dug it up- that it was the devil himself who had did it. When I returned home I found the specter in my bed, waiting for me. Of course I didn’t join him. I sat at the kitchen table and poured myself some whiskey. After a few shots he accompanied me. His face was grim as if he had something heavy on his mind. For a demon or ghost I couldn’t imagine what the dead had to worry about. But I asked him anyway. I asked him why he thought the devil was digging up freshly buried bodies. The specter looked at me seriously and replied that Satan had been taking control of these dead bodies and was forcing them out of their graves using their very own strength. But how does a corpse have strength?
        Satan does, he said. Satan has strength. I told the specter it was nonsense, that this community was built for God, by the good the of Christians. The specter looked at me and laughed under his breath. I must have reacted oddly because the specter gave a little jump as if he hadn’t expected it from me, whether it be my facial expression or my lack of fear on the subject of Satan. I asked him why he had laughed. It was mere curiosity you understand. He then said, it is those Christians who deliver Satan onto themselves. That it is their very belief that damns them and ultimately corrupts their souls. He continued, your God gives you life and yet you are not allowed to live it how you see fit without the act of sin. The purpose of your religion is to be humiliated and feel powerless... that is the first tool in brainwashing. Humiliation.
        The specter then looked deep into my eyes and said to me, the Christian man is his own Satan. He only lives on through imagination and fear. He blames all his problems on something else except for the one true source... himself. All of those people dying out there, he said as he pointed toward the door, they’re all dying not because God or Satan wished them to. They are dying because they don’t know how to take care of themselves. That’s why. Is it that hard to take a fucking bath? The God fearing man is evil, he only cares about his own salvation.
        I was silent for a long time. When was the last time I had bathed? I couldn’t remember. But I knew the specter was wrong about my salvation. Most Christian men had always done everything in their power to help others no matter the cost. Though I do admit, at times they get rather intrusive.
        The specter sat down next to me at my own table and said thoughtfully, my point is that Christians are a very naive people. They rely on myth and superstition before fact and the logical. They were raised to believe in the stories of the bible. That Noah’s flood was of the entire world when in actuality it was a flood of a valley. Just a valley. That valley was their known world. Sad, isn’t it when an entire culture is based on a book full of half truths and superstitions- that the end of mankind will be fought during some great battle in the heavens and hells when in fact it will be mankind who will be the blame for your own destruction. Mankind has always relied on an outside source to find answers, when in fact you should be looking in here, he pointed to my heart. In here inside of you is all the wisdom you need. The specter then turned and said, humanity is the greatest thing the universe has ever created and yet you are still fumbling with ideas that have proven to be damning. Christians are devils and your bible is dangerous and should be destroyed.
        The specter then vanished before my sight and suddenly I awoke in front of my kitchen table, in my seat with my hands in my face and a pile of dead bodies lying all around me. Did the specter speak the truth? Have these dead bodies been walking on their own, with their souls trapped in their bodies, evil and damning as that of the devil?

October 25-
        So, it’s the 25th of October. I didn’t see the specter today for I have not seen him since our little talk. There is no doubt this town is cursed, and the specter is damning us all. I think he used to be a man who was once alive... but whether he is dead I do not know. Perhaps he is dead. Does that make him a ghost? What else could he be?

October 26-
        I learned early this morning that twelve dead bodies were found in front of the church. I was appalled. George Vernon, a friend of mine who I met at a town rally a few months ago shared the horrible news. I didn’t know what to say except to express my condolences. But deep inside I felt guilty. I knew what was happening, and yet I was too afraid to do anything about it. I was fearful of my life, now more than ever.
        Later that day I decided to visit the Methodist church. It was there I learned that the bodies found were children, and each of them were missing their eyes. Some of the victim’s parents were there sitting at the pews, crying. God, how do I stop this madness! I’m the only one here who knows what is going on... at least some of it, and I’m powerless in my efforts to really do anything.

October 27-
        I awoke finding the severed heads of the twelve children who were found yesterday. They were all on my bedroom floor covered in blood and vomit. They stank to high heavens and horribly enough that smell had been in my dreams. I had dreamt I was hunting and skinning deer. With this new collection of body parts, given to me by the specter no less, I found myself hesitant to dispose of them. Unlike the other corpses, these were different. They were children. What in the Hell was this specter trying to do? He told me it was Satan who was killing off these towns folk- zombies and ghouls waking from the dead and creeping into my house. And now here are these fleshy heads rotting at my floor. Did they walk in? Float in? It had to be the specter. He is the only one who truly knows what is going on, and I definitely know he is a big part of it all. A much bigger part than I had realized in the past. I feel truly naive in believing his word and his presence. At first I thought he was a part of this problem, but now I do know, in fact, that he is the main factor in the growing curse.
        I hid the heads in the house behind my property until I could ultimately decide what to do with them. Right now, if I were caught with them, for sure I would be arrested and hung. I can’t believe this is all happening. It feels like I’m caught up in some twisted nightmare. There’s been too much death. When will all of this stop?

October 29-
        Well I finally disposed of the children’s heads. Dear God, I worked in law enforcement for eighteen years and have never come across anything so gruesome as this. The Battle of New Orleans was far tamer than what’s been happening in this town. I’ve seen unspeakable diseases, and people and Indians die from small pox. I’ve seen negros hung with their tongues down to their chins and in some instances I’ve seen their heads rip right off from the slack of the rope. I’ve seen women tried and burned as witches, though now a days it’s either done by drowning or hanging. Indeed it is against the law to put a witch on trial and execute them, but the people don’t care. All they really care about is their own freedom despite the consequences. So, perhaps the specter had been right in telling me this- that this town is cursed. Perhaps even the country. I fought in just about every state in the Union and everything seems to be the same. Death. It is everywhere.
        So, again I went to the train station to dispose of the heads. That had been my mistake. Since I had been leaving bodies there all month, I had forgotten that there may have been people lingering about, watching the station for anything out of the ordinary. I went to the tracks beyond the station itself and left the canvass bag filled with rotting heads. Upon my return I happened to glance toward a man reading a paper... but his eyes were on me, watching me hard. I looked away then back again, and he was still staring. I felt my face flush and suddenly panic and guilt had spread throughout my body like a fever. I wanted to run as fast as I could, but I did not. I wasn’t twenty three anymore and the man could have easily overpowered me. I continued to walk back to my wagon and rode off for home. No one followed me, thank God. But I do realize this- that man will go out onto the tracks and search for that bag, and when he will find it my head is going to roll. I plan on leaving tomorrow... if I hear word that the bag has been discovered and guilt is pointed toward me.

October 30-
        I haven’t heard anything as of yet, but I do notice a difference in the towns people’s attitudes. This evening I went down to the church and met up with George Vernon. He looked at me as if he had seen a ghost. I asked him what the matter was, and he replied kindly that it was nothing. I dismissed the awkward moment and continued with my visit. Later that night I knew that something was wrong and I felt a strong urge to return to my home. People responded to me hesitantly, even the priest looked at my hand for a long time before shaking it. It was then when I knew word had gotten out about what I left behind at the train station. But why hadn’t they arrested me yet? Perhaps it was the lack of proof, but that never stopped anybody’s arrest before. Or maybe they were just waiting for the right moment. I had to get out now. I know many towns I could move to.
        When I arrived home, I found my bed full of eyeballs. No doubt they were the children’s...

October 31-
        This morning I went to dispose of the eyeballs. This time I was going to burry them in the property out back, but before leaving I caught sight of a man standing outside my house. I stopped and peered out the window and there I saw more people. The man pointed at me and worded something to the gathering crowd around him. I searched for my wagon and saw that the crowd had disassembled it. I turned around, still wanting to run out back. It was there where I found the specter, sitting in my chair with a smile across his face. I tried to grab him but he just vanished. I didn’t know what to do. I looked at the bag of eyeballs in my hands and cried.
        I dropped the bag to the ground and now here I am, sitting under the window with a growing crowd of angry townsfolk outside my house. Some of them have pistols and have been firing them. The specter had been a part of this all along. He knew what was going to happen, and he damned my soul. So, as I write all of this I am hoping someone will read what I had written, and perhaps remember me... and know that I am innocent. These may be my last words in this journal. What really killed these people in this town of West Salborn wasn’t the devil, or I, or anything supernatural. It was the people themselves. They are the murderers, and they are the curse. I now understand what the specter was trying to tell me all along. If only I had figured it out sooner maybe I would have been able to do something about it. But, now I will most likely be executed. Another damned soul trapped in a damned town. It’s an ever-growing population which will undoubtedly retake what has been stolen. Life.
        Now I have written what I needed to say, and now I am ready to die. I just heard a few men trying to break down my door, and I smell the dry reek of fire from across the house. I have to hide this journal, but not in this house. It won’t be standing for much longer. I just took a quick peek outside my window, which I’m hiding beneath, and saw that the majority of the town is here accompanied by the town’s marshals and the sheriff. They are calling for me to come out, but I won’t. They’ll have to carry me out by force.
        They’re still trying to break the door down. Wait, it is down. I hear men rushing through the house. I see one of them- it’s Ed Johnson, and he is holding a noose.
        Dear Lord, he’s spotted me. Please don’t forget my words. Please don’t ever forget...