From the Journal of Dr. Jeffrey Scripter

May 7, 1937
After several weeks of working up the nerve I finally asked Mary’s father for permission to ask for her hand in marriage. Mr. Daugherty took me aside and told me, “Jeff, I’ve been wanting you to ask me this for quite some time now. I would be delighted to have you as my son in law. I know you will treat Mary every bit as well as she deserves.” It was a little more businesslike than I would have liked, I suppose, but all the same I am as happy as I can ever recall being. Once Mary returns from her trip to Boston with her sister Samantha I shall ask her at once.

May 8, 1937
I don’t often write of my official duties in this journal, as I feel it would be unprofessional; however, today has been all too peculiar to leave out. A new patient was admitted today. He is a young man named Douglas Reynolds. Douglas was found wandering the streets of Northbridge barefoot and apparently unresponsive to all attempts of communication. The Northbridge police decided to take Douglas to the station and attempt to discern who he was. When the police tried to take him in, he lashed out screaming. An officer sustained minor injuries before he was ultimately subdued. In his pockets was a wallet containing identification stating his name and his address. Strangely he lived in Charlton, did he walk the 15 or so miles barefoot? In any case what was he doing so far from home? All questions I’ll have to ask him in the morning, I suppose.

May 9, 1937
Mary returns home tomorrow, I simply cannot wait to see her again. I’ve got the ring in its case next to the bed and it seems to be calling out for her as much as I am. I shall await her at the train station, and propose the instant she steps onto the platform. Some may feel it foolish for a doctor to allow his emotions to run so unchecked, but for Mary I’d interrupt the Boston Pops for all to see! The only slight disappointment I have in my heart is that Douglas was unresponsive today. We have also been shipped a chest from Douglas’ home. It appears to have been the only item of psychological interest in his house. Oddly this old chest is covered in shipping labels. It seems that it was a box containing personal effects of Douglas’ father who died in the Great War. It only just recently made its way to Massachusetts after years of mis-shipping. However, all that will have to wait until next Monday as there are things far more important I have planned this week.

May 10, 1937
Mary said yes!

May 12, 1937
I wish I could write of the wonderful weekend I had but what has just transpired today has really shaken me. It must be said or I will explode; Douglas Reynolds is dead. I had decided that first opportunity I had I would visit Douglas and try to speak to him. It was late in the day when I finally found myself without a list of chores to perform. Douglas had been placed in a far cell of the C wing. Reserved for the comatose and catatonic, the wing was dead silent. Although I could have fired a pistol without so much as a stir from the patients I still felt the need to stay hushed.

I reached Douglas’ room and opened the door. I could not believe the sight presented before me. Douglas had somehow relieved himself of his restraints and was standing on his bed frantically thrashing his arms against the walls of his room. The floor and walls were soaked in crimson and dark matter. Spread in wavy swaths some strange symbol like a quadri-peaked star or perhaps a four legged octopus were repeated over and over. Douglas turned to me, his eyes were blood red, his face smeared in bodily fluids. He looked straight at me, his eyes fierce and piercing.

All of a sudden I heard a scream from the hall. Confused and scared I ran out the door into the hall. As I did the screams intensified. Men who had not stirred for years joined the awful cacophony of horrified yells. They screamed and screamed and it felt as if there was no end to them. Surely they must stop to breathe, I thought; surely they would pass out and stop, anything, anything to end the horrid noise that emitted from the once silent cells. As I put my hands to my ears to shut out the choir of pain and terror, Douglas stumbled out of his cell. “He has followed! We are better to be dead! All better to be dead than his!” With that first and final proclamation Douglas fell to the ground dead, and the screams stopped.

I can not describe what it is I feel at this moment after these events. I can only hope and pray that there will be some answers in the chest, because I am in need of answers more now than I have ever been.

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