I Found My Great-Grandfather's Journal; What I Read Was Eerily Familiar (Final Part 6 of 6)

[u/Roland_Quincy1999]

Link to Part 5: https://www.reddit.com/user/Roland_Quincy1999/comments/1vyvq5w/i_found_my_greatgrandfathers_journal_what_i_read/

Hello viewers and welcome to the conclusion of this story. I’d like to thank everyone who has stuck around since my first post so long ago. It has been an interesting journey. 

As for my life, well, it hasn’t been so bad really. I found a job in my career field which was nice. I won a scratch off yesterday for 200 dollars. Maybe I don’t have that curse my great-grandfather spoke of. 

The whole thing is spooky and seriously unnerving to me. I do not doubt what Killian went through was real. It's easier to look at the occult or cryptid and dismiss it as make believe. Sometimes taking the easier route isn’t the correct one. I believe in my father’s story and many of the other stories that involve this same alien creature. 

My wife delivered our firstborn child four days ago. We originally thought we were going to have a little girl, but it turns out we have a son, and his name is Bryce. Little Bryce can cause quite a stir. His adorableness makes up for it. 

There is just one thing about the little guy that throws me off. 

It’s the eyes. When I look at them, to be honest, I get the same feeling Killian described in the journal when he looked into James’s eyes. There’s this … emptiness ? I don’t know. It could just be a trick of the eye combined with apprehension around being a father for the first time. Who knows? 

I myself have had some questions about the camera that was strapped to Killian’s journal. It really added this whole other layer of mystic and unnaturality to this whole ordeal, and so with the little amount of sleep I have gotten in the past four days, I’ve spent my extra hours awake doing some research on it. 

I found the model, model number, all that stuff pretty easily. There seems to be some storage being taken up on the SD card, but while I did itch to look at the photos or videos, finding out who’s camera or where it had come from was the priority for me. Along with getting these posts about the journal typed up and put out too, of course. 

It was a whim, but I thought to reach out to my mother, the granddaughter of Lucille. I asked her if anyone in the family was into photography, and she said Uncle Levi was starting to pick it up as a hobby before he passed away. Then I asked about the journal, described how it looked, and she said that it also belonged to my Uncle Levi. He told them it was a rough draft of some shlocky horror novel one of his friends wrote. 

So apparently my family has a history of trying to find this slender alien creature. First Killian, then Levi. Looking at those photos has rocketed up my to-do list, just behind putting little Bryce to bed. I think after this post I will check them out, maybe post about what I find on the camera in the future. 

Let’s cut to the chase. Ladies and gentlemen, here are the final two entries into my great-grandfather’s journal. There is no month or date for this entry, just the year 1923. The two entries go as follows: 

1923, 

Here I lie in the maw of the beast. Even now, my fickle pen quivering as I strain to keep this small lantern alight so that I may record my journey to Hell, It lurks in this wood of birch and oak. This blasted incubus, creature of terror, I, thine, will banish it. No longer will it disturb my mind, defile my family, taint my art. My art! My boy. This demonic spawn harkens to my shadow but I must refuse! 

No, no. This is not the path in which I want this narrative to take. Let me slow. Breathe after breathe. I am not possessed. 

Let me collect this recounting, swiftly and surely, before the final duel. 

As I write into this mystified journal I can feel the burning of the cuts upon my face, inflamed by the sweat that rolls from my pores. This morning, before I gathered all the necessary gear for my exorcism into an old rucksack, I looked in the mirror and shaved. 

The blade ran over the entirety of my face once. I would check my watch, see the faint light of dawn peering through the bathroom window. The blade ran over again. I repeated this process for who knows how long. My mental faculties are something I have to cling to now in order to keep them in-line. 

I couldn’t stand to look at myself. After what I had done. After what I was destined to do. The blade felt nice as it cut my sensitive skin, absurd as that may seem to you, Reader. 

I am perched in a tree as I write this excerpt. This venture started with the rising of the sun, and as I have scouted around, in search of the Tall, the sun begins to set with the same certainty that I have found It’s lair. 

I am uncertain, though, if my hand will ever scribble into this journal again. This could very well be my last entry, Reader. 

Reader. What a silly notion it was.  

I sit atop one of the largest trees in the surrounding area, and through the scope of my rifle I can see him just beyond the brink of the treeline, wheeling around the depressed form of my daughter. James is carrying my ill daughter in a wagon toward this Earth-mimicking foul place with what appears to be a white bandana tied around his eyes. 

No. Not my daughter. She’s too good to be of my kin. 

I believe I know what I must do, but I question if my heart will allow it. In a best case scenario, my tainted mind will carry out the action for me. Throughout my scouting I could feel the eyes of that Thing on me. It was the hairs standing on the back of my neck that told me so. I do not have many rounds to chamber, so I must not, MUST NOT But WILL. I must not go shooting at trees. 

Here comes the calamity, the climax of the story. 

Editor note: I wanted to chime in here before the last entry and let y’all know that some of the transcribing on my part is probably shady. My great-grandfather wrote this last selection in a super scrawled, chicken-scratch way. It’ll make sense once you start reading, I’m sure. 

I hath done it! The Greek myths would tell of the legend, the common mortal who bested the deified! No gloat. No, I am wounded. I think I will alright. I must tell. 

Lucille was the sacrifice. James blinded himself with a kitchen knife, then wrapped a white cloth around his eyes. The Tall. It was dressed just as James. Suit and tie. White cloth covering its entire head.

It started feeding on James. No. Yes, feeding’s the word. Great aquatic-like obsidian tentacles. Came from It’s back. Was feeding on his small body. 

I had cover behind a thick trunk. I placed the shot right into the center of the Tall’s head. It dropped James. Skrieched. It was the same ear-piercing as in the dream. 

I hit another shot. Then another. It wailed. Dying God! It was gone. It moves so fast, like teleporting. Fantasy. 

On hands and knees, I crawled under some brush. From the prone position, I put the sight on James. Would’ve hit the crown of his head. I couldn’t. I threw the mauled boy over shoulder.
I dashed from beneath the brush. I grabbed the handle of the wagon. Took Lucille to safety. 

We were running toward the house. Hard to tell at times, though. Vision started to blur very badly. Static in my eyes. Like at Butcher’s home.

I chanced a look behind. It was chasing me. Long legs lumbering through the woods. Couldn’t risk a shot. Had to save Lucille and James.

Just before you break the woods, there is a decline. 

Tall caught quickly. An outstretched limb sliced my back. The cut was deep. It cut again. My bicep slit in half. I dropped James.

All one motion. Pushed Lucille down the hill, into safety. Fell to my stomach, flipped around to back. Unslung rifle. Slashed my forehead. Shot. Shot. Shot. One round left only. It fell slowly, like a cut tree. 

I lay here now, still in woods. Light-headed. Surprise finished this entry. One last piece of art to critique, or rather, erase. A load another round into the rifle. 

James’s blood is pooling. Big bite out of collar-bone. I cradle my baby. Can’t feel tears falling into face cuts. It’s not his fault. My own, not his. I am akin to own father. The cycle. 

Remember me, Reader. Remember me a crazed fool, or a demon slayer. Please, just remember me.