Journal anthology
I found this journal in an old shed that dates back to the early 1900s. From what I can make out, it seems to belong to a man slowly losing his grip on reality. A few pages mention visits to a doctor, but instead of keeping it to myself, I figured I’d post the entries here and see what other people think.
I’ll admit, reading it last night genuinely unsettled me. The journal was incomplete, and several pages were too damaged to read, but I managed to piece together these two entries. If anybody recognizes the story, the events, or has any idea what this could be about, let me know.
December 13, 1901
My name's Levi levetts I’m from north eastern Michigan, I’m writing in my journal today because a few moments ago I saw something I can’t explain other than it being a figment of my imagination. I immediately went to the physician in town because I didn’t believe what I seen it was probably a 20 min walk to the doctor when I told him what happened he announced
“ you are suffering from delusions and you should write down your accounts in a journal so we might be able to come up with a prognosis to your conditions also take Bernie’s gold dust in 1/2 ounce increments a day to help with any head trauma you may have suffered on that farm of yours Levi.”
I payed .15 cents for my medicine and I was off back to the farm it was mid afternoon by the time I returned home it took a minute on the account of my neighbor’s and I live pretty spaced out and hardly talk to one another so I figured I catch up on everyone else’s winter so far. Something very peculiar caught my attention
“ you know the warners farm down by the mouth of the river pouring into the lake well apparently one of their boys was found dead 2 days ago, my daughters husband works for the sheriff he told my that boy was torn in 2 from shoulder to his pecker poor boy was only 19 and was about to be married to Gerald’s daughter.”
“ they figure out what happened”
“Fraid not Levi they think it was a bear that woke up to eat and that Warner boy got too close to the den or something got the whole woods roped off nobody’s loud in until they kill the bear.”
Hearing this made me think my morning delusion was real, but something like that on two legs no it can’t be.
I made it home to find my barn doors ripped open like a head of lettuce splintered everywhere. I didn't even chance it. I went to the house and grabbed my daddy’s gun.
that old man was built like an ox but he ain’t no match for influenza.
I grabbed some shells and slowly marched to the barn. I could somewhat see in the barn. It was bright enough out I could see through the barn into the woods from the gaps in the siding, nothing was moving and that was worrying for me.
I made my way into the barn didn’t hear nothing and inside all my animals were mauled chunks taken out of them ripped clean in many pieces and their guts strewn in the rafters like what ever happened threw them all about, I immediately ran to the house and prepared to make my way into town to the sheriffs I was scared shaking my morning was seeming all the more real.
I woke up this morning and started the stove to make my morning coffee i collected wood from the entry way to load the fireplace my house is a 10 foot by 30 foot shack in the center of my field and a barn a 100 yards from the edge of the woods it was still a little dark out but I could see the sun about to raise over the tips of the trees but I could make out my dog out in the field walking out from the woods he was a big furry fella I bought him off of one of the local breeders never was a one to remember what breed he was but just wanted some size and company
I’m a widower. My wife died 4 years into our marriage. She was pregnant but we lost the baby at birth and she died from complications. It's been 35 years since and I never had the gull to remarry.
But my dog stopped half way from the woods to the house when I stared at him to see what he was doing. He stretched I think his back lifted up at least I thought he was until he kept lifting it and was resting on to feet his form slimmer and tall, it was wrong all wrong his everything that wasn’t my dog that thing wasn’t real but I remember it now the same thing standing in the same spot it is now those gold hollow eyes burning through my body it’s hunger dripping from its malformed jaw.
December 15, 1901
The night after I came home from town was terrifying. I have no words for what I have been through other than, leave.
That thing was there I could feel it staring at me, even as I write in my journal I can feel it like ice down my back it was horrifying.
I stayed in the house with the windows boarded up.
“Why me?”
It scraped around the door frame that night. It later banged something against the walls shaking the house with each thud.
I did the only thing I could think of. This is not normal, just unholy. I grabbed my wife’s book and read from the pages when something stirred outside. I read louder until it stopped though this happened on several occasions this was the only thing holding my sanity together.
I awoke that morning with only a few, maybe less hours of sleep.
I knew it was gone for now.
I stalked around my home peering out from window to window to make sure it was clear out which it was the sun shooting down from the heavens in all its glorious glow.
“God is great”
I rustled up some food and coffee. I had little to eat at this point so I rationed out my food. My stock was dead and the only thing keeping me from town is that beast.
“I’m hungry now so hungry”
I left my home and made a point to look around to check for any damage.
Around the door the frame was chewed and scrapped down to the base of its nails. It surely will come tonight.
Nearly everything else was clean. No signs of damage.
I came around to the side of the cabin and I noticed a divot going under the side of the porch I slowly walked up and knelt down when I heard it like a dog sighing I immediately jumped up and ran into the house
“Is it under the house?”
I dropped to the floor on my hands and knees walking around trying to hear it. Which I indeed heard.
A low grumble growl like it was snoring. I couldn't believe it, it was underneath my house.
I placed my barrel of the gun to the floor boards where it was the loudest.
Thunder rattled through the house and I dropped to my ass.
Nothing, not a sound.
“Thank you lord.”
I wish that was the end. That I rummaged under the house and pulled the giant mutt from under it, skinned it, and ate it.
How wrong was I.
A deep low howl, almost a growl brought up with intensity, painful and full of rage. I heard pounding and scratching. The beast banged and scratched at the door.
I was so afraid even as I wrote this.
And then I heard a voice I think. familiar but all to foreign.
It spoke a single word, but animals don’t speak.
like a beast not in mortal tongues.
“Kill”
I was shocked to learn that no one had bought this property in over sixty years. Later, I found out the previous owners had died here. Folks say it was from natural causes, but I managed to get ahold of a police report from the old owner’s son, and according to the doctor who performed the autopsy — and these are his exact words
“No signs of heart attack or abnormalities within the brain. As impossible as it may seem, all evidence points to death by fright.”
I don’t know whether any of this is true, but does anybody remember that song called The Legend of ‘97?
Because if the lyrics in that song, this autopsy report, and the accounts written in this journal all connect the way I think they do… then the Dogman is real.