[Entries continue - through context and overall lapses in penmanship, it is clear that the author is having trouble sleeping]
Brother,
I am seeing them with more clarity. Worse still… I think they see me too. They were always figures, but my imagination made them anything. Flitting shadows, wolves, birds, even trees every now and again. But they have eyes now. Sometimes a woman's voice, sometimes a man’s, but always with eyes of brightest green. It is unnatural, like magic and hellfire combined, and they no longer look through me Brother. They are looking at me.
And I hear them speak. No longer muffled speech, it is a rhyme. A song maybe? It is alluring… like a siren wanting to drown us while promising a sweet embrace.
“Tell me a story.”
That is what they sing. There is more - I know there is. I can hear it; hear the similar tones. And when I awake, I feel as if I have been strangled. It is cold. In these recent nights, I have awoken to my window open, or occasionally my door.
I took a knife from the kitchen. It is under my pillow now.
Please keep me safe,
Xhoya