Forgotten Offerings

Day One in our New Home

After a couple hours of unpacking all of our necesities, and my sweetheart's junk, I've finally been able to get a moment to write in this old thing. Two weeks, it's been since I've had an entry written down! It's good to keep to this routine, look back a couple dozen pages and see the man I used to be. So much can change in just a couple pages, or two weeks, in our case. As much as I hate to admit it, without the kids around, it seems kind of peaceful! Who knows, I may actually like this change of pace! Plus, without all of the extra space, it does ease my panic on if I left a candle aflame halfway across that home. Still, it looks as if life in the Old Cree Forest is quite worth it. I can really see us settling down here, permanently.

Although, this place is much more, quirky, than our realtor brought it out to be. Before we began decorating, we had to take down these awful paintings. Apparently, the former owner was a painter. Not too sure how they made money, they were dreadful! How could they make such a beautiful treeline look like a hellscape? Nevertheless, we had gotten rid of them, and brought out the finer art we got fited. The previous owner of this cabin must've been a pig too. Judging by what we saw on the balcony. I understand that Lydgartha's religions have not had the greatest record, but horns of dead animals, miniature statues, and what I can hope to be a replica skull. It just gives me the creeps. That is all. But, enough on that, there is so much more to this home! I think tomorrow will be when I go out there for the first time. Out in that forest. Some of the locals told me of a trail, whilst we were travelling up here. If the weather permits it, and my back decides to not be a pain in my ass, quite literally, then I'll have a small wander. It can't hurt at all, now can it?

Day Two in our New Home

It must've been windy last night, I kept hearing creaking from the walls, you'd expect a cabin to hold together a little better. Writing this from the balcony, I think I could work on my next books from here. A view of a forest could be the inspiration I've been waiting for to hit it big! There is just something quite magical about this place. Well, mystical may be a better word. Regardless, I'm drawn to what's in there, but I feel as if I need to keep a watch on this home. The Mrs wants to clear out some more of the cellar, it seems quite dark though. Best to do that once we find a big enough lantern to bring with us. Those trinkets, though, they disappeared from last night. Must've been the wind, if it caused the house to creak then there's no denying that it could blow away some junk that the former owner forgot to take with them. But, I do think I'll be sending a complaint into the folks that sold us this place. They said, and I quote; "this home is spotless," and, as I can see, there are bits missing out of the safety rail on this balcony. Not our fault, we've barely been out there.

I thought I'd finish this at night, since I last wrote in here, my love and I have seen that the creaking from the walls had on the opposite side, not the wilds, but just another room. Still no sign of those trinkets outside, but they aren't important at all. The window's must've been left open for who knows how long! I felt shivers go down my spine when I went in there, brought me back to wintertime by the peaks. Personally, even if it wasn't wind, maybe there are rats inside our walls. If they keep going, after the window's closed, I'll call in a ratcatcher, or two. They're bound to fix this place up.

Day Four in our New Home

I spent all of yesterday waiting for the ratcatchers to arrive, yet they never did. Had no time to write in here whilst waiting. The Mrs said they'd be coming the forestway, which surprised me. Spent all day on the balcony, there was certainly less scratch marks before, or am I having superstitions? It could be rats, yet no rat can make such a large mark upon wood. Not in just a single night, at least. It hasn't grown since those things went missing, and the creaking only got louder. One thing that's mildly irritated me though, is that my Mrs says she isn't a sleeptalker. But, I am not hearing things! I'm trying to convince her that she was talking about the rats. There's only two of us here, and if I heard somebody talk about rats, then it must be her. Regardless, I came up with a solution this morning. Mousetraps! They'd work on rats, the only difference between the two is the name, I think. Either way it has to work. I put a few beneath the floorboards in that room, and by the time I check tomorrow, that scratching from inside will be gone. I'll be certain of it.

I couldn't get out there again, but there's bound to be unkept wonders for me to discover in there. The people in the village don't talk about Old Cree too much. Either they can't be bothered to go exploring in there, or they already have, and there's nothing astonishing in there. I want it to be the former. There can be, lets say, a magical sword in there. Or an old druid's circle. Something old, ancient even. Forgotten by the previous societies here. The customs, cultures, and expectations, probably so alien and taboo to our own, it makes my head spin with all of the possibilities. I want to explore every part of it. No, I need to. This feeling grows stronger and stronger the more I peer into Old Cree's treeline. Which reminds me, I should probably be sleeping soon. The traps have been set, and I think I'll sleep like a baby tonight.

Day Five in our New Home

The creaking didn't stop. This morning I had checked the room instantaneously, before I showered, or even had a meal. I must've forgotten to put the floorboard back on, but the traps went off! I heard one snap just as I went to the door. Although, I started writing before I checked. The traps went off, most definitely, I heard them! What else could trigger them, but not get caught? I prepared them just as the manual said, and this morning it seems that the air itself has set them off. Believe me, I'm going to give a word to that merchant the next time we're back where we used to live. Conmen are the worst, I'll have a look down there tomorrow for the rats. Those pest control people still haven't arrived. I've found myself waiting by the door, or on the balcony, looking out there. Bound to come around whenever I am not up there, knowing my luck. The Mrs thinks I can be the unluckiest guy in the whole world, but then I remember I'm with her, and all that unluckiness just... goes away.

Apologies for the shorter entry tonight. My interest in writing has just faded from me today. No idea why. Please excuse a lack of a sixth entry. I will be skipping it in favour of finding out what's out there. I have spent enough time couped up in my new home, no point on it if I'll spend my later years doing absolutely nothing. Goodbye for now. I hope that the next time I write in this, I have the answers I've sought over this last week.

Day Eight in our Home

I found the rats. I'm only writing this now to show proof that this home is not as it was advertised to us as. What could do such a thing? No trap, manmade or natural, could have this happen. Torn apart, strewn across the walls, blood soaked on the glass panes opposite to where I stand now. The people before, they said a crazy artist must've lived here. Luckily I brought my old hunting knife from the old home, I'll find him. He has one warning to get out or else. I cannot believe I am feeling sympathy to the rats. There's blood everywhere. Took me two hours to clean it all up, but the Mrs has no need to know. I can't keep her worrying. That's why I am writing this now. She's asleep, in our bedroom, safe. No longer can I go out there to find wonder and tranquility. I will find the bastard doing this to us.

Each time I take a break to catch my breath, I am writing in this very journal. I think he's close. About two kilometres away from home, this thick fog makes it so I need to write with my eyes to the paper. Inches apart. No sign of anybody else. But, I feel as if a lingering spectre of a hand is behind me, trailing my every movement. A mimicking geist, one that finds me amusing, somewhat. I swear, these trees were not as frightening as they appeared to be back at the home. This place freaks me out now. If I can convince the Mrs to let us go away, I will.

I don't know what happened. I'm back home and I believe that sleep is an impossible dream for me this night.

Day Ten in this House

Apologies for a lack of, lets say clarity, last night. It's tough to describe just what happened last night. One minute I could've told you all about the day and beyond that, and when my consciousness returned, it just seemed... off. I saw things, things I could not even imagine for writing. The trees, they, they must've been watching. Those pest exterminators, the ones we called for. The ones I waited for. I found them, I found what's left of them, at least. Just rags, and bones. Knives exposed, wounded with what I assume to be blood. Nothing could've drained them of their nutrition as well as they did. I mean their bodies, not nutrition. I haven't the faintest idea on why I called it that. Regardless, that would still not be the worst thing I saw in that damned forest. The tree, a big one. It blinked. I saw it stare me down, and it blinked. Like no other bloody thing I've seen in my life. I cannot believe it to be true. It was a contortion of what's right and what is wrong, something between the two, bordering on either end and yet still being so abstract. It pains me to know that I cannot say more on what that thing was. Yet I still call myself a writer! 

This Mrs cannot know. She already worries too much and to hurt her with what I've seen would be wrong. I should just tell her to go visit the kids, as they are probably worried sick due to the lack of a message from either one of us. That's exactly what I should do. Then I'll find that thing out there, and make it pay for what it's done. Those two strangers, whilst I may not know them, I know of their struggles and yearns for vengeance. The squeaking came back as I am writing this. If they persist tomorrow, then I will find them as they cry out whatever they are saying to me. That must be it. That squeaking was not rats, but whatever I saw. Answers will be found or they will never be sought for again. 

Day Fourteen, Here 

I managed to convince her to go on the Eleventh day. I stayed back, this is something I need to figure out on my own. The trinkets, I keep finding them whenever I search for it. That monster, the crazed madman that once lived here, I believe him to have possibly worshipped that being. Those trinkets of before, they resemble the etchings of a madman, onto those upon the glades out there. On my searches, I have founding scribes in a language I cannot even identify. Symbols, so ancient in nature, possibly forgotten. Burning me to my core, this could've been so, so much better for me. But now, I am staring down a human skull tucked underneath a floorboard in that same room. Swearing on my wife, that was not there, it never was. Moss where a brain should rest, this thing, a parasite, is what scares me the most. 

It's outside. 

I see it clearly, long claws upon the balcony, making more of those marks. Vines and branches are hitting the roof, from it's back. My back is to the window opposite to me, but I feel it watching. It's body reminds me of my view. That's why I was so drawn to it, wasn't it? No due to the wonders and strangeness of such a beautiful forest, but because it has seen a strange being where it shouldn't be. I wasn't staring into forgotten lands, but this beast was staring at forgotten offerings. I pray for my Wife's safety, and if worship is how I'll survive, then so be it. The door's opening, I think it, no, he is inside. Please, if any divine being could shed their embrace to me before my time is up.

Praise Him. 

Praise Him. 

Praise Him. 

Praise Him.