The Snipe

[The following is a record of journal entries found at the recovery scene of C-2, a cabin in the forest near the town of Salem.. The cabin’s interior had sustained heavy damage, and there was no trace of the journal author.]

[earlier journal entries deleted for brevity]

1/12/18: I’ve always known the stories in this town. Weird holes, disappearing pets, even a missing kid. Now that I’ve been a idiot and got myself stuck out here for a week with no car or contact to civilization on a dare, those tall tales seem a lot more believable. Damn forest is scary as hell at night. Lot of food here at the cabin at least, so I won’t starve to death. Would serve my stupid friends right if I did, though.

1/12/18: Day two of this stupid cabin. Some raccoon or whatever got into the trash can last night. Made a hell of a racket and mess, but was gone when I stumbled outside with a shovel. Little bastard. Now I’m tired as hell because I couldn’t get back to sleep. Wish this place got reception.

1/12/18: Fuckin’ racoon again. He somehow got into the kitchen, through the window, I think.  Trashed the place, and somehow was gone again before I got there. Looks like I have to lock everything tonight or else I have to clean up the damn place for the third time.

1/12/18: OKAY, WHAT THE HELL. Little shit got in through the chimney this time and tracked ash and crap everywhere before raiding my fridge again. How the fuck does a racoon scale a sheer 15 feet up to the roof? Pawprints are everywhere, too, the floor, the walls, the goddamn ceiling. Did he bring his whole damn neighborhood? Christ. Got a plan for him this tonight, though, an old hunter trick. Put a shiny thing in a hole, and make it so you can’t pull your hand back out holding it. Raccoons are stubborn, greedy little suckers and will never let go. Gonna get this furry bastard.

1/12/18: Oh god. Oh god oh god. That wasn’t a racoon. Whatever the hell it was, it’s not a racoon. I woke up to this absolutely unholy shrieking noise, like someone had scraped a rusty nail along metal. Grabbed the shovel and ran out there ready to beat the shit out of this raccoon. Then I opened the door and the thing was washed in the light of the house.

It had a fat bulbous body, like a spider, covered in these thick sparse hairs. A long, long, thin snout, longer than its body, with cartoonishly jagged teeth in a wicked permanent grin, that twisted and squirmed and moved like it was a living thing in itself. A long rat tail trailed out behind it. And the arms, it had tons of them, they extended and twisted and bent and melded back into its body and formed again. It looked at me, with that eyeless face,  screamed again, and tore away into the brush with a ripping noise, leaving the trapped arm still in the hole. The arm’s in a box in the living room, still holding that spoon. Fuck. I need to get out of here. It’s gonna come back. I know it.

[the following page appeared to be hastily scribbled and mostly unreadable]

SHIT IT’S BAC                                     WO ’T STop SHRIe ING

ARMS SO MAnY Ar

FUCK

     IT KE Ps YElLING                                   SNIPE SNIPE SNIPE SNIPE