“Deep in a forest, nearly three hundred miles from any trace of human civilization, a solitary figure finds themselves ensnared in the heart of a dark, oppressive wilderness. The trees, ancient and gnarled , rise like towering sentinels, their thick canopies so dense that only fleeting glimpses of the stars can pierce through the foliage. The forest is a labyrinth of shadows, the towering trunks arching over like a suffocating embrace, creating a sense of claustrophobic confinement… Everywhere the eye wanders, the vegetation is a wild tangle of brambles, vines, and underbrush, leaving only a narrow, treacherous path visible through the tangled thicket. This path, barely discernible, winds through the forest like a forgotten artery, choked with thorny vines and dense foliage that seem to encroach upon it with each step. The night here is not merely dark but a living, breathing entity. There are no artificial lights too pierce the gloom— no street lamps, no distant glows of civilization. Only the flickering, uncertain light of a wooden torch, and a small, struggling campfire offer a fragile semblance of illumination. The flames cast long, flickering shadows that dance and waver, distorting the forest into a shifting tapestry of fear. An oppressive silence hangs heavy in the air, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of the fire or the rustle of unseen creatures in the undergrowth. The sensation of being watched is inescapable, palpable, and a chilling awareness that eyes— whether real or imagined— are observing from the darkness. The forest seems to breathe around the individual, each sound and movement amplifying the sense of dread that clings to the night like a shroud…”

Monday, November 9, 2043

“Hello, if you find this journal… I hope it serves someone well. If you’ve found it, then I’m likely no longer alive... You might wonder how I ended up here, alone in this forest, miles from civilization. The truth is, I grew weary of society. Being an idealist, I sought an escape from the world as it is. So I ventured out here, all by myself. I did plan ahead; I brought supplies and even a journal where I detail survival tips I found online. ‘How to make a Celt Axe from wood and stone’, and other similar techniques. If you’ve found this journal, you’ve probably come across that one as well.”

“I’m torn about whether I should continue writing. It’s so dark, so lonely out here. I feel exposed, as if something is constantly stalking me. It’s ironic, really, considering humans are among the top predators on this planet. In some ways, I’d rather face a mountain lion than another person. Yet, there are times I think I’d prefer to confront a human because at least I understand their behavior. A mountain lion, a wolf, or even a bear, though— creatures I haven’t studied as thoroughly as I should have. Out here, they’re my greatest concern. The darkness makes them seem like they could pounce at any moment.”

“What’s even more terrifying than the threat of a predator is the oppressive darkness surrounding me. It’s not just that I’m trapped far from help in the middle of a forest at night. It’s the realization that I am the only source of light in this vast, engulfing blackness. Making me an easy target, standing out like a sore thumb. The darkness feels almost alive, like a sentient entity closing in on me. The trees seem to watch with a predatory glint, and the forest itself feels unnervingly sentient. It’s a creeping, unsettling sensation that I can’t quite shake…”

“And you know, while I may not have had a full-blown phobia of the dark as a child, I definitely held a deep respect for it. Back then, even being alone in my room at night filled me with a sense of unease. Night lights were a luxury I couldn’t really afford, so I learned to navigate the darkness and deal with the growing discomfort it brought. Even within the supposed safety of my home, the dark seemed to harbor unseen threats, as if something— or someone— was lurking, just out of sight, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.”

“This fear followed me into adulthood. As a single person without close companions or a significant other, the sense of being watched persisted, even in broad daylight with all the lights on. It was a constant, unsettling presence, a fear that I was never truly alone. My interest in the paranormal and fiction only fueled this anxiety. I used to write about these fears, transforming my reality into morbid tales that a small niche of readers enjoyed. But now, out here, it’s so... different.”

“Few will ever read these words in my journal, but those who do… will face something far beyond mere fiction. The terror I’m experiencing now is unlike anything I’ve written about. Even as I write this, I—”

Snap.

“I just heard a twig break nearby. I need to prepare myself. I’ll write more later…”

After what feels like hours the writer finally musters the courage to settle back down and try to relax… Maybe writing their thoughts in their journal can soothe the anxiety creeping in…

“Sorry about that. As I mentioned earlier, I heard a twig snap behind me. I’m still on edge, although it seems like hours have passed since that sound was made. I didn’t see or hear anything else, but I’ve put out my fire and torch, and retreated to my tent. It’s oddly ironic how the very things meant to offer comfort can also expose us to our deepest fears. The contrast between safety and vulnerability is striking.”

“I find it fascinating how time plays tricks on us. When you’re immersed in something enjoyable or engaging, time seems to fly by. But in moments of stillness and solitude, where your mind has little to focus on, it drags on interminably. It feels like every second is a slow trickle of agony. I glanced through the tree canopy, and it’s as if the moon hasn’t moved at all, mocking my fear and discomfort. It’s almost as if time itself is reveling in my dread.”

“Even though humans can be frustrating at times, I’m beginning to think that dealing with them is easier than the relentless isolation of the wilderness. This loneliness is oppressive, and writing is the only outlet I have to release some of this pent-up anxiety.”

“But, I must rest. I can’t stay up writing all night. I have important tasks ahead— making a shelter, finding food and water. I need to keep moving and stay adaptable though. Being stationary is not a viable long-term solution. I’m considering adopting a nomadic approach, perhaps something akin to the way some Native American tribes lived. It shouldn’t be too difficult to construct a basic shelter, like a tipi— right?”

Tuesday, November 10, 2043

“Good morning. It’s daybreak, and I already feel a bit more at ease. The sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting a soft, reassuring light that makes everything seem more manageable. The chill in the air is brisk, but it’s a welcome change from the oppressive darkness of last night.”

“My first priority today is to find a reliable water source. From my research, I know how crucial water is for my survival. Without it, my time here would be incredibly short-lived. Fortunately, I discovered a pond during my hike out here, it’s just south of my little camp. It’s about fifty paces in that direction. While pond water isn’t the most ideal, it’s better than nothing. I’m not taking any chances with my survival. To ensure I don’t get lost, I’m using a breadcrumb technique. I’ve set up hand-made markers along my path— simple torches wrapped in white cloth. They aren’t lit, but they should stand out enough to guide me back if I need to retrace my steps. I have a compass, but I prefer not to rely solely on it.”

“I’ve got a long day ahead, and I’ll update this journal once I’ve secured some water. For now, I need to focus on the task at hand.”

As the writer presses on, our writer slowly but surely finds his path to the pond, ensuring to quickly and efficiently mark the path as to not get lost.

“Alright, so I found the pond and made a clear trail back to it. I brought my water container and a metal pot— one of the few luxuries I allowed myself for this very purpose. Pond water isn’t exactly clean, so I plan to purify it by boiling, then cooling it with some snow, before pouring it into my hiking canteen.”

“One thing I’ve noticed about this pond, and it’s quite unsettling, is its unusual depth. I’ve never encountered a pond this deep in my entire life. The water near the edge is clear, but there’s a steep drop-off probably about ten feet from the shore, that plunges into the dark of the ponds depths. It’s incredibly cold water, and the depth is both fascinating and terrifying. The fact that the water remains so dark and unfathomable makes me dread the thought of falling in. I’m not much of a swimmer, and this makes me wish I’d taken some swimming lessons before venturing out here. Though I could never have foreseen the need to learn swimming, in a mountainous forest.”

“As I write this, my water is boiling over a second campfire that I built near the pond, nestled in some dirt to shield it from the wind. Though the wind isn’t particularly harsh at the moment… The approaching winter brings a high risk of blizzards, and I’m not taking any chances with Mother Nature. Nature can be both breathtakingly beautiful as it is terrifyingly horrid in its own right.”

“I’ll conclude this entry for now, but I can’t shake the feeling that something might be lurking in that pond. The thought is both chilling and intriguing. Until next time…”

Wonder how deep the pond is? Wonder if anything is in there? Could our… friend, fall in? We’ll see soon enough...