A MESSAGE FROM
June 4, 1978
Things took a turn for the weird last night. I got caught up in an epic game of Dungeons and Dragons with Kevin and totally lost track of the time. It was dark when I left, but I only live about a block from his place, so it was no big deal. That was when I saw it. Hunched under the streetlight at the corner of Spindle and Sexton was the creepiest thing I’d ever laid eyes on. It must have known I was there because it stood and turned to me. I swear it was at least eight feet tall. Even though I couldn’t see its face in the shadow of the streetlight, its huge horns were hard to miss. I was seconds away from setting a new land speed record back to Kevin’s when it disappeared into the night. It took a good minute for me to get up enough nerve to walk to where it had been. A pile of bloody bones and fur was all that remained of what must have been its dinner. Looking closer, I noticed the letter Y painted in blood under the pile of nastiness. My heart started racing as I kicked the stuff away and read the bloody message beneath: You really should lock your window.