[Transcript of a journal found by a hiker, [REDACTED], in [REDACTED] National Park.]
6/4/21:
Today the six of us arrived at [REDACTED] and hiked the trail to the campground. It was a brisk and invigorating hike that left us with plenty of time and energy to set up our camps, as well as dinner. It wasn’t all good, though: I was hoping to do some birdwatching, and yet didn’t see a single bird. Didn’t even hear one all day–what gives? Oh, well; there’s always tomorrow.
[Italicized to show that this is written in a different hand:] There’s no such thing as the Fleshgait, of course. It’s an invention of the internet, like Slenderman or the Rake–even the name came about because it was decided that it would be offensive to continue calling this hybrid monster a skinwalker (get it?) or wendigo.
6/5/21:
Who wrote that? [arrow pointing at the above] I asked my six companions and they all denied it. I don’t even get the point of the prank. Or when anyone would have time to do it, for that matter.
But I get ahead of myself. We left the designated campground and hiked deeper into the woods. Found signs of a previous camp site and decided to make it our own. Decided to write our progress down and that’s when I discovered that someone had vandalized my journal. Real mature, guys! I asked what a “Fleshgait” even was, and no one claimed to have any idea. Dave vaguely remembered having heard about it on the internet, but couldn’t remember any details.
Still no birds or birdsong.
But the method of its creation was unique; unlike Slenderman and the Rake, it has no individual author. It was a collaborative effort; people from all over the world looked at three monsters from the myths of completely unrelated cultures–skinwalker, wendigo, goatman–and decided, based on some instinct or intuition far deeper than the logical workings of the conscious mind, that there was a connection here. They gathered the traits of each they collectively found most disturbing and pooled them into a single creature.
6/6/21:
Okay, that [arrow pointing up] is actually kind of impressive; I could have sworn I guarded my pack like a hawk all day. Still don’t know what the point is.
Anyway:
The six of us came across the most picturesque babbling brook today! It was the quaintest thing you ever did see–like something out of a picture book–and decided to fill our canteens; we have iodine.
Seriously, are there even birds in this forest?
Could it be that there’s a REASON the closest thing we have to a collective will of humanity found these particular traits to be the most disturbing ones to give to a humanoid, human-hunting monster? Some genetic memory, perhaps?
6/7/21:
Accidentally opened this journal in the morning and noticed that the above was already here–ah, so you’re doing it while I sleep! I don’t care enough to stay up all night in order to stop you, so fine, have your fun.
--Later–
We came upon a split in the trail today, one branch going north and one going south. By a 2:1 vote (Mike and I abstained) we went south. Still no birds.
That would be ridiculous, of course; where is the evidence in the fossil record? How did such creatures go extinct? How WOULD something with the powers of the Fleshgait go extinct, even? How indeed.
6/8/21:
Exhausted. Today’s hiking was more taxing than usual. I’m beginning to wonder why we brought so much equipment for just four people.
But if a monster ever DID exist who could alter the memories of those it meets, who’s to say it ever went extinct in the first place?
6/9/21:
What the hell? What is this nonsense? I decided to look this journal over again, since we’ve been out here for nearly a week and–I understand how, if not why, someone would add to my notes, but not how they’d go back and change them. 6 people? 7? 6 again? 5? 4? Who the hell are Mike and Dave? There’s three of us. There’s only ever been three of us–me, Brian, James. It’s not like they just erased what I wrote and wrote over it, either–there’d be signs of that, and besides, this is all in my hand, monologuing about the Fleshgait notwithstanding. So yes, this escalation of the prank is genuinely disturbing–are you happy now??? Piss off.
--Later–
How DID three people manage to port all this stuff into the middle of the woods, anyway?
The idea that the world is small in the modern age, that it has been completely mapped, rests upon a single underlying assumption: that if, say, bigfoot existed, someone would eventually SEE it–and that someone would SAY something. Information–evidence–would be gathered, and it would eventually be smoked out.
6/10/21:
It’s over. The monster has toyed with me for a week, but it’s over. Now that there were only two of us left, it let its guard down. It let me remember the others–to toy with me, or perhaps it was exhausted. Either way, I saw how we’d been picked off one by one, and I bashed its head in with a rock. The monster, which had inserted itself into my memories as my good friend James, is dead.
This doesn’t really hold when information is the predator’s weapon, does it? When the monster is perfectly evolved to use your own mind against you?
6/10/21:
It’s over. The monster has toyed with me for a week, but it’s over. Now that there were only two of us left, it let its guard down. It let me remember the others–to toy with me, or perhaps it was exhausted. Either way, I saw how we’d been picked off one by one, and I bashed its head in with a rock. The monster, which had inserted itself into my memories as my good friend Brian, is dead.
But why would such creatures live in the wilderness, if humanity is their prey?
6/10/21:
It’s over. The monster has toyed with me for a week, but it’s over. Now that there were only two of us left, it let its guard down. It let me remember the others–to toy with me, or perhaps it was exhausted. Either way, I saw how we’d been picked off one by one, and I bashed its head in with a rock. The monster, which had inserted itself into my memories as my good friend Mike, is dead.
The territory of any species–lions, antelopes, elephants–has margins, where that animal can only just barely survive, where the least fit among them are exiled: the weakest, the stupidest…the ones least able to camouflage themselves.
6/10/21:
It’s over. The monster has toyed with me for a week, but it’s over. Now that there were only two of us left, it let its guard down. It let me remember the others–to toy with me, or perhaps it was exhausted. Either way, I saw how we’d been picked off one by one, and I bashed its head in with a rock. The monster, which had inserted itself into my memories as my good friend Dave, is dead.
Or since we’re talking about an intelligent animal, perhaps the least WILLING to do so; the ones who most like to toy with their prey before going in for the kill. The sadists.
6/10/21:
It’s over. The monster has toyed with me for a week, but it’s over. Now that there were only two of us left, it let its guard down. It let me remember the others–to toy with me, or perhaps it was exhausted. Either way, I saw how we’d been picked off one by one, and I bashed its head in with a rock. The monster, which had inserted itself into my memories as my good friend John, is dead.
Even if you escape ME, you’ll never escape US.
6/15/21, or at least that’s what I assume by counting the previous entries:
I’m never escaping it, am I? Not that I particularly WANT to live, after what I have apparently done. Weighing the pros and cons of ending myself.
--Later–
Heard birdsong for the first time on this entire accursed trip, as I sit upon this ledge. Don’t know if that means anything. Too little, too late. It has won. What life have I to return to, after killing five men? Goodbye, world.