Journal Entry 10 - October 6th, 1892
The Hunter’s Moon hangs in the smokey heavens tonight, yellow and gleaming. It reminds me of the evening many years ago when I lost my way within the soggy depths of Hawthorne’s Bog. My lantern’s light weakened by the second. As I carefully stepped over the clumps of sedges, I heard a loud cry, presumably from some vicious wild animal far off. Yet it was unlike any call I had heard before. Realizing the only sensible decision was to return to the road, I hastened back the way from which I came. However, I never did find the log I had sworn to remember. I shook my head in disbelief before the brute howled once again. And it was nearer.
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