From the Gods’ Hollow journal of Duncan Blood.
April 4, 1930.
Rarely have I seen something so terrifying as what I observed today.
I stumbled across the small pond shortly after ten this morning. The area in its entirety had been removed from the Wellington House only a year ago this coming August.
No one suffered from the disappearance of the pond, so I felt I could readily approach it.
This was a mistake which nearly cost me my life.
When I neared the water, the creatures which issued forth from its dark depths were far more hideous than any others I have encountered. A noxious odor surrounded them, and their breath was the stench of the grave. Their teeth were bore a disturbing resemblance to sharks, and their eyes were the same, flat black of those great fish.
Water rolled off their naked flesh, flesh which shimmered in the morning light. Their skin was dark green and oily to the touch, a fact I discovered as I fought for my life.
There was little time to reload my pistols after the first dozen shots, and I used the butts as clubs.
I tried to retreat, away from the water, but they were intelligent foes, turning me back toward it as I sought my escape.
In the end, it was the sun that saved me.
The approach of the noon sun was too much for them, and it drove them back into the water, leaving me wounded and furious on the forest floor.
I managed to return home, and when I visited pond again a little before dusk, I poured oil upon the water, and set it to burn.
It is burning still, and I can hear them screaming.
It is, quite simply, music to my ears.
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