September 12, 2006 – This is a momentous day – I’m moving into the last house I’ll ever own. I’ve got everything ready – the tools, the supplies, the seeds. I’m ready to have a long, quiet retirement with my garden. And maybe some goats. [what follows is a detailed description of what he plans to plant, including a planting diagram]. I can’t wait for spring.

[several days of more talk about gardens and house repairs follow]

November 10, 2006 – I saw something unsettling today. A red fox – the first I’ve seen around here – was laying in the road. I thought it was dead, hit by a car. I grabbed the shovel and went out to get it out of the road and bury it. As I got close, I realized it was alive. It must have been sick, because it just watched me walk toward it. Another car came – I tried to get it to stop, but the driver ignored me. Just before he hit it and killed it, it lifted its head and looked at me. There was an unnerving expression of knowledge those dark eyes.

I’m going to bed early. I don’t feel like working on the walkway anymore.

November 11, 2006 – Had bad dreams about the fox. This time, when it lifted its head, it whispered, “Watch and record.” I can’t get it out of my head. Got some more work done on the walkway, but I’m just not feeling it.

November 12, 2006 – More bad dreams about the fox. I’m tempted to dig it up and burn it. Again, the ‘watch and record’ bit, but there’s more this time – I saw it multiple times, and each time was a new message. All put together, I have: ‘Watch and record, for the One who will lead them into life.” I’m not sure what it means. I’m concerned enough that I’ve got a tumor in my brain, so I’ve made an appointment for the 15th to see the local doctor.

November 13, 2006 – Something is wrong; the news stations are going crazy and the National Guard has been called. It’s something about a disease that’s spreading rapidly. I’m not sure what it is or what the symptoms are; no one is providing details.

I’m thinking of the Fox again.

I went into town, but the sheriff’s office was blocking the road. They promised to bring me supplies if the barricade didn’t lift soon, not that I don’t have a ton of food stored. I could tell they were spooked but trying to hide it.

When I go home, the TV was saying that people were dying and they still didn’t know what was wrong. At least I was able to get a list of symptoms: fever, grayish skin and trouble breathing.

This all feels so final, like I’m trapped in an end-times movie. I’m trying not to think like that. Won’t help. Time for dinner and to see what else I can learn from the news.

Addendum – I had planned to eat, watch TV and sleep, but someone had other plans. A young woman appeared in my bathroom; I’m not sure how she got there, only that I heard a strange noise just before she exited. She’s a waif of a thing, with blonde hair and strange purple eyes. She was incoherent and babbling. I think she’s on drugs.

I called the sheriff; he told me to keep her there if I didn’t feel that she was dangerous. He’d send someone out when he could spare them. He sounded scared, haggard.

I don’t think anyone is coming to take her. I fed her and listened to her babble – crazy things about lights and kings and great, dead worms. Not a pip of it made sense. I finally got her to sleep on my guest bed; poor thing just started to sob not long after I left her there. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but I feel for her. She’s clearly suffering from some affliction of the mind.

I went to bed, only to be driven from it by nightmares. I dreamed about the Fox, and it spoke to me with the girl’s voice. I had other unsettling dreams, but they faded.

The world has gone mad or I have. I’m not sure which is better.

That's when she picks up the journal again and starts reading in between bites of macaroni salad.

November 14, 2006 – Talking with the girl reveals little. She writes a poorly as she speaks; with great effort she managed to tell me that she is called Cassandra and that the voices speak to her. She said she lived in a box and has a broken tongue. I’m not sure what that means, really, though I can guess the latter means that she can’t talk properly, which I rather guessed.

I fed her again, and at least she’s calm now. She also gave up talking to me after she realized that I wasn’t getting what she was saying. Then things got weird.

With startling suddenness, she began to speak again. She told me that she is the Oracle and I am to be the Watcher. I guess it was no mistake that she appeared her, to her own mind. I don’t buy any of what she said, though I admit to be distressed when she pointed at the window sill and showed me that my mini-rose’s petal had turned black. The flower didn’t die; the petals went from a soft pink to a velvet black. I’ve never seen anything like it, but every time I look at my poor flower, I am reminded that it is real.

And what I’m hearing over the radio and television make the plant seem normal. They are saying that the dead are rising as zombies, and that we must take off their head or burn them to destroy them. The world is truly mad, and I feel lost.

She checked her appointments, poked her head out to make sure the clinic was doing okay...then picked the journal up again and resumed reading.