The Bestiary Logs

DAY 6

Ben sits in front of the camera, the lens trembling slightly as he adjusts it. His face is pale, smeared with dirt, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. He forces a tight smile that quickly fades.

BEN: “Uh... hey. My name’s Ben. I’ve been recording these videos for… I don’t know. Someone. Anyone. Maybe just so I don’t go insane. If you’re watching this, then maybe you made it. Or maybe you’re just like me—trying to figure out what the hell happened.”

He takes a breath, shaky. Glances down, like he’s searching for the right words among the dust on his shoes.

BEN: “It started six days ago. Sunday morning. I was in the car with my mom and my stepdad, Beck. We were on our way to church. He was on his phone, like always. I hated him. Still do. But that’s not important now.”

He pauses, eyes flicking off to the side, remembering.

BEN: “When the ground started shaking, we thought it was just an earthquake. We were wrong. So, so wrong. I wish we’d known what was coming.”

His voice cracks. He closes his eyes for a second, then opens them again, haunted.

BEN: “During the prayer, right there in the middle of the church… the door exploded inward. And this—this thing came in. Bigger than anything I’d ever seen. It tore down the pillars like they were paper. I remember screaming. I remember my mom’s hand slipping out of mine. I—”

His voice catches again. He turns away, pressing a hand to his mouth. When he faces the camera again, there’s fire behind the tears.

BEN: “I don’t know what happened to her. I don’t know if she’s alive. But I’m going to find her. I will find her.”

Ben disappears from frame for a moment. When he returns, he’s holding a thick, battered notebook. He opens it, revealing pages filled with Polaroid photos—each one capturing grotesque, otherworldly monsters. Scribbled notes, drawings, red arrows and symbols scatter the margins.

BEN: “This is my record. Every creature I’ve seen. Every encounter. Every escape. I don’t know if these things have names, so I gave them my own. This—this is all I have.”

He sets the notebook down with a sigh. His fingers tap against the cover like a nervous heartbeat.

BEN: “I know it’s not much. But maybe it’ll help. Maybe someone smarter, or braver, or just… less alone can use it.”

He leans closer to the camera, voice soft now.

BEN: “If you’re out there... keep going. Don’t stop. Survive.”

The screen flickers slightly as the camera shakes. Then: static.

DAY 9

The video begins with a shaky camera being set down on a wooden shelf. Dust dances in a beam of sunlight filtering through the slats of an old treehouse. Outside, faint screeches echo in the distance. Ben appears in frame, sitting cross-legged beside his worn beastiary. He looks slightly better—still tired, but more focused. There’s a faint smudge of dried blood on his sleeve, and his hands are ink-stained from writing.

BEN: “Day Nine. I’m still here. Still breathing. That’s something, right?”

He offers a grim smile, flipping open his bestiary and holding a new Polaroid up to the camera. The image shows a creature with elongated limbs, skin like wet paper, and a vertical mouth running up its neck.

BEN: “I call this one a ‘Whisperer.’ It doesn’t see well, but it hears everything. You stop breathing for half a second, it’ll turn its head right to you. Got stuck hiding under a broken car for almost three hours yesterday because of this freak.”

He tapes the photo into the book, then gestures around the space.

BEN: “I found this place a few days ago. Treehouse out behind an old farmhouse. Must’ve been a kid’s once. There’s still some faded comic books stuffed in the corners, even a plastic sword under the floorboards.”

He knocks on the wooden boards beneath him with a soft chuckle, then grows serious again.

BEN: “It’s not much, but it’s dry, high up, and I can see almost everything from here. I’ve started calling it Base Camp. Thought about giving it a cooler name, but… I guess it doesn’t matter.”

There’s a rustle behind the camera. Ben glances over his shoulder.

BEN: “Oh. Right. Uh… also… I’m not alone anymore.”

He moves the camera slightly. A boy about Ben’s age—maybe a year or two older—sits in the corner, holding a makeshift spear carved from a broken broom handle. His clothes are torn, his face wary, but there’s a spark of defiance in his eyes. He nods once toward the camera.

BEN: “This is Noah. Found him yesterday in a storm drain, half-starved and hiding from a Nestcrawler. He saved me, actually. Lured the thing away with a flare he made out of a battery and chewing gum or something. I don’t know, he’s like… MacGyver with trauma.”

Noah scoffs faintly in the background. Ben grins for a second before sobering again.

BEN: “We’re keeping track of everything now. Mapping routes. Watching how these monsters move. They don’t act random. Not completely. Something’s driving them. Or controlling them.”

He points to a spot in the bestiary with a hastily drawn diagram: concentric circles around a central shape marked with a question mark.

BEN: “If there’s a pattern, we’ll find it. And if someone’s behind this... we’re going to find them too.”

He leans closer to the camera again, voice low and certain.

BEN: “To anyone still out there: you’re not alone. There’s two of us now. We’re surviving. Learning. Fighting back.”

A pause. Then, almost like a sign-off:

BEN: “And we’re not done yet.”

The video ends with a flicker, the camera cutting off mid-sound as a crow caws outside.

DAY 16 – WEEKLY LOG #1

The video starts smoother than the previous ones—Ben has clearly found a rhythm. The camera is set up on a stable ledge in the treehouse. Rain can be heard pattering softly on the roof, but inside, it’s calm and dimly lit with a few battery-powered lamps. Ben sits cross-legged with the bestiary in his lap. Noah is beside him, head resting against Ben’s shoulder, dozing or just quiet, his eyes half-closed. One of Ben’s arms is curled slightly around the book—and just enough around Noah to suggest he’s used to him being there.

BEN: “Hey. So, I’ve decided to stop doing daily logs. Too much risk turning the camera on all the time, and honestly… days are starting to blur together anyway. From now on, I’ll do weekly logs. Catch up, document what we’ve learned, and keep adding to the bestiary.”

He glances down at Noah briefly, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then he lifts the book and opens to a page, tilting it so the camera can see.

BEN: “We found two new types this week. This one here—” He points to a photo of a sleek, spider-like creature with glistening limbs and no eyes. “We call it a ‘Mirrorback.’ It’s fast, hates direct light, and it mimics sound. It tricked us once by copying my voice. Almost got Noah.”

Noah hums faintly at the mention of his name but doesn’t lift his head. Ben’s voice softens slightly.

BEN: “But he figured out it only mimics things it hears twice. Smart, right?”

He flips to another page. This one has no photo, just a sketch and frantic notes.

BEN: “This one we haven’t seen up close. Just… signs. Tracks in a circle. Silence in the woods. We’ve marked it as ‘The Hollow.’ Something about it… it scares the other monsters. That’s new.”

He gently closes the book, fingers lingering on the cover. He leans back slightly against the wall, shifting so Noah stays comfortable.

BEN: “We’ve fortified the treehouse more. Found an old stash of canned food at a ranger station three miles south. Noah rigged a trap outside with some tripwire and broken glass—almost caught a Scaler yesterday.”

He hesitates, then looks directly at the camera.

BEN: “I don’t know if anyone is still out there. We haven’t seen signs of people in days. But if someone does find this—these logs, these books… everything we’re doing—it’s for you. So you don’t have to start from scratch.”

Ben reaches out, adjusting the camera slightly so it captures both of them in frame. Noah’s still resting against him, relaxed in a way that only comes from trust. Ben’s eyes linger on him for a second before he looks back into the lens.

BEN: “We’re still here. And we’re still fighting. Week one down.”

The video fades slowly to black, the sound of rain continuing as the last thing heard.

DAY 20 – UNPLANNED LOG

The footage is shaky at first, as if the camera was turned on in a panic. It’s night, and the treehouse is dim except for the flicker of a lantern in the corner. Rain lashes at the windows. The camera finally steadies on a low shelf, and Ben stumbles into frame, his hands slick with blood. Behind him, Noah lies on a pile of blankets, grimacing, his pant leg shredded and stained red.

BEN (breathless): “I—I know I said I’d only do weekly logs now, but… this needed to be recorded.”

He turns to look at Noah, who gives him a weak thumbs-up before dropping his hand again.

BEN (quietly): “He’s gonna be okay. I think. I’ve cleaned the wound. Wrapped it. He’s stable. But it’s bad.”

Ben walks over to his notebook, flipping pages with shaking fingers before lifting a page to show the camera. It’s a sketch labeled: “The Hollow – Unknown Entity.” Jagged shapes circle a stick figure, and beneath it, a series of dark green vines wrap around a crude drawing of a leg.

BEN: “We went looking for The Hollow. Not all the way in—just close enough to get better notes. It felt wrong, even before we saw it. The trees started thinning out. Everything got… quiet. And then these vines—”

He swallows, jaw tightening.

BEN: “They moved. Not like blowing in the wind. They reached for him. Wrapped around his leg. I tried to cut them off, but they moved like they were alive. Like they knew what they were doing.”

He turns the camera slightly, zooming in just a little on Noah’s leg—wrapped in makeshift bandages made from a ripped T-shirt and gauze from a half-used med kit. The flesh beneath pulses faintly with a greenish tint near the wound.

BEN (barely audible): “It’s not just a cut. Something’s inside it. We don’t know what it is.”

He sits down beside Noah, exhaling slowly. For a moment, he doesn’t speak—just stares into the camera like he’s afraid of what comes next.

BEN: “I shouldn’t have let him come. I should’ve gone alone.”

Noah groans faintly and shifts, his head coming to rest against Ben’s shoulder again, like muscle memory. Ben wraps an arm around him without thinking, pulling him a little closer.

NOAH (hoarse): “Next time… we both go.”

Ben looks down at him, then back at the camera with tired eyes.

BEN: “I don’t know what’s growing out there. But it’s not just monsters anymore. The world is changing. Twisting. Like it’s alive… and angry.”

He reaches forward, adjusts the camera, and speaks softer—almost like a message to the future.

BEN: “If you see vines moving where they shouldn’t... run. Don’t fight it. Don’t go looking. We thought we were ready. We weren’t.”

He pauses, then adds quietly:

BEN: “I won’t let this take him.”

The video ends abruptly with a soft click, and then—silence.

DAY 27 – WEEKLY LOG #2

The video begins with a much calmer hand. The treehouse is more fortified now—boards have been nailed across windows, and in the background, some kind of homemade alarm system made from dangling cans and string sways in the breeze. Ben sits in his usual spot, the bestiary open in his lap. He looks less frantic than before, but there’s tension behind his eyes.

BEN: “Day twenty-seven. Week two. I didn’t think we’d make it this far. I mean, I hoped… but hope’s dangerous out here.”

He shifts slightly, then glances behind the camera.

BEN (softly): “Noah’s getting better. Way better.”

He stands, and the camera wobbles a bit as he picks it up and walks to where Noah is lying on a makeshift bed. The blanket is pulled up over most of him, but his leg is exposed, resting on a stack of bundled cloth. The bandages are gone.

BEN (off-camera): “The wound’s… gone. Almost. It closed up in just seven days. Faster than it should’ve. No sign of infection, no swelling, no fever.”

Ben kneels down and gently zooms in on Noah’s leg. The gash is completely sealed. But where the scar should be, there’s a thin, smooth line of skin as dark as pitch—unnaturally black, with a faint shimmer when the light hits it. It doesn’t look burned. It looks… infused.

BEN (quietly): “It’s not red. Not pink. Not even pale. It’s... black. Like ink. Like something left behind.”

Noah stirs slightly, opening his eyes. He sits up with a faint wince, rubbing his face.

NOAH: “You recording again?”

BEN: “Yeah. Weekly log.”

NOAH (smirking): “Tell the camera I’m still prettier than you.”

Ben laughs under his breath, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He sets the camera back down and sits beside him.

BEN: “He says he feels fine. No pain, no weakness. But…”

He pauses, searching for the words.

BEN: “Sometimes he zones out. For like, a minute. Just… stares into space like he’s hearing something I can’t. He says it’s nothing. But it keeps happening.”

Noah lies back, eyes closing again. Ben lowers his voice.

BEN: “I’m scared it did something to him. Not just the vines. The Hollow. Like it marked him. Or changed him. And the weirdest part? That scar—it’s warm to the touch. Even when he’s cold.”

He glances back at Noah. There’s a deep affection there—worry laced with something more fragile. He flips to a new page in the bestiary and holds it up: a drawing of the black scar, surrounded by symbols he’s been copying from nearby stones they found near the Hollow.

BEN: “These were etched into the trees around the Hollow. I think the vines weren’t just protecting something. They were... spreading it.”

He leans toward the camera again.

BEN: “We’re staying away from the Hollow. For now. But I’ve got this feeling we’ll have to go back. Whatever it is—it knows Noah now. And maybe… he knows it, too.”

He glances once more at his sleeping friend, then clicks off the camera without another word.

DAY 30 – EMERGENCY LOG

The footage starts in a rush—screams in the distance, wind shaking the treehouse. The camera falls sideways for a second before it’s grabbed and slammed into place on its usual ledge. Ben is in frame, breathing heavily, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and rain. His hands are shaking. Behind him, the sky is overcast and wrong—dark despite it being midday. The sounds of snarling, dragging feet, and low, guttural groans echo through the woods below.

BEN (panicked whisper): “I don’t know what’s happening. They came out of nowhere. Not the monsters—we know them. We mapped them. But these things…”

He moves the camera slightly and zooms in through a slat in the treehouse wall. Below, figures shuffle and stumble between the trees. Some crawl. Some limp. Some have missing jaws or no eyes. Rotten flesh clings to twisted limbs.

BEN: “They’re people. Or they were. They don’t scream. They don’t talk. They just moan. And they don’t climb. Thank god, they don’t climb.”

He pulls the camera back and sits down, visibly trying to steady his breathing. His voice drops, trembling.

BEN: “We were out hunting. We heard the howling first—like something was in pain. Then we saw them, dragging themselves from under the ground, from ditches, from broken basements. Like they were already here. Waiting.”

A door creaks behind him, and Noah stumbles into frame, holding a knife in one hand and a broken shovel in the other. His face is pale but calm. That black scar on his leg is visible through a tear in his jeans—it seems to pulse faintly.

NOAH (to Ben): “They’re spreading out. We should be okay till nightfall.”

Ben just looks at him, fear twisting his face. For a long beat, neither says anything. The silence is loud with everything unspoken.

BEN (barely audible): “Noah… if they do climb… if they get up here… I need you to run. Take the trees, head north. Find the ranger tower.”

NOAH (firm): “No. Not leaving you.”

Ben stands and walks toward him. They’re close now, faces inches apart, rain starting to leak in through the roof.

BEN: “I’m serious. I can slow them down, but you—”

NOAH (cutting him off, sharp): “Shut up.”

Ben blinks, startled. Noah grabs the front of Ben’s jacket, voice trembling now too—but with something more fragile than fear.

NOAH: “I’m not running. I’m not leaving you. You’re—” A pause, his breath catching. “You’re all I’ve got.”

Ben opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Instead, he just grabs Noah by the collar and pulls him into a hug. Rain hammers the roof now, as groans rise louder below.

BEN (into Noah’s shoulder): “I love you.”

Noah pulls back just enough to look him in the eyes—then presses their foreheads together, his voice barely a whisper.

NOAH: “I love you too.”

They stand like that for a moment, holding onto each other while the dead gather below. Then, as thunder rolls in the distance, Ben reaches out and quietly clicks off the camera.