I'm currently writing this in my study hall. It's the only way to keep myself awake. I didn't sleep last night, too many nightmares of, it. It was all a month ago, but I can't stop thinking about it. I don't know or care if anyone really sees this. Really, i just need a way to organize my thoughts, relive this step by step, to see if it was real. I want this out in reality.

My school offers an unsolved mysteries of history class. It was really a pass/fail class. Something to fill my slots between the mind-numbing AP classes. Plus, I love true crime. Jack the Ripper, the Black Dahlia, The Watcher, all that good stuff. In reality all it talked about was boring stuff like if Shakespeare was real.

It was midterms. At the beginning of the month, our teacher decided our midterm was a big project, we'd discover our own unsolved mystery, do our own research on it, and present it on the day of the midterm.

I was obsessed with this project. I want to study to be a forensic scientist when I graduate high school, and this felt like my niche. I was trying to find something perfect. I brought this up to my parents when my dad chimed in.

"You know we have our very own unsolved mystery," He said, "Uncle John worked on it you know."

So we set up a time, me and my Uncle John would head to the library where I could find some old newspapers and interview him in peace. I should explain that my Uncle John isn't my dad's brother, he's my grandfather's younger brother. I still have the recording on my phone. I listened to it dozens of times for preparation for this project. It went like this.

Me: "Can you say your name and your profession?"

Uncle: "I'm John Tracy, retired sargent in the state police."

Me: "And I understand you have a first hand account of a cold case crime scene?"

Uncle: "Yes, the case of the House Party Massacre, 52 years ago, in fact its 53rd anniversary would be soon."

Me: "And can you give us your story?"

Uncle: "I was 23 at the time, fresh on the force. I didn't get much to do before then. It was February 1st, 1970, when I and another officer were dispatched with a noise complaint. The neighbors said there was a party happening next door, and they were kind enough to just ignore the noises until now. The teens inside were getting rowdy and they were fed up. Of course, we didn't expect what we'd find inside. The poor old couple were absolutely heartbroken they called to complain on rowdy kids, not realizing it was actually screams of terror.

Me: "What did you find?"

Uncle: "There was maybe 30 or so young men and women, teenagers. It was awful. Everyone was dead, bodies strewn in horrific ways. My partner left to call backup, but I couldn't leave the house with him. You know that awful thing where you see a car crash and you can't look away? That morbid curiosity? That's what was happening to me. My training told me not to disturb the crime scene, but I carefully searched the area. I thought maybe I'd catch the sick culprit. It was lucky I did that, because I found a girl there in critical condition.

Me: "If there was a survivor, how was this case unsolved?"

Uncle: "She said her back was turned when she was struck in the head, hard, and stabbed in the back. The wounds on her corroborated that. We tried to search for DNA, or fingerprints, but all objects had too may fingerprints, all of them belonging to a house party member. As for the DNA... I don't think it's school appropriate to explain why. Eventually, we just closed the case. I don't know why, I was off the investigation after that inital encounter."

This was the midterm project jackpot. Something in our very own small town. I was so excited. I looked for the date in the old newspapers, which is where I found a new fact Uncle John was not aware of.

"Her name was Lyra Cyon, the one survivor of the House Party Massacre. Like the rainbow after the rainstorm, the girl who was under this a life threatening attack made a miraculous and improbable full recovery. However, this girl was all but blessed. For tragically, a week after her full recovery into independence and days before the one month anniversary, she was found dead in the woods with a gun in her hand.

An autopsy revealed that she had shot herself with a silvertip bullet, a bullet with a deceptive name, for it does not contain actual silver.

Later that week, the poor girl's grave was found defiled, completely dug up with the coffin broken and the body missing. Authorities believe the culprit was also imvolved in the massacre. To date, neither crimes have a suspect."

I had everything I needed for the project. I just needed to write my actual presentation and add some pizazz. I wanted a picture with the girl's grave. I read it was still there. I the next day after school I bought a small bouquet of flowers, it seemed more respectful to do so. I snapped a few photos, first of the grave when I just arrived. Snow covered most of the headstone, and the name was almost eligible do to scratches and lack of upkeep. I assumed it was too painful to maintain, knowing the dirat under you was empty. I cleaned it and clearned away the snow the best i could and laid the flowers then took more photos. They were hauntingly beautiful in the calm sunset of January. I was lucky to be done just as the moon peaked it. It looked real tragic, perfect for the project.

That's when I heard the noise.

The familiar crunch of snow I knew so well in my tiny northern New England town.

I turned to the direction of the noise, the woods. The dark woods, slowly getting darker in the winter sky.

The woods, the most terrifying part of my state.

The woods, which held beasts that could kill you on a whim.

My mind was just spiraling put of control with unreasonable paranoia. That's what I tried to convince myself atleast. Yet for every footstep I took, I heard a larger footstep echo me from the woods that framed the cemetery like an armed guard. I sped up.

I got into my car and locked the doors. I put the key in the ignition and hovered my foot over the gas ready to drive just in case. But I felt safer in my car. I could run over any person that was creeping on me if need be. I decided to take a look at my photos. I snapped multiple and wanted to find the best ones. But something caught my eye in the last few. It was something behind the grave, just barely visible by it's paleness. It looked relatively small. But as i swiped, the form got both larger. With each peak of the moon, the thing grew. As the sky faded and the woods shadows solidified it was harder to see the figure, in fact it dissappear for a bit until the last picture. Full moon up, my flash on, I saw the green reflection of the eyes of an animal.

That's when the thing lept at my car. The thud was so loud, jumping me out of my trance so hard my heart almost exploded as my tensity was broken by the noise. And it's face. Sharp yellow teeth jutted from its malformed maw covered in patched fur. I slammed hard on the gas, but still this thing was on the window, clawing with it's gangly sharp paws and blocking my site. I jammed on the break and sped on the gas again going up the luckily straight driveway trying desperately to buck it off my one form of protection. The thin layer of car windshield kept it's flabby snout from my head. Yet it clawed, with a horrible scratching noise it clawed as i just turned and kept racing down the road. I atleast wanted witnesses to my demise I guess. I remember the pure terror I felt as I heard the sickening crack of the glass breaking under it's nails. I swerved, I don't know why butbi slammed on the gas and swerved and slammed on the break as of i was trying to hit every button hoping I'd hit the "off" switch and I'd wake up safe in my bed. Instead, a car crashed into me, right into the nose of the car, right into the creature, which ran away.

I had told the driver, who saw there was something on my windshield when he hit me, that a rapid stray was attacking me while I was doing school work. I even convinced myself that, while I was waiting in the dark for a tow truck for the two of us, feeling as if there were eyes watching me everywhere.

I didn't sleep for weeks well after that night. I never had nightmares, perhaps my brain was giving me mercy. I got a B on my project, my shakiness as i presented those photos were my only downfall. No one pointed out the strange things I saw in those gravestone pictures. It made me almost believe it was a rabid dog.

That was, until last night. With the full moon high, I went to bed the easiest I ever had. It was while in bed was the worse. I was back in that car, totally frozen, while that malformed creature, like a stretched out dog or something, clawed at my windshield. I heard the windshield break, and it crawled into my car. That night I woke up with a buzz in my veins, my neighbor's dogs barking and baying like crazy.

The more I write, timelining it down peice by peice, the more this feels real. I don't know what I saw, but the chill in my bones feels too real for it to have been some psychotic break. Now, as i sit here, a few minutes before the bell, I wonder if it will come back. If it will hunt me. If it will attack someone. If it has already attacked.