[im almost done with this bless up]

The one thing I was ever really good at in life was my job. I was the one that reconstructed entire ecosystems and calculated the outside factors based on fossils and subfossils. It was my job to know the ecosystem, any ecosystem at that.

Coyotes didn't live in Montana anymore, and he of all people should've known that. It was his job to know as well.

And if they did unbeknownst to literally everyone, they didn't last long. I'd read up on the area before I'd arrived, and every website I came across said the few that did were dead. They were all found in the same spot, all killed the same way. Wolves lived in Montana, but the animal I'd seen was far from a wolf, and they didn't like to be around people. The markings scattered over the dead coyotes just over a year or two ago definitely didn't match a wolf, but something bigger. It all started to make sense, soon enough after I'd realized that the thing I kept seeing must've done that. I'd began to classify it as both a man and a monster. Half the terror, twice the fear.

I had to borrow Ryan's laptop again. The whole time it powered on, I felt like Dallon was pressed up against the tent, watching me. He wasn't, but I hated that I could imagine the sensation. He was out on the field with Pete and Spencer, conducting a quick search while the others figured out how to ration the dwindling supplies and repair all the malfunctioning tools.

I'd suggested taking the Range Rover down to the museum and telling John we needed more food and water, and take the time to spill the whole horror story that'd been playing out in the middle of nowhere. But the fuel containers had been punctured and emptied into the dirt, all communication was cut. Literally. The wires had been sawed through with either a claw or a jagged rock, but a few appeared to be bitten through. The car only had an eighth of a tank left — providing less than a fourth of the mileage needed to get back to John.

It took almost half an hour to finally open a Wikipedia page on a Sekhem scepter. I was only thankful the screen hadn't glitched our on me again, but the tab actually loading was something new. That hadn't happened yet, but I definitely wasn't complaining.

I'd opened the site with high expectations. I was hoping I'd gain access to information that would clear the muddy puddle and I'd end up having nothing to worry about. Needless to say, that wasn't what had happened. Not in the least.

Dallon was right. I'd wished on every star in the sky that he was wrong, but he'd told the truth. It was depicted with higher deities, it was a symbol of power, and it was associated with multiple gods in the Egyptian religion that all played a main role in their history.

The only question I had left to find out was why it was out there, and how it connected to everything. But nothing made sense.

And besides, anything Egyptian didn't fit into the equation. We were stuck in Montana, for gods sake.

__________

[Freaky again?? YOU BETCHA]

September third -

I'm being watched. By the thing from the pyramid. It followed me home. I'll see it every now and then. Either a shadow on the wall that disappears when I follow it around the corner to my bedroom, or a whisper when I'm emailing John.

And then there's the dog. This dog sits outside in my backyard and watches. I don't know what it stares at, but it's always there. I can't leave my house without seeing it. At the grocery store, I'll see dozens of people with the same dog. On my laptop, tabs will open to websites about Egypt and the articles written about the pyramid.

I don't know what's happening. I'd rather be in the pyramid, face to face with that thing again than living like this. I feel like I'm trapped in my own personal hellhole.

Jack was right. I shouldn't have gone in. Now he's dead and I don't know what to do. Maybe I'll be next and everything will be over.

__________

October twentieth -

I can't keep this in anymore. I have to put it out there. I'll protect this page at all costs.

It's been a month. Over a month. It's still here, it's more than here. It's a part of me, I don't know what to do with it. It's always talking, always moving, I can feel it taking control of my hands and doing things I don't want it to.

I think it's asleep. It's three in the morning. I didn't think it slept.

It leaves the letter A around the house. An A was carved in the wall when I woke up. An A torn into my sheets. Everywhere. It's everywhere. It'll bleed down the walls, there'll be sand all over my floor, leaking from holes in the walls. It won't stop reminding me, it never has. It's been months. I don't know if I'm going insane or if everything is actually happening. I haven't told anyone.

In my dreams, every night, it'll happen again. And again. And again. It replays until I wake up, exactly the same.

I walk in the pyramid alone, with my backpack and a flashlight, extra batteries and another light strapped to my waist. I'll read the hieroglyphics telling me to turn back while I was still in control of my own body. The floor will collapse and I'll follow the tunnels. The torches on the wall will light when I walked past. The jackals on the wall will fill the tunnel with sand. The tunnel will lead to another, and another, and I'd escape every trap in every hall. It'd chase me on the last, and I'd trip, fall, and wake up with it right in front of my face and its claws digging into my chest. I die again and I wake up again.

And it'll loop. Over. And over. And over. And over.

I'm going crazy. It'll kill me if I don't do it first.

My will is in the safe under the guest bedroom. Combination in the front of the book. My cat is lactose intolerant.

__________

November fifteenth -

Nothing has worked. It won't let me die. I can't leave. It won't go away. Unless I really am dead and this is just it now. I wouldn't doubt it. I don't even feel like myself anymore.

My eyes changed. I only noticed yesterday. I haven't been able to stand looking at myself in the mirror because it's always right behind me. They aren't normal blue anymore. They're so cold. They look like ice. They're my eyes, but they're its eyes too.

I'm not safe. I'm not safe.

John gave me another month off. He knows something is wrong. He hasn't asked what, I don't think he wants to know, but if he asked I wouldn't be able to tell him. I had to zip tie my own hands to the chair so it wouldn't rip this book to shreds. I can't even remember how I got loose after that.

Half my entries are missing still. Every time I write about what happened, it's gone. The pages are torn out. I watch them burn in the fireplace and I can't stop myself when I do. The only page specifically about it is the last entry.

It's started leaving eyes everywhere. I can't hide them much longer. I have to go back to the museum but I'm afraid I'll hurt someone. John understands. He knows something happened. He hasn't pushed me into coming back.

I don't know what to do. I don't know what it can do. I don't know if anyone will find this. I don't know if I ca

The entry stopped at that. Instead of the remainder of the page filled with answers, I got a detailed sketch of a heart, and a two-sided scale.