>Day 5. Just before midnight.
A scavenging group of Mongrels ambushed our merchant caravan a few hours ago.. They took Alice, John and Phillip before we could even lift our rifles. Gareth and William are missing and we do not know where they went. Jason said he saw a rift that consumed the dying light of the sun , from wherein reached a black hand that snatched them from this plane of existence.
I had never seen them up close and I never want to again, their mottled dark skin, the sickly light emanating from their eyes, their protruding jaw and disgusting smell still haunts me, the constant smell of greasy shit and putrid burgers made many of us violently sick.
>Day 6. Morning.
Las creaturas are following us now, they're always just on the horizon. We can hear their sharts from here and when the wind blows towards us their vile gas causes our horses to die and our food to spoil. We have tried shooting them but for every single one that we strike down, it appears that several more take their place.
Amongst their number are several larger mongrels, the one our Mexican guide Manolo calls "El Ogro". We pray that when the night comes we have enough firewood and white power symbols to repulse them long enough - at least until the dawn comes.
>Day 7.
There are thousands following us now. They are waiting for a creatura large enough to whip them into a frenzy. The horizon is covered in them and the stench is causing many of us to pass out. It is so hard to stay awake now. Our ammunition begins to run low. Our numbers are dwindling. Am I white? Was my name always Muhammad?
Day 8.
Please. If anyone reads this message I implore you to turn back. Please don't go the route we went. The old Texan Highway is not saf*The page is covered in vomit and shit smears*. They've taken everyone. I am the last one left. They are calling me now. Everyone has been taken. Sharting feels so good now. My pants are filled with burger slurry. You're not white NOT WHITE NOT WHITE NOT WH-
