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In rural Wisconsin, there is an old abandoned park. Built in the 1920s, it served as the town's gathering place for everyone in the community.

That is, until a newly developed Train and Tunnel for Tots™ ride was installed in 1932. It was an innocent looking childish train, with one main (mechanized) head car, with three small trolleys pulled behind it. It went around some loops before going into a small tunnel.

But this is where the story gets weird. There were numerous cases of child deaths that year, all of them happening after the child rode on that train system. Some kids went missing in that short curved tunnel, and others went comatose after leaving. One, upon exiting, was found to be dead. Her dress was covered in what looked like small bloody hand-prints. One of them even killed another child before hanging herself with razor wire at the family's farm.

Any attempts to uninstall the ride proved futile, as even more deaths occurred from freak accidents involving the crewmen and the equipment. The park was closed, and the town's popularity as a tourist town plummeted.

Recently, a team of scientists were sent out to the park. They taped a video camera to the train, along with some other monitoring equipment, before sending it on its way onto the tracks.

When the train left the tunnel, it was empty, except for the camera. It was beaten and nearly broken, but eventually the scientists were able to play it.

The last ten seconds were nothing but static, save for the sound of children laughing.

I loved my wife. After all, we had been married for fifty years! We could never conceive children, so I guess that always was a rough spot between us.

However, she did have an interesting hobby of collecting dolls or puppets. She took up this hobby after the doctors told us that we could not have children - a fault my wife blamed my low sperm count on - when we were having no luck at conception.

Either way; back to the dolls. Although she did love them -albeit, sometimes it seemed more Han she loved me - I hated those things. I said they were creepy, especially the ones with the moveable mouths... She said they were cute and had an eclectic charm to them.

When she passed away, not two months ago, the bad dreams began. It wasn't all that bad at first, the shrink said that it was normal for someone going through grief. Then the dolls started entering my dreams.

They were always looking down as I lay there in my bed - in the dream of course. For some reason I couldn't move in my dream - and black blood was flowing out of their mouths and eyes onto me. Eventually, it would start pouring into my mouth until I could not breathe and suffocated/woke up.

I had no luck selling them, either. Every time I sold them, they appeared back onto the shelves where they were kept before my wife's passing. After a lot of attempts at selling them, and the investigations surrounding the "stolen" property since they always came back, I just stopped trying.

No matter what I did, I couldn't get rid of those things. But that doesn't matter, anymore, as I have learned to just deal with the nightmares. They're just bad dreams, right? Bad dreams can't hurt me.

I just wish they would stop laughing.

There is a very peculiar tree out there. Due to the circumstances surrounding it, I cannot tell you where it is. I'm not really sure myself. I do know, however, that it has killed before. And it will again.

The Tree, as it is called by the media, was the focus of their attention for about a week. Then, it can be assumed that the news companies were paid to never run the story again. Or something happened to them, I don't know. I don't want to know, either.

What I do know, however, from my time from studying the tree itself, is that it releases special pheromones. These pheromones are similar to the ones released by moths during courtship, in that it attracts animals of the opposite sex to it.

The pheromones, once inhaled or ingested, will remain inside the body for approximately 48 hours. This is the incubation period, for lack of a better term. Those who have the chemicals inside them will find themselves infatuated with someone of the opposite gender. Regardless of sexuality, it is always someone of the opposite sex. There have been no cases of a love triangle forming, or any homosexual relationships forming from the Tree's effects.

However, when the first 48 hours are up - the incubation period for the pheromones - they will be excreted through the urine of those infected. When the pheromones are no longer present, the dominant personality of the relationship will be filled with an indescribable rage and murder their partner. This is usually the male of the two, but cases of females committing such acts have been recorded.

This tree, upon further testing, was found to be immune to any diseases that were introduced to it. These include natural diseases such as malaria and the cold, and human-caused diseases. Traditional plant and weed killer also had no effect.

The bark is too tough to cut through, and thus, it is nearly impossible to get a trunk sample to find the age of the Tree. However, based on the size of the root structures, it is at least 1000 years old. The roots extended for at least a mile in each direction, and scans showed that, at their peak, the roots went at least one half mile deep into the earth.

Paintings of the early 19th century reveal that this exact tree stood where it is today, and has not grown since. Entries of personal diaries have been found that mention the Tree, and they date to at least the 1600s.

All attempts to kill or remove the Tree have been unsuccessful. Fire will not burn the trunk, and the root system is too immense to uproot. It appears that it does not need to live on photosynthesis, as, when the leaves were carefully removed, it lived by sapping the nutrients out of the ground and those who came into contact with the surrounding area.

Security personnel are stationed around the tree twenty-four/seven. They are all of the same gender, and of heterosexual orientation, to prevent the side effects of prolonged exposure to the tree. They are switched out every six hours, with another team of security personnel of the same gender and heterosexual orientation.

Items placed around the tree, such as dolls, toys, wallets, and in some cases, animals, will disappear. Cameras that are looking at the tree will not function properly. Once placed under the Tree, said items will disappear and reappear somewhere across the globe.

Any living or once-living creature that have been placed under the tree have never been found.

It all started when a woman - approximately thirty years of age - was informed that there was severe internal bleeding and inflammation behind her left eye. Although she had felt no pain, her daughter had remarked that her Mother's eye looked red and blotchy.

She had immediately gone to the doctor's office, although her daughter had to drive her there, the eye had begun to leak pus and small amounts of her blood, and ran to the Emergency Room.

Upon examination by the professionals at Clearview Hospital, her fears were confirmed. She would have to get her eye taken out and replaced with another human eye, which was yet to be found by the staff.

If only the story ended there.

However, as the poor woman was about to find out, her luck had long run dry. After a week of searching for a sufficient eye donor, the medical team in charge of the case caught a break. A suitable eye was recovered.

The eye, with a lovely seafoam-green iris, once belonged to a convicted criminal, who was charged with first-degree murder.He was euthanized by means of the lethal injection. Once he was pronounced dead, the eye was removed and shipped to Clearview Hospital.

The operation was a success, and the patient was sent home after she was deemed well enough to leave.

At this point, most of what the press knows is cut short, or untrue and fabricated so that they had something to air on the news that night.

But one fact that everyone agrees on - police and public alike - is that she was not ready to have left the care at Clearview Hospital. upon entering her home, she was horrified to find her living room was covered in blood, and that her daughter, although she was the one who had drove her home, was lying in a pool of her own blood.

The authorities were called, and the hysterical and hallucinating woman was sedated but given another clean bill of health.

The hallucinations continued, each getting progressively gorier than the last. Everyone that she met, whether it be a stranger or her daughter, she was seeing them as murdered in her house. Eventually, it was deduced that the woman was somehow experiencing each of the murderer's crimes from his point of view.

At this point in time, the woman tried to kill herself multiple times. Each attempt was, however, unsuccessful.

She was eventually placed in a mental facility, where she would be examined and kept under strict security.

More assassinations at her life were attempted, although most of them were self inflicted. Other patients, for some reason, could not stand the sight of the woman, and they all agreed that there was something very, very wrong about her.

The hallucinations began to torment her so much, that, in more than one case, she began to attempt to kill other inmates, along with herself.

She was moved to an intense care unit when one last attempt was almost successful. It killed the other inmate, but only wounded herself.

The woman began screaming that the hallucinations were telling her to kill everyone around her, even herself.

When it was concluded that nothing could help the poor woman, they, with her, the family, and the State's approvals, euthanized her.

Her heart was sent out to an eager recipient for an emergency transplant the next day.

The following report is an excerpt from evidence file #13683. It was found in the basement of a house located in (TOWN NAME REMOVED), Wisconsin, on August 15th, 2014. The diary, along with the body of Cassandra Linette (LAST NAME REMOVED), were found within close proximity of each other. It appears that 'Casey' attempted to eat the leather covering of the diary, before succumbing to her wounds. The majority of the names have been removed, but ones that do not divulge the origin of the incident have been kept intact. Below, the diary (entitled "Dear Diary" by the media) is attached in full, with the names mentioned above removed.

_____________

June 28th, 2014

Dear diary,

Hey there diary! My parents bought you for me on my birthday, which just happened to be a few days ago. I never got around to writing in you, we've been so busy. But anyway, hiya! My name is Cassandra Linette _____. Everyone just calls me Casey though. I think I'll give you a nickname. Later though, it's time to introduce the family.

I already introduced myself, but that's not the whole family, of course. My father, ___, is a really nice man. He works too much though, so he's almost never at home. My mom is a true sweetheart; her name's ____. I also have a little (annoying) brother, and his name is _____.

If you must know, I am 13 years old. So my writing might get a little bit more sloppy than you might be used to. You are a professional date planner after all. Black leather, at least 200 pages, and a nice fancy book-clasp on the front, to keep intruders out. You're beautiful. But you already know that, don't you? You're a pretty little book. But, unfortunately, I must go. It's bed time, and dad still hasn't gotten home from work yet. I'm used to it though. Night diary! See you in the mornin'!

Yours truly,
Casey



June 29th, 2014, 10:00 A.M.

Dear diary,

Hey again diary. Dad still isn't home from work yet. But I'm still not worried; this wont be the first time he's spent all day and all night at the lab. He's probably coming up with a cure for the common cold or something. =)

A bunch of loud noises came from Mrs. Rose's house early this morning. I think she might have been robbed. Mom says to not go over to her house; there might be broken glass. Ugh, it's not the last time someone in our neighborhood has gotten robbed. Nor is it the first. I just hope Mrs. Rose wasn't hurt; she always brought us cookies and milk on hot summer days.

I have to go again. Mom says we have to clean the house, and she has to go grocery shopping later. See you in a while! I'll put you back on your usual spot on the shelf.

Yours truly,
Casey



June 29th, 2014, 4:30 P.M.

Dear diary,

Hey little sister. Like my new nickname for you? Its the only thing I can come up with at the moment, so that is what you will be called from now on. You will be my little sister; I've always wanted one. All I had was my little brother.

Mom went grocery shopping a few hours ago. The nice lady on the TV set said that there was an accident at Daddy's work. She said it's minor, but we're not supposed to go outside. The cable went out just after she said that. I don't care if we're not supposed to worry, I'm scared. Will Dad be alright? What about Mom? We haven't heard from Mrs. Rose, either. What happened to her? Its nearly dark now, and mom still isn't back. Little brother got hungry, so I gave him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He's screaming for Mommy's lasagna, which she was supposed to make tonight. Sis, you wouldn't happen to be a cookbook, would you?

I have to go, it's nearly bedtime; I must get little brother ready for bed.

Yours truly,
Casey



July 1st, 2014, 8:00 A.M.

Dear little Sister,

Hey sis. Me again. Dad still isn't home from work, and we're all a little worried around here. Mom came home late last night, and wasn't feeling very well. She thinks she caught a small flu.

Cable is back on. The news lady on the TV said that there's an epidemic going around, which is causing Mommy's flu. The lady said we can't go near her, or we might get sick too. We couldn't even get a goodnight kiss from her. We think Mrs. Rose is dead. Mom said there was nobody there when she came home from the store, but the front door was open and the windows were broken.

I'm so scared, sis. Mommy says Daddy can't come home anymore. We can't talk to him either. I think he's dead. Sis, I'm scared. I'm so, so scared.

Yours truly,
Casey



July 1st, 2014. 6:00 P.M.

Dear little Sister,

Hey again Sis. Mom is still in her room, but the lady on the TV said we still can't go near her. It's a good thing that she has a bathroom in her own bedroom, she is throwing up a lot now. She tries to blow everything off - to say it's nothing serious - but I think we all know this is bad. Very, very bad.

We know Mrs. Rose is dead for sure now. The ambulance finally came, and took her body away. They think it was some sort of animal who did it. Her body was all bloody and torn to pieces. I hope she's happy wherever she is.

We don't know much about Daddy yet. The news lady says that nobody escaped his lab alive, but who's to say he isn't alive inside the lab still? We can hope, can't we? Can't we?! I'm still so scared, little Sis.

Little brother is screaming with hunger, and we're running out of bread for sandwiches. I wish I could go down to the supermarket and get some food, but us kids have no money. And Mommy isn't really up for moving, much less driving to the market again.

I have to find some sort of food for little brother and Mommy. She seems fine with cans of soup, but I know that she can't keep it down very well. I wish we had some bread or crackers for her.

Yours truly,
Casey.


p.s. Some scary guy came knocking at our door. He was covered in blood, and was begging to be let in. We didn't let him in.

I think he killed Mrs. Rose.



July 2nd, 2014. 10:00 A.M.

Dear little Sister,

Just woke up. The news is on every channel now. I had to pull out a bunch of DVDs for little brother to watch. I found some old fruit snacks for him. There's a full box, but even I know those won't last long. I hope this thing ends soon.

The people on the TV are saying to board up the house, and not go outside. We locked the doors, and pulled the shades. That's the best we can do for now. Mom's too sick to even move now, she's throwing up all over herself. She's stopped joking; the vomit must be wearing away at her throat. I think I heard her say something about a tooth falling out.

The normal news lady is dead. She was attacked in the street by some of the people who were unlucky enough to be sick like Mommy. The camera man couldn't run away fast enough. Even after dropping his camera, they were still too fast. The news company couldn't turn off his camera either, so channel 12 is constantly showing the dead body of the news lady, who is slowly being eaten by the sick people.

Another person was at the door when I woke up. He wasn't begging to be let in, he was just pounding on the door. I think it was my first grade teacher. I can't tell through all of the blood that's on his face.

I have to go, its nearly lunch time and I have to find some chicken in the freezer for Mommy. Last night, I had to make nearly the whole bag for her. She just ate the breading/skin off of it, not even touching the chicken itself. Little brother was tempted to eat the actual chicken, but i tossed them out the window.

Yours truly,
Casey.

p.s. Mom finally stopped throwing up. She's actually walking around in her room now. I can hear it, even through the closed doors.




July 2nd, 2014. 10:00 P.M.

Dear little Sister,

My pen is running out of ink. I can't find any pencils or pens anywhere.

Mom is still wandering around, banging on the walls and doors of her room. Little brother keeps telling me to let her out, but I won't let him. I can't help but think that she is ending up like the people who keep coming to our doors (and windows recently) every once and a while.

I found out that little brother snuck one chicken strip away from the plate that mom had before I could throw it away, and ate it. He is getting sick now too. Mom isn't making noise in her room anymore. I think she's dead. But I'm too scared to go in and check. Little brother volunteered though. What a brave little trooper.

He went in, and we both realized too late that she was not, in fact, dead. She was faking or something. Little brother screamed and ran, and got out of there pretty quickly.

He didn't tell me until a few minutes ago that she bit him. He bled all over the linoleum in the kitchen. There's a big puddle. I locked him in his room. I think he will turn into one of those...things like Mommy. Daddy isn't home yet either. I'm pretty sure he's dead now, too.

They finally took channel 12 off the air. A little late, considering the sick people had finished the news lady about five hours before the camera ran out of battery. All the other channels are still on, but there's no more people on the street broadcasting. Its all through plated-glass windows and helicopters.

The president declared it a national emergency; we aren't allowed to leave the country anymore. People are already sick in Canada though.

Its spreading.

Yours truly,
Casey.

p.s. I...I think little brother is dead. He's not throwing up, and he's not making any more noises - none at all. I'm not going to check on him. It's my fault he went in. My fault. My fault. It's all my fault.



July 3rd, 2014. 5:00 P.M.

Dear little Sister,

My pen did run out of ink. Good thing I finally found a pencil underneath the couch.

The infection is still spreading. The president met with other World Leaders and they declared a global epidemic. We still can't leave the country, and we're not even supposed to leave our homes anymore.

The helicopters have stopped taking videos of this whole mess. They've started shooting the infected instead. Not even sick people anymore; evidently they're not classified as human. Infected, doesn't that sound so...grisly?

Mom is dead now. I'm sure of it. I can smell her body; I think it's decomposing faster than a normal person would. Brother is dead now too. Or at least I think he is. It (that thing is not my brother anymore) might still be waiting for me to check on "him".

I think I'm starting to run out of food. Mom should have a bunch of groceries out in her car, wouldn't she? She did go to the supermarket afterall. But there are infected people out there. And the helicopters who might think I'm one of the infected. And maybe Mommy got sick before she could even get to the supermarket? It's a risk I have to take.

I want chicken. I want food. I want my old life back.

Yours truly,
Casey.



July 4th, 2014. 11:00 P.M.

Dear little Sister,

I'm so hungry.

Little brother broke out of his room; he wasn't dead. I ran to the basement, but all I could grab in time was you, a pen, and the sandwich I had in my hand.

It's dark in here, but there's one small little bulb. It's old, and it could go out any second. So that's why I'm writing to you now. You see, I can still hear the television from down here. I had left it on while I was still up there.

The President, our leader, has declared that the U.S. Army is to launch a nuclear warhead at our own country. It's a good thing that I won't even be here when the bomb hits, because I think Little Brother bit me.

I tried eating the sandwich, but it just doesn't taste right anymore. I need meat.

Dear god, I'm so hungry. You don't taste enough like skin.

Yours truly,
Casey.

_____________

The rest of the diary is intelligible, and the remaining pages are smeared with blood. The diary, along with the body of Cassandra Linette _____ (the pair were given the evidence number 13683.1 and 13683.2, respecively) were burned after the autopsy was performed.

I'm afraid of the dark. I've actually been afraid of it since I was very, very young. Evidently, most kids that are my age were as well. It doesn't help that I can't see as well in the dark, either. My eyesight isn't all that good.

But I'm different. Or at least I think so.

Because truth be told, it's not the dark I'm afraid of. Merely what might be hiding in it.

I bet you all know the feeling. A bump in the night. A tree scratching at the window. The creek-creek of your closet door opening a crack in a non-existent breeze.

It's at this point that most kids start screaming for their mother, pretending to want a glass of water, one last hug before they fall asleep, or whatever else someone might pretend to want.

The older kids won't do that. Instead, they find an excuse. They go check their Twitter, Facebook, (or God help us) Myspace, just hoping that the dim glow of the computer screen will keep the Boogieman in the closet at bay. Others, without access to a computer, will turn their lights on.

You fools.

I couldn't find you in the dark.

It’s kind of chilly in here....

Beep.

The thermostat makes a beeping sound, indicating it had gone down one degree. You push your sweater up on your neck a little bit more. Sure, its winter in Wisconsin...but the heater should be on. So why is it so cold in here?!

Beep.

Another degree. The window isn't even open! You go around your small dorm room, searching for the draft.

You find none.

Disgruntled, you quickly grab a quilt from your bedroom, and go back to the computer. Its 2 o'clock in the morning and that term paper is due tomorrow. But the draft is making it hard to concentrate. But still, the paper is due in about six hours, and the dorm doors are snowed in. So there was no way to leave anyway.

Beep.

"What the hell?!" You scream, and run over to the thermostat again. 50 Degrees Fahrenheit. You search everywhere this time. The fridge...nope, not open. The door outside? Open a crack, and there is frost forming on it. That must have been it. You go back to the computer, again, and resume typing.

A while later, you realize the thermostat has stopped beeping. But it’s still cold. Maybe it’s broken? Temperature stopped dropping?
Your heart sinks. The thermostat is frozen solid. No readout is even showing. Was it even on?!

You tap at it. It’s really cold. Your finger even sticks to the thermostat for a small fraction of a second, before ripping off; a small bit of skin with it. Abandoning the search paper for now, you go to your bed and try to warm up. As you pass the door to get outside, you realize it is still open. Didn’t I close it? There’s even more frost formed on it, and some forming on the floor in front of it. You close it again anyway. You climb into your bed, and pull a large quilt onto your bed with you.

The cold is making every thing fuzzy, and your eyelids are just fighting to stay open. Your med-school knowledge tells you what is really happening: hypothermia. In a college dorm, of all places?

You barely have the focus to see a ...a creature would be the best way to describe it, but that's not even close enough. It is lumbering around, slowly, through your dorm. Everywhere it steps, patches of ice start to form.

And it is making noises.

Sick, disturbing noises. It’s standing right over you now. It leans down toward you, laughter in the pits of what can best be described as its eyes. But what gets you most is the noise that comes out of its mouth next, chilling your heart to its core.

Beep.

***Day 1***


Slowly, the girl started to regain consciousness. The pounding inside her head was giving her one massive migraine, and the heat didn't make her feel much better.

The heat? She thought to herself. Where am I?!

She opened her eyes in shock and wished she hadn't. The scorching light from the midday sun beat down on her neck. Wherever she was, it felt way to dry to be her hotel room. She swallowed, hoping to clear her aching throat. It didn't help. In fact, it made it worse. She retched violently onto the ground, her salty blood making her wince in pain as it touched her chapped lips.

She was aware of another presence near her. Very, very near. A small spider, which looked actually kind of cute, was sitting on her arm. Still, she was deathly afraid of them. She swatted at it, pressing it into her elbow on accident.

Owie! She thought to herself yet again. For such a small spider, its little sting actually hurt a little.

She braced herself against a nearby bush and hoisted herself to a standing position. She was now regretting her life as a model and the shoes that came along with it. Slowly, she walked forward, trying to find a way out of the desert. Almost immediately, her disoriented senses betrayed her. As she tripped over a rock, a sharp snap echoed throughout the area. Her left leg also went numb. She collapsed into a heap yet again in the sand.

Looking back at her ankle, she realized what the sound really was. Her weakened ankle, along with the awkward angle from being bent by the rock, had snapped under the pressure. She stifled a sob, and started crawling away in the afternoon sun, leaving her high heels behind.

Good riddance, she thought with malice.


***Day 2***


The girl hopped up to one leg. Sunset, she thought. Now to get on the move again. But why does my arm itch so much? She looked down at her elbow, where the spider had bitten. It was swollen, and she could barely move it. It was also turning a sickening green color, with pus oozing out of where she had gotten bitten.

For the second time since the start of this ordeal, she retched in the bushes again. But this time, it was a dry one. Nothing left in her stomach to bring back up. Starving herself for the show was a bad idea, and now she regretted it. Her size zero waist, bony shoulders, and unhealthy complexion was proof of how she was killing her own body. As soon as she got home, she would not stop eating for three full hours.

If I get home, she added with a hint of despair.

She itched her arm one last time, almost subconsciously. The tips of her fingers, her fingernails wore down, were covered in something wet. Blood. Looking down, frightened, she almost puked again at what she saw.

Her arm was bloody and raw. The green color had made way for a new color: black. Bits of her own flesh had turned a sickening red as well.

Gangrene! she noted with horror.

She started sobbing now, as she heard fluttering behind her. Turning quickly, she saw a vulture fly off into the fading sunset. A small breeze had started to blow, and the temperature decreased sharply.

Maybe I should get some sleep...

She crawled under the faint shade of a small bush and slept.


***Day 3***


She awakened to a sight nobody would ever want to see. In the morning light, she could see three large black shapes, just above her. Three vultures were sitting on the ground next to her, picking at her right arm. She tried to raise her left arm to shoo them away, but was surprised when she could not move it either. Looking over, she realized why. Another vulture, the biggest of the now four total, was perched on her opened palm. Its large talons were gouging into her wrist, but very little escaped. Any blood that did escape was the consistency of jelly. It was coagulating inside her body. The great bird clamped its mouth down on her side, and tore out another chunk of rotting flesh. The vulture opened its mouth and cackled at her. It was laughing at her, mocking her own stupidity for wandering away from that desert party.

She should have not walked away, should have taken that drink from the stranger. But her drunken mind hadn't listened to her. She had taken the drink, and drank it with relish. But something had tasted wrong about the alcohol...it was too....bitter. Yes, bitter would be the way to describe it. She passed out in the sand, and had woken up alone.

Ugh. what a mess i have gotten myself into this time, right girl?


She was numb as more vultures landed, and started to make more gashes in her clothing and flesh. Numb as the lizards came, and laid their eggs in her sides. Numb as the rats chewed off her earlobes and fingers. A brief howl of laughter escaped her lips.

At least I'm pretty.