The diary came to an abrupt end.
William blinked in surprise, staring at the last shaky line on the page. As he flipped through the earlier entries, he noticed how the handwriting had become increasingly erratic, almost unreadable. It was as if the writer's mind had gradually unraveled, a descent into madness that mirrored the disturbing events they described.
The entries after little Bob entered the Black Forest were the worst. The writing was jagged and frantic, smeared in places, as though written in haste or desperation. By the time the diary's owner had fully transformed into... something else, the letters were a horrifying mess of jagged strokes, thick and red like splatters of blood. Each word seemed to pulse with a chaotic energy, making William's head throb the longer he looked at it.
