The Journal of John Millner

The Journal of John Millner

Entry 1: October 1, 2023

I’ve never done this before—kept a journal, I mean. But Dr. Callahan says it might help me work through some of my…issues. I told her I didn’t see the point. “What’s the use of writing down my thoughts when they’re rotting my brain from the inside out?” That’s how I feel, like something has infested my mind, burrowing deeper every day.

But she said it might help. So here I am, scribbling away at nothing in particular.

I’m not even sure where to begin. My life has always been ordinary—painfully so. Grew up in a small town, went to a small school, lived in the same house for thirty-five years. Mom died a few years ago, Dad a long time before her. No siblings. No real friends, either. I work at the library—a job so dull, even a corpse could do it.

Except for the dreams.

That’s where things started to change. The dreams began about six months ago, right after Mom passed. I chalked it up to grief. Losing her was harder than I thought it would be. She wasn’t a great mother, not by any stretch, but she was…all I had.

The first dream wasn’t too bad. I was walking through an empty field under a grey sky. There was nothing around for miles, just flat, dead land. The ground was dry and cracked, and the air smelled like burnt wood. But I wasn’t alone. I could hear someone whispering behind me, though every time I turned around, no one was there.

After that, they got worse. Every night, the same field, the same whispers. Then I started seeing things. Dark figures standing on the horizon, unmoving, always watching. It’s stupid, I know, but it feels like they’re waiting for something…or for me.

Anyway, I’ll keep writing. If it helps me sleep, I’ll try anything at this point.

Entry 2: October 5, 2023

I didn’t sleep again last night. The whispers have become louder. They aren’t just words anymore; they’re *thoughts* being shoved into my head, forcing their way into my mind, leaving behind an oily residue that lingers when I wake up.

I tried telling Dr. Callahan about it today. She listened patiently, nodding at all the right moments, but I could see it in her eyes—she thinks I’m crazy. Maybe I am. But that doesn’t change the fact that something is happening to me.

There’s one voice in particular that stands out from the rest. It’s clearer, stronger. And it keeps saying the same thing, over and over: *"Tell them."* Tell who? Tell them what? It’s maddening. The figures are getting closer, too. In last night’s dream, one of them was no more than a few feet away from me. I could feel it, smell it. Damp earth, blood, and something else—something rotten.

I’m scared to sleep tonight.

Entry 3: October 7, 2023

I didn’t want to write this down, but I have to. It’s the only way to keep my thoughts straight.

Something followed me out of the dream.

I woke up at 3 a.m., heart pounding, drenched in sweat. The room was cold, much colder than it should’ve been. And I wasn’t alone. There was someone—something—standing in the corner of my bedroom. It didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, just stood there, watching me. Its silhouette was barely visible in the dark, but I knew it was one of them. One of the figures from the field.

I couldn’t move. I don’t know if it was fear or something else, but my body was frozen, pinned to the bed as if invisible hands were holding me down. The figure stayed there for what felt like hours before it finally turned and melted into the shadows.

I don’t know what’s happening to me.

Entry 4: October 9, 2023

The figure came again last night, but this time, it wasn’t alone. There were two of them, standing at the foot of my bed, their shapes twisting and writhing like smoke. They didn’t speak, but I could feel their presence in my mind, clawing at my thoughts, pushing deeper, trying to force something out of me.

And then, the voice. 

"Tell them. Confess."

I don’t know what they want from me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to confess. But it’s getting harder to fight them. I feel like I’m losing pieces of myself, little by little, every night. I can’t keep this up. I’m afraid of what will happen if I do.

Entry 5: October 11, 2023

I went to see Dr. Callahan again today. She prescribed some sleeping pills, said I might be suffering from sleep paralysis and that the medication would help.

But when I left her office, I saw something—or someone. A man, standing across the street, staring at me. At first, I thought it was just another random person, but when I blinked, he was gone. I swear, he looked exactly like one of the figures from my dreams.

I’m not imagining this. I’m not.

Entry 6: October 13, 2023

The pills don’t help. If anything, they make the dreams worse. The figures are closer now, surrounding me on all sides, pressing in, their whispers filling my ears, my head, my soul. And the voice…it’s relentless.

"Tell them."

I’ve been thinking about it all day. What do they want me to confess? What secret am I hiding that’s so important, so vital that these things would torment me for it?

But I know. I’ve known all along. I just didn’t want to face it.

Entry 7: October 15, 2023

I’ve been lying to myself, pretending I didn’t know the truth. But I do.

I remember the day clearly now, though I tried to bury it deep. It was about six months ago, shortly before Mom passed. I was cleaning out the attic, sorting through old boxes of stuff that hadn’t seen the light of day in years, when I found it: a small, wooden box, locked tight.

I knew I shouldn’t have opened it, but curiosity got the better of me. Inside was a stack of letters—yellowed with age, but still legible. They were addressed to my mother from someone named Samuel. The letters were…intimate. Passionate. They spoke of a love affair that had started decades ago, long before I was born.

But that wasn’t the worst part. The last letter, dated nine months before my birth, wasn’t from Samuel. It was from my mother. And in it, she confessed something that made my blood run cold.

Samuel was my father.

The man I’d grown up believing was my dad—her husband—had no idea. He died thinking I was his son. And my mother, she kept that secret from him, from me, from everyone. Until I found the letters.

I confronted her about it, of course. She denied it at first, but eventually, she broke down and admitted the truth. I was furious, but I didn’t tell anyone. I couldn’t. What was the point? She was dying, and the man who had raised me was already gone. So I kept her secret. I thought that was the end of it.

But I was wrong.

Entry 8: October 17, 2023

They know. The figures, the whispers—they know my secret, and they want me to confess. But I don’t understand. Why me? Why now?

The dreams are worse than ever. The figures are no longer just standing around me—they’re touching me, their cold, clammy hands pressing against my skin, leaving marks that burn and itch when I wake up. I can’t take this much longer. I’m on the edge of something dark, something I can’t come back from.

Entry 9: October 18, 2023

It’s not just the dreams anymore. I’m seeing them when I’m awake. They follow me everywhere—on the street, at work, even in the mirror. They don’t disappear when I blink anymore. They’re real. They’re here.

I don’t know how much longer I can hold on. I can feel them inside my head, pushing, prodding, tearing me apart from the inside. The voice is louder now, screaming at me, demanding that I confess.

I’m so tired. I don’t know what they’ll do if I don’t give in.

Entry 10: October 19, 2023

I think I understand now. The figures, the voices—they aren’t real. They’re just manifestations of my guilt, my shame. I’ve been carrying this secret for too long, and it’s eating me alive.

I have to tell someone. I have to confess. Maybe then the whispers will stop, and I’ll finally be free.

Entry 11: October 20, 2023

I told her. I told Dr. Callahan everything—the letters, the affair, the truth about my father. I thought it would help, thought the weight would lift once I said the words out loud.

But it didn’t.

The figures are still here. They’re closer than ever now. I can feel their breath on my neck, their fingers scraping at my skin. And the voice—it’s not satisfied. It’s not enough.

Confessing to Dr. Callahan didn’t make them go away. If anything, it made them stronger. Last night, they were in my room again, but this time, I wasn’t paralyzed. I could move, and when I did, one of them reached out and grabbed my wrist. Its touch burned like acid, and when I looked down, I could see its hand—pale, bony, like something long dead. The flesh clung to it like wet paper, and the smell—oh god, the smell.

It pulled me close, and I could see its face. Or what was left of it. Hollow eyes, a twisted grin stretched too wide, skin sloughing off like wax melting in the heat. But it wasn’t just one face. It was many. Flickering in and out of focus, shifting like a slide show of the dead.

And then the voice spoke again, louder than ever before.  

"Tell them the real secret."

I don’t know what it means. I already confessed, didn’t I? The letters, the affair, my mother’s lies—it’s all out in the open now. But the figures, the voice—they want something more. And I’m afraid. I’m terrified that I know what it is.

Entry 12: October 22, 2023

I haven’t slept in two days. I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, I see them—those faces, those hollow eyes staring at me, waiting. The pressure in my head is unbearable now, like something is trying to crawl its way out. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep fighting.

I’ve started to remember things, little flashes of memory I thought I’d buried. Things I’ve tried to forget for years.

It was after Dad died. I was sixteen, old enough to understand, but still young enough to be angry. Mom and I fought a lot back then. She was a mess, drinking all the time, barely able to take care of herself, let alone me. I hated her for it. I hated her for being weak, for not being able to hold herself together.

One night, we had a particularly bad fight. She’d been drinking again, stumbling around the house, slurring her words. I yelled at her, said some awful things, things I wish I could take back. She slapped me. I pushed her. She fell, hit her head on the corner of the coffee table.

She didn’t get up.

I didn’t know what to do. I panicked. I was scared. So I called an ambulance, but by the time they arrived, it was too late. They said she died from the fall, from a freak accident. No one suspected anything.

But it wasn’t an accident, was it? I pushed her. I killed her.

That’s the real secret.

Entry 13: October 24, 2023

It’s all clear now. The figures, the whispers—they were never after the secret about my father. They wanted the truth about my mother, the truth I’ve been hiding from everyone, even from myself.

I killed her. And I got away with it.

But they won’t let me forget. The figures aren’t just hallucinations. They’re real. I can feel them, hear them, smell them. They’re here because they know what I did. They’re the dead, the ones I’ve wronged, the guilt that’s been festering inside me for years, growing into something monstrous.

I tried to confess to Dr. Callahan again, but she didn’t believe me. She thinks I’m having a breakdown, that the guilt and grief over my mother’s death are causing these delusions. But it’s not a delusion. They’re real. They’re coming for me.

Entry 14: October 26, 2023

They’re in the house now. I can hear them shuffling through the halls at night, scraping their fingers along the walls, whispering my name. They know I’m close to breaking, and they’re just waiting for the right moment.

I saw one of them in the kitchen today. It was standing by the sink, staring at me with those empty eyes. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. It pointed at the floor, and when I looked down, I saw blood—my mother’s blood, pooling on the tiles just like it did that night.

I can’t take this anymore. I can’t live like this. If I don’t do something, they’re going to take me.

Entry 15: October 28, 2023

There’s only one way to make this stop. I have to confess to everyone, not just Dr. Callahan. I need to tell the truth—to the police, to the world. Only then will they leave me alone.

I can feel them getting closer. They’re in my room now, surrounding me, their whispers filling the air like a thick fog. They’re waiting for me to make my move, to finally give in and tell the world what I’ve done.

I’m going to the police tomorrow. I’ll tell them everything. I’ll confess, and then maybe…maybe I can find some peace.

Entry 16: October 29, 2023

I went to the police today. I sat in the station for hours, waiting, rehearsing the words in my head. But when the officer came to speak to me, I couldn’t do it. The words wouldn’t come out. My throat felt like it was closing up, and all I could think about were those figures, those faces.

They don’t want me to confess. Not really. They don’t want me to be free. They want me to suffer.

And I will. Because there’s no escape from this. No amount of confession will erase what I’ve done. The dead won’t let me go. They’ll never let me go.

Entry 17: October 31, 2023

It’s Halloween tonight. Fitting, I suppose, that this is how it ends. The figures are here, all of them, gathered around me as I write this. Their faces are clearer now, their eyes burning with something like hunger.

The voice is louder than ever. It’s inside my head, clawing at my thoughts, tearing at my sanity. I can’t fight it anymore. I’m too tired. Too broken.

"Confess."

But it doesn’t matter, does it? I’ve confessed. I’ve told the truth. And still, they’re here.

I understand now. This isn’t about punishment. It’s about justice. The kind of justice that can only come from beyond the grave.

I killed my mother. And now, they’ve come to collect.

I’m not going to fight them anymore. I’m ready.

Final Entry: October 31, 2023

They’re here.

John Millner’s body was found in his home on November 1, 2023. He was alone, with no signs of forced entry or struggle. The official cause of death was ruled as a heart attack, though investigators noted that his journal contained disturbing entries leading up to his death.