These are the contents of the journal in full. Before you read this, I feel obligated to warn you that it contains… content that no one in their right mind would want to read. It is violent and hateful. This is your last chance to stop reading and go back to your life. I’ve learned the hard way that you can’t unread something, no matter how much you wish you could.

So, here it is. Seamus Wagner’s diary.

April 4th, 1973

I begin this journal with the knowledge that my search is now complete. I have wasted years of my life in this domestic hell, waiting for such a time as these dark secrets would be revealed to me. Now that I have them, there is no reason to wait to put them to good use. It will take months, I am sure of it, but I have been patient this long, I will be patient again.

My family knows nothing of this. I think that is best – they are utter fools, all of them, my bitch wife and the little brats that I sired. If they were not necessary to my aim, I would have killed them while they still swam in their mother’s belly. As is, they must live. It’s a pity.

For now, I will plan, and I will wait. Any haste on my part will reduce the probability of success – that is one thing that I cannot have.

April 28th, 1973

It is, perhaps, unwise to document what I am about to do and, more importantly, how to do it, but it is necessary. This will become useful to my own blood one day – until such a time, it will be kept under lock and key.
The secret given to me reads thus:

Of the young, of the old

Blood of black, blood of gold

Poor man’s weight, at Hell’s gate

One’s own blood is sold

That makes five, then, that I must take now. Of course, the sixth will have to wait, and so will I. It will come to me on its own, I am sure of it.

I do not know if these must be prepared in the order given. I was not instructed to do so, but I will follow the order as a precaution.

Before the next month is out, I will take the first.

June 16th, 1973

It is all a matter of choosing someone that nobody will miss – for practicality’s sake.

If there are too many questions, the risk becomes greater. Better to pick somebody unimportant, or, even better, hated.

The little Carson child did nicely. His parents are outsiders, so nobody will care much if their broken condom goes missing. So far, the police have been useless as they usually are.

The first kill was… exhilarating. Beautiful. I had to do it in the old chicken coop at the edge of the farm, but I quite liked the filthy atmosphere – it paired well with the brat’s filthy blood. He screamed a lot – a child would, I suppose – and I managed to finish it before he went into shock. I’m fairly certain that he felt every inch of death. That will make me all the more powerful.

I am certain that this will succeed.

November 28th, 1973

I waited a few months, just to be safe. I don’t think it was necessary, but it couldn’t hurt.

Old blood is a little trickier. Anyone who has been a part of the community for a long time risks being… missed. If I could kill my bitch mother, I would, and put an end to it. But it can’t be of my own blood. Not yet.

I chose Manchester down the road. He’s made enough enemies, as most people think he’s a pig-stealing son of a bitch. Killing him wasn’t as fun – he didn’t scream or struggle as much, and he died much too quickly. Heart attack. The shit didn’t deserve a death so clean.

Two down.

May 13th, 1974

The ground was too hard – couldn’t dig in the winter. I’m tired of waiting. I need to take the others before the ground freezes again – it’s not going to be easy.

Black blood is easy – it just calls for a nigger. No one cares when one of those pigs goes missing. I chose a drifter, anyway. Not like any of them would stay in this town for long, they find out pretty quickly how well we take to their kind.

For a darkie, he was awfully pink inside. It was kind of funny, how the pink of his intestines lay against the black of his skin. Well, it wasn’t so black by that time, I guess blood loss will do that to them.
I had fun with him, and buried him in pieces. But not before taking what I needed.

June 13th, 1974

I could move more quickly after the last one, no one noticed him missing. But this time was harder. Gold, so someone rich.

It doesn’t matter much to me, I’ll take them rich or poor, but if this ritual is to work, I have to follow the instructions. So, I did what I had to, and I took after the richest man in town.

For someone so powerful, he sure was a coward. I liked playing with his blood. I think blood is what I like the most, so red, with a burning liquid heat. I like that very much.

I need to lay low for a while now – the police are sure to take after this. They’re incompetent, so I don’t expect much, but I still must be certain not to give myself away.

Patience is the one virtue I must learn to acquire.

September 4th, 1974

I may have made a mistake, but I think that I have come far enough that it no longer matters.

I suppose I should have waited longer. Hans was bound to be noticed, when someone so rich dies, people care. Money is truly the most important thing, isn’t it? I knew that after his disappearance people would begin to pay attention.

I simply couldn’t help myself.

It’s a funny thing that happens when you begin killing. It is almost impossible to stop. The feel of hot blood between your fingers, the smell of fear and desperation… it is an intoxication. It is glory redefined.

A poor man. John Willows at the end of Coffey Lane.

He was the last piece of the puzzle, at least the last piece that I got to add myself. I took my time and enjoyed his death. I pulled out his fingernails – that sound was beautiful. I kept them. Sometimes, I like to keep things. Teeth and nails make excellent keepsakes. They last and last.

He begged. He, too, was a coward. I enjoy killing cowards. They’re the most theatrical.

The only problem is that the police are searching now. They’re beginning to put the pieces of the puzzle together. I’ll need to act quickly, now, to seal fate.

October 14th, 1974

It has to be today.

The preparations have been made. The incantations weren’t easy, but they have served their purpose.

Someday in the future, my own blood will be called back to this place. This place of death and destruction and utter hell.

This place of immortality.

Yes, I must endure death. And the tortures of hell. But once my blood returns, I will have my moment, my chance of everlasting resurrection. And the carrier of my blood will share immortality with me.

Perhaps they are reading this now. Know this: you are the only worthy child in this family of filth. You will be my successor.