I Found A Journal From Someone Who Worked On An Oil Rig And The Entries Are Freakishly Disturbing

November 7th: 12 AM

[The first part of this entry is sketchy and erratic. Within a few lines, the writing evens out.]

We all saw it. It’s out there right now, waiting for more of us.

I can barely write, my hands are shaking so much. But I have to write this all down. If this goes south and I don’t make it, there has to be something.

The hours today dragged out like days. Barely anyone spoke, and almost no one slept. The ones who did, hesitated for hours before finally catching maybe thirty minutes to an hour of actual sleep. Kevin managed to get almost two hours before he jerked up into a sitting position. His eyes were closed, but he was smiling and chuckling.

Kevin: “Wow, man. Oh shit, that is awesome.”

He laughed even more and one of the guys near him shook him by the shoulders. He squirmed and breathed heavily. He looked like he was going to scream when he woke up. We all sighed in relief — except for Kevin. He just looked worried and didn’t get back to sleep.

Around 10 o’clock, the Doc said he was going to check on Stanley and Doug again. I decided to go with him. Bill jumped up and followed behind us.

Bill: “I don’t watch you like a hawk, you’ll start booking it for a swan dive again.”

I smiled, but I knew Bill didn’t want to be left in that quiet room full of scared and tired men.

We made it halfway down the second flight of stairs when we heard yelling. We ran, and we could tell it was Doug. I got nervous. I didn’t want to have to try to restrain that big son of a bitch again. The closer we got though, you could tell he wasn’t screaming like before. He was trying to get somebody’s attention. We ran into the infirmary and Doug was still strapped to his bed, but Stanley was gone.

Doug: “He went that way! You gotta’ stop him, he ain’t right!”

We turned right around and headed in the direction Doug had motioned. Down the hall, we found Stanley’s IV. The needle poured out liquid that mixed with the thin trail of blood that led on down the hall. We followed it further and came to an open door, banging in the wind. The three of us scanned in every direction.

Doc: “There!”

He pointed down to the cellar deck. I saw Stanley through the rain and hail. He was walking slowly with his eyes closed and what looked like a big smile. He was bare-chested and bandages wrapped the place where his arm used to be. He was heading towards the stairs to the sub-cellar deck.

Doc: “We have to get him before he goes over!”

We all ran across the wet and slippery platform, trying not to get swept away in the storm. We made it to an outstretch of the cellar deck, just above the sub-cellar level that Stanley had come to. He was maybe 2 feet from the edge, and there was no railing on that platform. The waves were so high, they were jutting up just 20 feet below him. We’d never make it to him in time. He didn’t jump, though. He stood there, heaving up and down from laughter. The laughter grew loud enough to hear over the howling of the storm.

Just at that moment, the black water erupted upwards and swallowed Stanley and most of the walkway he was on. We all jumped back, the spray hit us in the face and front, but we all saw it. It was dark, but inside the water was a brilliant blue light. It cast enough light to tell what else was in the water. A giant black form, at least 30 to 40 feet long. It was gone in a flash, and all that remained was the mangled metal of what was left of the platform.

We all stood there, scared shitless with nothing to say. After what seemed like forever, Doc turned around and ran back. Bill and I did the same. I asked Doc if he was okay, but he didn’t answer. We got back, and the Doc went back to Doug in the infirmary. Bill and I went back to the cafeteria, and were too afraid to tell anyone what we’d seen. Or maybe we just couldn’t come to terms with it. I’m getting tired and I just hope someone wakes me up before I give myself to that…thing.

November 7th: 4 PM

We’re all tired and scared. A few of the men are trying to deny it, but they’re the minority at this point. There’s a dark air hovering all around us. Nobody wants to sleep, but nobody wants to be awake. We’re barely talking to one another. The Doc brought Doug back to stay with the rest of us. Every so often, he gives Doug a little shot of some sedative. Doug doesn’t seem to mind, and even if he did, I don’t think he could react fast enough to stop the Doc.

Once every couple hours, I’ll go to the nearest window and just stare into the waves. I can barely make out anything through all the rain and hail and wind. But I know I’d see that light if it appeared… Even if it did, what the fuck would I do about it? Shout for everyone to see? So they could be just as fucking scared as I am. And what is that light attached to? There was something massive in the water that flooded over Stanley. And it tore through the metal platform of the sub-cellar deck like it was god damn paper.

I figured the storm would’ve died out by now. It’s been going on for almost four days, and it isn’t showing signs of slowing down. Ed thinks it’s just the beginning. That we’re coming up on the biggest part of a hurricane. He’s been working rigs the longest here, and he knows the signs better than any of us. I don’t want to admit I think he’s right. Don’t want to face the idea of that on top of whatever’s out in those waters.

We’ve been keeping on top of the dreams — for the most part. When one of us actually gets some sleep, he has at least one spotter to sit with him. If he starts acting weird at all, we slap the shit out of him. Shaking, pushing, yelling, none of it’s worked. It just makes the dreamer get agitated. A hard open hand to the face seems to snap you right back awake, though. And it keeps you awake. I had my share of it about an hour and a half ago.

I shut my eyes for just a second. My eyeballs were burning and my lids were so damn heavy. I remember looking down at my boots, closing my eyes, opening them, and seeing my bare feet hanging off my window frame. I didn’t think twice. I knew I had to jump off that pier like I knew I had to breath. I put my feet on the floor of the porch and a white hot pain shot up the left side of my face. The beautiful purple and blue sky quickly faded away to the dim lighting of the cafeteria. Bill was standing right in front of me, cocked back and ready with another. He saw I was awake and didn’t smack me again, thank god.

Me: “Thanks.”

Bill gave me the weakest smile.

Bill: “My pleasure.”

Then we both sat back down.

I’ve been keeping my journal here in a heavy duty dry-bag whenever I’m not writing in it. Then I stuff that in my backpack with the most important of my shit. After everything I’ve seen, I’m prepared for anything. God fucking forbid we have to go out on a boat or…or I have to go into the water. I want to at least make sure the record of all this is preserved. My life hasn’t really fucking amounted to much, but maybe leaving this will help someone figure this all out. Stop it from happening again, I don’t know. I wish I was back home. I know it’s important, but I’m getting tired of writing. I’m just getting tired.

beetlejuice

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