Case File: "Forest Investigation – Unnamed Client"
Date: July 2, 2025
Location: Still Stuck in the House from Hell
Investigator: Itsumi Matzuri
I don't even know why I'm writing this. Maybe it's just something to do with my hands so I don't start screaming again. Maybe it's because if I die here, someone should know what happened—even if it's just a bunch of scribbles in a notebook that'll never see the light of day. Or maybe I just need to get these thoughts out of my head before I lose what's left of my sanity.
Let's get one thing straight: I am scared. Not the kind of scared you get when you watch a horror movie alone at night, or when you hear a weird noise in your apartment and convince yourself it's just the pipes. No, this is the kind of fear that sits in your gut like a block of ice, that makes your hands shake and your teeth chatter even though you know you should be keeping quiet. I've been in dangerous situations before—cartels, corrupt cops, angry protestors—but nothing, nothing, has ever made me feel like this.
That thing—the bull, the monster, whatever the hell it is—I hate it. I hate its stupid face, its stupid horns, its stupid roar. I hate the way it made me feel like a bug, like I could be squashed without a second thought. I hate that it's keeping me trapped in this godforsaken house, playing some sick game with me. If I ever get out of here, I'm going to find whoever sent me that email and shove this notebook down their fucking throat.
I tried everything to get out. The front door is sealed shut, like it's welded to the frame. The windows are a joke—one minute you're on the ground floor, the next you're staring down at a drop that would make a skyscraper jealous. I even tried breaking through the walls, but all I got for my trouble was a bruised shoulder and a fresh wave of panic.
I wandered the halls for what felt like hours, looking for anything—anything—that might be a way out. All I found was a staircase, leading down into darkness. I stood at the top for a long time, staring into the black. Every instinct I have is screaming at me not to go down there. If the house is bad, whatever's in the basement has to be worse. I'm not ashamed to admit it: I'm too fucking scared to move.
I keep thinking about that message in the Bibles. "The truth is revealed to the inept and death to the lost souls." Am I the inept one, or the lost soul? Maybe both. Maybe that's why I'm here—because I'm too stupid to say no to easy money, too lost to care what happens to me. Or maybe this is just some cosmic joke, and I'm the punchline.
I can hear the bull-thing stomping around somewhere in the house. Every time the floor shakes, I flinch. I keep expecting it to burst through the wall and finish what it started. I wish I could say I'm ready for it, but I'm not. I'm tired, I'm scared, and I just want to go home.
If anyone finds this, do me a favor: burn this place to the ground. And if you ever get an email offering you fifty grand to investigate a forest, delete it. Trust me, it's not worth it.