Okay. It's been... yeah, days. I haven't had a wink of sleep. I've been fearing for my life. I've been fearing those fucking things, those shadows in the fog. The... what did that site call it, The Mistral. The shadows and apparitions appear, the wind picks up. I dare not try to open my door or my windows when they appear. The spirits rap on the door, calling out with many voices. The people whose lives I have touched for the worse, not the better. It even calls out in the voices of Moreau and the other actors, the crewman with the broken leg, Victor... even my wife and children. I try covering my ears but their cries prevail even over the wind. I can see the apparitions move on when they see I will not open the door. I read an article on the internet. Director Xander died in an underused road on the outskirts of Oklahoma City. He was found suffocated shortly after a tornado hit the area.
I wasn't its only victim on that set. I have to go. I have to go back to Los Angeles. I need to see my wife and children. They're okay. At least... I hope that they're okay.
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