June 7th, 1982
This date is a only rough estimate, but I am sure that I’ve been unconscious for more than a day due to the growth on my face. But that’s not important right now; there are creatures on this island. My rest was interrupted at one point by scratching on the other side of the rough wall, accompanied by the same moaning that I head out of the cave. However, when I awoke and dug myself out of my hovel, the walls were immaculate and the creatures gone. A feather lying on the ground was the only trace that I could find of anything being there at all. Could I have imagined the entire thing?
In any case, I will have to arm myself. I’m hungry again and I refuse to repeat what occurred the day before. The wood blocks that have formed my home seem to be fairly malleable despite their strength, and I may be able to create some rudimentary tools. We will have to see.
June 7th, later
The crafting worked surprisingly well, much to my surprise. The wood came apart with enough force, and the resulting sticks and a few rocks lying around made a decent crafting bench. After that came a few tools, an axe for chopping up trees was the most obvious choice, a wooden sword for fighting off monsters. Well, “club” might be more appropriate, as I couldn’t get it to hold a blade for all the world, so it’s more a bludgeoning tool. But it’ll keep my hands clean, and that’s enough.
I also managed to create a pickaxe with some measure of success. The landscape is littered with stone, but smashing it like the tree only caused it to shatter. I had to hit the damned rock until my hands bled, though. Perhaps a pick will give some degree of precision to the work. Of course, a wood pick will probably shatter against the rock on the first attempt, but it can’t hurt to try.
Speaking of stone, there appears to be a vein of a sooty material in the rock nearby, much like coal. I may be able to form torches from this material, if I can get it out of the rock. Anything to conserve the dwindling fuel for my lighter.
June 7th, night
My rock venture was successful, the picks worked beautifully. The resulting shards of rock seem to possess the same adhesive properties as the wood, which made making new tools a breeze. It might be possible to create a better stronghold, given enough time… we shall see.
However, I must regretfully return to the subject of the beings on the island. I spend much of my time in utter isolation, with only the rare herd of cattle or pigs to make my company. However, my mining adventure is worth noting.
I was following a vein of coal (I’m now sure that the black substance must be coal) and inadvertently broke through into a cavern. Before I could light another torch, however, an arrow embedded itself by the side of my head! Ducking back into my makeshift hallway, I called out to the shooter to inform him of my humanity. Unfortunately, the arrows simply kept coming. I moved my eyes inch by inch around the corner, but was forced to take flight under a barrage of arrows.
I only caught a glimpse of the man, but I could tell that it was a very thin human with incredibly white skin. Perhaps he was a native of the island that lived in the cave exclusively? I would certainly explain his alabaster pigmentation, much like the albino rats in the sewers. The man certainly wasn’t a “rat”, I would live in a cave if I dared enter one.
Speaking of which, I must figure out how to venture into the caves. Perhaps I should parlay with the man tomorrow, maybe he can advise me on the best methods of spelunking.
I sealed myself in my hovel again, writing tonight by torchlight. The scratching is back again, but it only seems to be coming from the ground floor. Could I open up the top to get some air flowing? It’s awfully stuffy in here.
Again, something for another day. Tonight, I sleep. Goodnight Lucy, my love.