The sun is beginning to fall behind the trees, which means there will be no more trekking for me today; I've been walking up and down this long beach, and I've even ventured deeper into the undergrowth, just to get some idea of my surroundings. I can't put my paw on it but there is something strange afoot, whether it be I am not alone on this island or something else I cannot be sure, but one thing I am sure of is that if I don't find some more provisions soon, I won't be making a return journey.

Tommorow I plan to begin the construction of a raft to escape this place; I have a good recollection of how to make it and I'm sure with great effort it will be completed soon, though something is holding me back -- something is compelling me to stay... I wouldn't consider staying a wise choice though.

I have managed to build some crude shelter for the few nights I do plan on staying here however, and I gauge that it has enough strength to withstand moderate amounts of wind and rain. But judging by the clear hue of the sky and the few clouds I won't be seeing anything of the like for a time at least. If only I had some of the tools that disappeared with the raft, it could've been a lot stronger, but I have made do with the small axe I use to cut through harsher parts of the jungle, and the lengths of rope I always carry.

I do hope I can complete a fair deal of work tommorow though, and perhaps discover something more about this place -- I wouldn't want this to be a wasted journey. Now though I need some rest, for I want to awake and ready for the undertakings I have planned.

Best wishes,

My heart is still pounding, my mind racing, and fear claws my mind. I am not one to scare easily, yet this experience frightened me somewhat, more because of the "what-lays-ahead-is-unknown" factor. I cannot be sure... does he know I am here? Ahh, I am getting ahead of myself... forgive me if my writing is hardly legible, I am struggling to write all I can without sinking in panic.

The day started out as I claimed it would. I left my shelter and made a quick breakfast -- fresh water from a tiny stream nearby, and a bit of various fruit that we certainly don't have back at Mystery Island. With that, I headed off into the jungle, eager to put together a raft.

Still fighting the urge that I had last night, the nagging little voice in the back of my mind that is vaguely telling me to remain on this prison, I trudged determinedly into the jungle in search of suitable logs and the likes of which could make an able raft.

Stumbling through the dense underbrush, I gasped and fought my way to a clearing ahead. It was there that I collapsed onto the soft ground for a minute-long rest. Time was something I had an abundance of on this island, yet I did not feel obligated to stay in this place anymore than I would have been to the Neopian Pound. It was just the same; I felt trapped, as though my limits were the pounding waves and I had nowhere to go.

Seized with a reckless desire to build this raft, I jumped to my feet and started forward. But just then, I felt a familiar warning alarm going off in my brain, and I stopped in my tracks. Which way was forward? The undeniable, yet painful truth sank in: I was lost.

It was not a difficult feat. Getting lost, that is. There was a sameness to the jungle that had threatened to do this to me since the beginning. Well, no matter. I'd locate a couple of things for the raft, and find my way back later.

I heard the crackle beneath my feet that would not have come from anything in the natural wildness, other than, perhaps, a very dry leaf. Crouching forward, I reached out my paw and grabbed what looked like a faded, yellowing piece of paper. A journal entry?

Was it a paper from within your pages? I had not yet taken you, my companion, out from the tiny shelter that was mine, and especially not this deep into the jungle.

It was difficult to make out the lettering on the paper. Within the vast jungle, the canopy overhead created a darkness so severe that I had trouble seeing my paws in front of me.

No wonder I was lost.

With the paper clutched firmly in my grasp, I started off, choosing the most promising path. Leaves were bent in abnormal directions, giving off the impression that someone had just walked through. Well, walking... now that was a bit difficult in the jungle. More like hopping, I suppose, but no doubt, this was my earlier path.

I took off in that direction, intrigued. Finding raft essentials seemed like a faraway need at that moment. This paper could tell me something about this place... the second of my two planned goals for this day.

Ahead of me, I could see light streaming in from the heavy canopy and I fought my way through the vines, talls grasses, and branches, earning several scratches. Bursting through, I let out a gasp and fell to my knees, breathing heavily with my eyes closed.

My eyes popped open. Excitement coursed through me... was this a mystery, whose depths I was sinking to in order to find the answer?

And then my eyes traveled from the faded paper before I had a chance to read it. I was in a clearing; overhead, the canopy lightened and the sun creeped in. But this clearing was occupied... I had a sudden sense of foreboding and the fur on the back of my neck stood on end.

Not that it matters, for I did not get far. Long before I reached the door of the shelter, or even drew near enough to look through one of its sagging windows, I stopped, halted by an even stronger sense of foreboding.

It did not matter how many times I told myself that the deep gouges in the shattered door of the shelter were simply the marks of one unskilled at working with an axe, the charred holes in the walls the results of a cooking fire gone out of control. I simply could not force myself to take another step toward it.

Until now, I had not noticed the silence that fills this jungle. I have always thought of jungles as noisy places, full of dripping water and the calls of birds and other animals. This one is silent. In the three days I have been stranded on this island, I have heard no sign of any other living thing besides the tall, silent trees and the plants that grow around them. Standing in the clearing, in the sunlight filtering down to the wrecke- to the neglected cabin, I noticed the silence for the first time. I cannot understand how I have missed it until now.

The roof of the shelter had fallen in long ago, and moss and creepers had grown over what is left of the door.

Suddenly frightened of... who knows what, I turned and would have run from the clearing then and there -- until I remembered the paper. Eerie as that clearing was, it was the only place with light that I could find just then. I found a corner between two huge, silent trees, as far away from the ruins of the shelter as I could get, and read the rain-blurred words:

"Day 4 of the Month of Hunting, Y6

I cannot write for long. Five days, he said. Is that five days from when he told me, or from when I arrived here? In either case, it is not nearly long enough.

I have had to flee my hut. They discovered it last night.

There is simply not enough time to finish the raft and gather provisions for the return voyage. I shall have to make do with what I have. Better to starve at sea than...

Five days. I have wasted too much time writing already.

I must get off this island."

That was enough to make me break out in a cold sweat, and not from the oppressive heat. It was the other side that finished it, though. Standing there, in that abandoned clearing in the deathly silent jungle, I turned the page over and read the few lines on the other side.

I do not know how I got back to my own shelter. All I can remember is running terrified through the trees, the paper forgotten behind me, so blind with panic that it was only luck that kept me from tumbling headlong over a rock. All I could think of were those last few lines, echoing over and over in my head...

Upon thinking of the yellowed paper, a new wave of panic swept over my form, sending me into fits of shivers. I recalled the hastily scribbled note in my mind and pondered about it for a few moments, "They discovered it last night," who were "they"? "Better to starve at sea than..." As each fear-invoking memory of that note slipped through my mind, I had a mad desire to follow in his (or her) footsteps and evacuate the island, raft or no raft.

But how would I make it?

I must have travelled over one thousand leagues to this island. Escaping by means of swimming would prove to be a foolish thing to do. Foolish thing, indeed. I would work extra hard tomorrow to finish my raft so I may sooner escape this island. After these thoughts, my old curiousity compelling me to explore surfaced, but I fought it. Perhaps I could return one day with an excavation team and a proper vessel with which to come and return with at my wishes. Not now when my fear was mounting with each passing moment.

As I sat here pondering, I nearly slipped into a doze, something that would have proved userful to my aching head. But something disturbed my stupor and caused me to sit bolt upright and listen. My heart began to thump so loud I feared it would give me away. Outside my shelter there was a dim crunching sound that drew steadily closer to my glade. But I sensed no zephyr. No wind that could have caused this sound. Panic seized me as realization struck me hard like a lightning bolt. It was them. They who had caused the explorer before me so much panic. They had found me like they had found him. They would destroy my shelter like they had his. They would take me...

I immediately fled to the corner, where I am hiding now beneath a pile of large fronds I had brought into my shelter. I finish this entry now in haste, in case they be the last words I ever write. At least some other hapless traveler to this island might know my story then.

Goodbye, perhaps forever

It is becoming clearer than ever that unless I can escape the island soon, my time is likely to be very short.

You are the only thing I was able to bring with me -- you and my trusty axe, and while for some reason writing my feelings calms me, I know that I will be even more grateful for the axe than I have been for you. Indeed, this may be the last time that I am able to take the time to write.

There are no words which can describe the terror I felt when the first heavy blow caused my makeshift shelter to shudder; and when with the second blow the door began to crack, I realized that I was about to endure what could quite possibly be the most terrifying encounter of my life.

I barely had enough time to slip you into my pocket and pick up my axe before the third blow caused the door of my shelter to collapse in broken pieces, revealing... I don't know what it was. Its shape was difficult to determine in the darkness, but even in the almost nonexistent light I could tell that this was no Neopet. It appeared to have no distinguishable shape, but fear seemed to flow from it, pouring like a dark tide through the doorway and into my trembling body. I couldn't see any part of its face clearly, but somehow I knew that it was staring balefully into my eyes, with a malice like nothing I have ever seen or felt before. Terror rooted me to the spot. There was nowhere for me to go. The creature took a step toward me, and I noted for the first time the blade of black steel which it clutched in its right paw.

But just as I was certain that I was going to die, a bone-chilling war cry pierced the air, and even as my half-seen assailant turned to face the source of the cry a small mass seemed to crash into it, knocking it slightly to the side. For an instant my heart leapt as I saw stars and a clear night sky beyond the dark shape of the creature; then hope was blotted out as it turned to face me again.

But my mysterious rescuer was not finished yet, and he swung at the creature with what appeared to be a heavy cudgel. With a roar such as I have never heard before and hope never to hear again, the shadow-beast (as I have begun to call it) lunged at the smaller shape, which darted nimbly to the side. Taking my opportunity this time, I raced for the door while my enemy was preoccupied. I had gotten about thirty feet away when I realized that my mysterious ally was not following, and I turned around just in time to see the staff get knocked from his paw by a blow from the shadow-beast's sword.

I was still terrified, but the adventurer in me refused to leave my rescuer to be killed, and so I rushed back, swinging my axe wildly at the shadow-beast's sword arm just before it would have brought the blade down on my ally's head. The horrible creature screamed, and without hesitation my rescuer grabbed my arm and practically dragged me away. We do not appear to have been followed, but I cannot shake the feeling that I am being watched.

When we arrived at the hollow tree in which my rescuer lives, I was impressed by how well he had managed to conceal the opening; but even as I sit here and write this, my axe is sitting close at hand, ready in case I should be forced to use it again. My rescuer says we should be safe for the remainder of the night, but I cannot bring myself to let down my guard.

It seems I was right about one thing -- the writer of the paper IS the one who sent the message of distress. His name is Mokilo, and he says he is a green Wocky, though I shall have to take him at his word, as I could not tell in the dark. He was stranded here three weeks ago, when a violent storm drove his ship up on a sandbar close to the shore of this horrible island, forcing him to make his way to the island by means of a lifeboat. His story from that point is eerily similar to mine: he went into the woods to explore, and when he returned he found out that his lifeboat was missing. He intended to build himself a raft, but was plagued by a creeping sensation of something evil drawing nearer. Unlike me, he was away from home when his shelter was destroyed, but this made it no less terrifying.

Mokilo doesn't know much about the creatures that live on this island -- just enough to evade them and barely stay alive -- although he described in horrible detail the encounters he has had with them so far. Thinking about it almost immobilizes me with terror, but when I have a quiet moment, I will try to find the words to write it down.

Still yours truly,

Senuye

The stories I mentioned before struck fear deep into my heart. Mokilo tells me these things in a factual manner, almost like he is speaking of someone else's experiences.

He has been living in the tree for two of the three weeks he has been present on this island. He says that no other beings are present on the isle, having been driven away or eaten by the shadow beasts.

Strangely, despite the courage he displayed back at my ex-home, he shies away from that subject, though they are the brunt of our problems. He said he has found a few edible plants (which I was very glad to hear about -- I had been obliged to start chewing on bark to keep hunger away). He had offered me some. They tasted something like the bark of a dwarf tree in my old friend Sala's Neohome. But it was better than nothing.

What little Mokilo told me about the beasts was in great detail and succeeded in keeping me awake the remainder of the night. Since, of course, I've nothing else to do, I will try to place all of my terror into your pages. I hope you do not mind, my friend.

After his first meeting with the shadow beasts, the Wocky scoured the jungle for any rock, crevice, or cave that would hide him. Unfortunately all three are the favorite abodes of Them. He was forced to defend himself with rocks, and scarcely made it away from the scene.

He still does not know, or he does not tell me, what these monsters are made of. All he says is that they come from deep within a mountain on the far side of the island and they feed on fear. He told me that he found traces of other Neopets -- all disappeared. Mokilo says they need nothing besides the fear of others. Their bodies do not really have shape or form. They simply ARE. And the shadow beasts sense where you are. The only way to avoid them is to smother your fear.

Maybe Garin or Jeran or any other of the countless heroes of Neopia could have banished their fears, but I knew that I could not. I had always been bold, impetuous and brazen. I had never even entertained the thought of witholding emotion.

But if I was to survive, I would have to.

I look at the sprawled form of Mokilo now. He is snoring so loudly I could not sleep if I wanted to. It's like he hasn't a care in the world. Like not even some demented beasts from an alien dimension could faze him. I wish that I could do that.

Actually, maybe I don't. Despite everything Mokilo has done for me, the way he acts is cold. Not mean. Not even unfeeling. But it was like he had to give up a part of himself to fight the shadow beasts.

And I don't want to do that.

Yours truly,

I am ashamed of myself.

I am utterly ashamed. I do not know how I find the strength to write, except that I know no other way to express my feeling adequately.

I am ashamed.

Mokilo is gone; taken by the shadow beasts to some den of theirs where he will no doubt be devoured shortly. I sit here by the ruins of his tree and I can think only one thing.

I am ashamed.

I will tell you of my shame, faithful little jourrnal, and maybe you can take my feelings away from me, as you have so many times already.

I thought everything was going well. Mokilo and I had talked things over and agreed that our only course of action was to make a raft and leave the island as soon as possible. We set out this morning excitedly, sure that in a few days we would leave this cursed island for good.

That was when things went wrong.

We had made our way to the beach. Strolling down the sandy shore, we searched for pieces of driftwood with which to build our raft. We knew that the shadow monsters would find us easily if we attempted to cut down a tree, so we were planning on gathering as much wood as we could before we had to resort to chopping. Unfortunately, it was such a beautiful day that I found myself admiring the beauty of the ocean and the pleasant weather more than searching for wood. Before long Mokilo had his arms full of wood and I had only picked up two pieces. Scolding me lightly, the Wocky told me to watch the pile while he gathered more wood. I was happy to oblige, and soon found myself nodding off in the warm sand, dreaming peacefully of my home.

When I woke up, the wood was nowhere to be found.

I searched frantically for it, thinking I had simply rolled away from it in my sleep, but it didn't take me long to realize that it was truly gone. With horror, I realized that I did not see Mokilo either. I ran down the beach in both directions, but found no trace of Mokilo or the wood. Desperate to find them, I dashed back to Mokilo's house, my heart racing.

"Mokilo!" I screamed as I neared the tree, "Mokilo, where are you?" I was terrified, but to my great relief I saw my friend standing just outside his dwelling, expertly binding the driftwood into bundles that would form the raft.

"I'm so glad I found you!" I said sincerely. Looking back, I curse myself for my carelessness, which was summed up in the very next thing I said. "I was so afraid."

Mokilo's eyes widened. He dropped his wood and came close to me.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"I said I was--" I was cut off by a faint rustling noise in the bushes behind me.

"RUN!" Mokilo shoved me aside, grabbed a piece of driftwood, and leapt at the shadow monster. I stumbled sideways, caught my paw on a root, and tumbled into the bramble bush behind me with a yelp of surprise. I struggled to my feet, sure that Mokilo needed my help.

I was wrong; Mokilo was holding the shadow off valiantly. Armed with his driftwood, he was slowly working his way around the shadow; a moment more and he would have a clear path to make his escape.

I didn't give him that moment.

As I watched him fight the shadow monster, fear rose in me. What if he couldn't make it? I thought foolishly, What if the monster catches him? I watched the battle, frightened for my friend.

Then, very suddenly, the shadow monster froze. He carefully turned in a full circle, then halway around again. When he stopped he was facing straight at me.

"Senuye!" Mokila screamed, seeing that the monster had set its sights on me, "No!" Without hesitation -- I cannot contain my shame as I write this -- my friend darted between the shadow monster and my own pathetic self. He held his hands out, and dropped his stick.

The shadow monster made a horrible sound, which I dearly hope was not supposed to be laughter. It slowly reached out a long, pitch-black arm and wrapped it around Mokilo's waist. It made the sound again, then turned and slithered back into the jungle, pausing only to give Mokilo's tree a contemptuous blow that smashed it to pieces. Within seconds, it was gone.

And so here I sit, the undeserving object of Mokilo's selfless sacrifice. I try to tell myself that he may yet be alive, but I hardly dare believe it. I am completely ashamed.

Tomorrow I will find the shadow monster's den. I will rescue Mokilo if I can, and if not, I will avenge Mokilo or die trying. I hardly care which it is, and I will end this journal with a final thought.

I am ashamed.

Shamefully yours,

Today is the day. As I write this, I am putting the finishing touches on Mokilo's shelter. I have straightened it up, but each item I touch reminds me of Mokilo. The pain these thoughts bring me seems welcome after what I did. But enough about Mokilo.

I plan to find the area Mokilo and I fought the shadow beast at and follow the path the beast's... composition, whatever it's made of... the path that it burned through the trees.

Following Mokilo's advice, the only weapon I carry with me is my unreliable mind and you. The ax lies embedded in a nearby tree trunk. If I live past this day, I can retrieve it on my return trip.

But now, as the shadows are at their blackest around rare pools of light, I must set out. Tell me you will remember me. If anything, you, my journal, are the only true comfort I have. Having you with me will give me courage. And, as they say, every little bit helps, right?

Day 8 (continued) of the Month of Hunting, Y7

I have done it. I feel this hollow in my chest that will never be filled again. Every step back from that cave was filled with this aching. But enough. My mind moves faster than my paw.

After the first step of my plan was completed, and I walked along the dark path the beast had made, my fears took hold of me. I barely remember the walk. All I remember was the moment I saw that gaping hole in a black cliff.

Outside was a blank journal page, on which was written two bone-chillingly familiar words, in the same scrawl that had led me to this place. "Help me..." I whispered, tracing the letters.

Stilling my quaking shivers of fear, I dropped the previous two notes and you, my faithful journal, next to the paper, wondering if I was making my own tombstone.

The second I walked in, I became acutely aware of the beast’s presence, and even dimmer, another being’s. I could only hope it was Mokilo. Then the beast stood. I can’t explain how I saw it, I just did.

And then I understood. The voice in the back of my head had been right all along. That was the only answer to this problem. Everything seemed so simple, now. All the whispers of remorse and dread were replaced with an acute sense of peace. The shadow beast in front of me I could deal with.

I could deal with anything, now that I knew what to do. I had to stay. Stay on this silent prison fighting off the beasts that no one else could or would. I would be the unsung hero of the story I had started. I understood what Mokilo had lost now. He had lost hope, whereas I, I have lost only my selfishness, my foolish belief that I can only live in a world filled with others. A world of noise.

When I realized this, the beast stopped grinning, if that is even a slightly natural term for the hideous leer on its writhing essence. I narrowed my eyes, stepping forward, and assumed my battle pose. Before my very eyes, the shadow shrunk and unraveled, disappearing into a crack in the wall.

It wasn’t a difficult problem, of course. I’d find it eventually. As for that dim presence I had noticed earlier, which I now knew was Mokilo, it had disappeared with the beast. This thought discouraged me a bit, but I knew I’d find him soon enough. I had all the time in the world. And so I sit here, back at our shelter, writing my thoughts to you.

To save Mokilo, and all future visitors of this island, I must lose myself. I will not return to the rest of the world. I will stay here forever, fighting the beasts both without and within me, until this island can finally, truly, live once more.

No matter the task ahead. I can deal with it.

Forever yours,

Senuye

I can only take a few minutes to write this down.

This morning I returned to the cave where I discovered the shadow beast last night. It was not there, but I could somehow sense that it had not been gone long, and that it would eventually be back.

I positioned myself in the back of the cave behind a particularly large rock, ready to spring out at the first sign that the beast was back, hopefully with Mokilo. While I waited I attempted to rid myself of emotion, just as Mokilo had said was necessary. Perhaps by leaving my fear behind the beast would not notice me until it was close enough for me to attack.

The shadow beast returned much sooner than I expected, which unfortunately caused me to become nervous. I heard the beast stop in the entrance to the cave, and I knew it could sense me.

I jumped out from behind the rock and faced the monster. This time I had the advantage of light shining into the crevice, and I could see that the monster was holding a limp form in one of its massive paws. Mokilo.

The beast remained motionless, staring at me, until it finally tossed Mokilo away as if he were a rag doll. As I watched my friend fall to the ground, all my fear was replaced with anger, fury, and hatred. The beast seemed to falter, and I ran towards it.

I did not attack the beast. That was not my plan... not today. Today I had only one mission: to save Mokilo. I slipped past the beast and grabbed him, lifted him over my shoulder and ran out of the cave.

The beast chased me for a few minutes, but quickly lost track of me due to my lack of fear. So, Mokilo is now lying next to me. He is still unconscious, but at least he is alive. I have already tended to his wounds. When he wakes up I will help him complete his raft, then he will be free to leave the island.

I will not go with him. My place is here, defeating the shadow beasts. I will only return to Mystery Island when this place in inhabitable again.

Mokilo is stirring, so I must leave.

Thank you for keeping me company,

Senuye

Day 17 of the month of Awakening, Y8

Dearest Diary,

You’ll never believe what I found this morning while I was strolling along the beach! It was a small bottle, half buried in the sand. Inside it a was a very wrinkled note bearing the words, “Help Me!”

I have heard that there are some deserted islands near here. I showed the note to my best friend, Zita, and we are planning to set out tomorrow to see if we can find one. Perhaps there is someone who needs rescue on one of them.

Even if there isn’t, it will still be an exciting adventure.

Wish us luck,

Wendy

The End