Journal of an US Infantryman

A slightly preserved journal located in the library of Bakunawa City's Balete tree-tower. Judging from its contents, it belonged to one Elijah Doberman from the US Army during the Philippine-American War.

## Prominent content of the journal

**May 7, 1901**

I'm jotting down my thoughts once again, trying to make sense of this whole mess I've found myself in. It’s been seven months in this war, and here I am, stuck in this Godforsaken tropical hellhole, far from the comforts of my beloved Virginia.

Let me tell you, this place is nothing like home. The heat and humidity are suffocating. Back in Virginia, we had seasons, you know? We had cool breezes and the comfort of changing weather. But here, it's like a never-ending sauna. I can't escape the relentless sweat dripping down my face, soaking through my uniform. It's downright miserable. Here, it's an endless cycle of heat and humidity that leaves me drenched in sweat from dawn till dusk. I yearn for home, where I could find respite from the scorching tropical sun.

And the bugs! Good Lord, the bugs! They're everywhere, buzzing and biting, making my life a living hell. Mosquitoes the size of birds, swarming around like they own the place. I've never seen anything like it. I miss the peaceful nights back home, where the only sounds were crickets chirping, not the incessant hum of bloodthirsty insects.

But it's not just the weather and the bugs that drive me crazy. It's the natives too. We’re here to civilize them but they don't deserve our help. They don't even know how to run their own lives. We got everything figured out, but they're too dumb to see it. They dare decline the helping hand we’re offering them? You really can’t bargain with a darkie. They keep fighting us, like they think they stand a chance. It's laughable, really. We got the guns, the bombs, and the know-how. They're just throwing rocks and spears at us, figuratively and literally. The town last week we captured had some stragglers using sharpened bamboo and rocks in desperation.  They're like insects buzzing around, annoying but harmless. I can't comprehend why we're here bothering to help these people. They're nothing but a bunch of ignorant savages. They can't even speak proper English, for God's sake! It's like they're stuck in the Dark Ages, but what do you expect from a tropical gook? It's a damn shame, really.

I keep thinking about home, about the simple pleasures I took for granted. A cool breeze on a summer evening, the familiar faces of friends and family, the taste of home-cooked meals. Here, everything is foreign, everything is a constant reminder of how different these savages are.

I can't wait for this nightmare to be over. I dream of returning to my beloved Virginia, where the weather is mild and the people are civilized. I want to escape this wretched place, to leave behind the suffocating heat, the swarms of insects, and these natives who are nothing but a pain in my backside.

Until then, I'll endure. I'll put up with the unbearable heat and the unbearable people. But I swear, when I finally get out of here, I'll never take the simple comforts of home for granted again.

**May 9, 1901**

We got orders to look for rebels in a nearby town. Agihan, as they called it. The town refused to name any rebels, so we had to make an example of them. We can't let these people think they can hide behind their families and their communities. We have to show them that we mean business, that we won't be intimidated or deterred.

The sight of those flames engulfing the buildings, the screams of those who were caught in the blaze, it was like music to my ears. It was a reminder that we're fighting a war. We're here to crush the enemy, to bring them to their knees, to show them who's boss. And it's not just about winning the war. It's about showing the world that America is a force to be reckoned with. That we won't stand idly by while these savages plot against us. We had to send a message, loud and clear, that we will do whatever it takes to protect our interests and our way of life.

I know some may think that we went too far, that we should have shown more restraint or compassion. But they don't understand what it's like to be in a war, to face an enemy who doesn't play by the rules. We have to be ruthless, unrelenting, and unapologetic if we want to emerge victorious.

In the end, it's all worth it. The sacrifices we make, the lives we take, they're all for the greater good. We're fighting for America, for our families, for our futures. And if that means burning down an entire town, so be it. We can't let sentimentality or morality get in the way of our job.

**May 10, 1901**

The boys started talking, one of the girls they took yesterday, a pretty little thing, well-endowed in the breasts, started screaming, cursing them after we had our fun. Madison, our interpreter, said that she was cursing us. That demons called “Bah-ley-tey” will descend upon us and show us the true meaning of death. Woman had a mouth on her, I tell you, in more ways than one. But I digress, some of the boys started acting shifty. Said they started feeling like eyes were staring at them in the middle of the night, that shadows that weren’t supposed to be there started shifting. They’ve been hitting too much of that whiskey they smuggled in is what I say.

Maybe I should revisit that girl again and see if she has the gall to “curse” us again.

**May 11, 1901**

Mac killed the girl. You wouldn’t believe it. Snuck into the hut when it was my turn and shot her in the face.  If I didn't know any better, I thought he was aiming for me. It was disgusting getting all her blood on me. Worst part is that the Sarge made both of us clean up the hut! Damned Mac. He started rambling when we were cleaning the brain bits off the wall. Said that we never should have come here, that what the girl said about demons is true. He hasn’t had a good night's sleep since we got here, he said. The eyes wouldn’t leave him alone, he said. He thought that killing the girl who “cursed” him would solve it. He must’ve been bitten so much by the mosquitos that it started messing with his head.

**May 13, 1901**

The battalion meant to garrison the region was delayed, so we’re stuck in Again for a week, it looks like. Mac couldn’t take it, it seems, and we couldn’t find him anywhere. Sarge said he was on night sentry duty, so two things could have happened, either he was killed, or he ran off, couldn’t bear staying in the town for longer than another day. Both are plausible, and Sarge leans more towards the first possibility. He had us double the patrols, possibly more of the gooks hiding out there and striking in the middle of the night. Cowards. If we do find his body somewhere in the outskirts outside of town, that would affirm the Sarge’s caution and we might get assigned more patrol duty on a regular basis. Damned natives. Why can’t they just cooperate and stop resisting already?

They wouldn’t know what a gift from the enlightened White man was if it hit them straight in the face.

**May 14, 1901**

Madison has gone missing this morning. Poor bastard must have gotten picked off too. We haven't found Mac’s body yet, but the second casualty made Sarge realize that we’re facing some stragglers hiding and striking at night. We suspect they’re somewhere in the woods north of the town. The search parties were stopped, and we’re now focusing on keeping the patrols well-manned and the town covered. I’ve been assigned sentry duty over at the Church’s bell tower. Nice view. I’m writing this down now while the afternoon wind is blessing me with respite. It was hell earlier, though. The High Noon heat was cooking me something fierce.

My watch ends around 7 in the evening, just in time for dinner.

**May 15, 1901**

I can barely steady my trembling hand as I attempt to put these words down. Mac showed up again. I saw him approach in the distance. But his head was missing. He tried to walk into town at noon. The men panicked and I shot his body down. A lot of us saw it. And if I didn’t believe in his ramblings earlier, I sure as hell do now. What in God’s name happened to him? The men are restless, but Sarge said to forget what we saw and carry on. We burned Mac’s corpse, afraid that if we buried it he would just rise up again.  A lot of the men wanted out of this town, but orders are to hold on until the battalion arrives to relieve us of garrisoning the place.

I am continuing this journal entry at night, after my sentry duty. The image of his body animated like a macabre puppet, shambling and bloodied. That sight is what snapped me into the reality of our situation. Every leaf, every flicker of movement in the corner of my eye, became a potential threat. I felt the weight of unseen eyes upon me, as if I, too, would become a victim like Mac.

My heart raced, pounding in my chest like a thunderous drumbeat. Sweat dripped down my brow, mingling with tears of terror. The very fabric of my being screamed for me to run, to flee from this nightmarish nightmare. But duty held me in place, a soldier rooted in his position. I am going to pray throughout the night, until fatigue takes me.

**May 16, 1901**

Dead. Everyone is dead. Gone. But I know that they are dead. Just like Mac and Madison. The town is abandoned. If they are missing, then that means it’s too late. No signs of a struggle. No footprints to show where everyone went. They all just vanished out of thin air. Is this the Bahleyteh? An invisible demon of murder? I searched the town, not even the natives who remained were gone.

T ther there it is. The demon in the form of w oman. I am peaking from a hole inside one of the huts she is walking around singing in an ungodly language too late she somehow saw me she is coming , I have my gun but somhow i kno that it wont work on her but there is one way out

farewell my dear journal may you endure where I cannot.

(The last entry is prominently stained in dried blood)