The rotation through the mental ward of Wiecliff Mental Hospital had become almost unbearable in the heat. Nothing remained untouched by the heat and the mental state of the patients were most affected by the sweltering temperatures. I myself found no escape from the heat and found my mind wandering more and more to my experiments concerning death and the translations of the writing that have become more common in my late night journal entries.

It was not until I came across the most unusual of patients, his mental state had all but deteriorated and treatment had turned from rehabilitation too confinement. He was given to extreme fits of rage, throwing himself against his restraints with reckless abandon and unnatural strength. But it was the writings on his walls that gave me such joy that I can barely contain myself.

Yes despite being thoroughly restrained this mad soul was able to find away to write in his own blood on the walls of his room. This alone would have been worthy of further study but it was the same language that I myself find in my journals after finding myself upon the floor and my room in disarray as if I myself might be given to these same fits of rage.

He lifted his head and smiled at me saying something in a language I could not understand. I am sure it is the spoken language that I find in my journal and on his walls. He then took to a fit so violent that one of the chains holding him to the floor snapped clean in two. I knew I had to know more about him.

Vanburen Graystone

August 22nd 1908

I stole his chart and poured over it, Caucasian male, early twenties. He was found in the basement funeral home. He had dismembered the mortician and the bodies awaiting embalming. It took ten policeman to restrain him and all about the room were strange symbols written in blood. He was turned over to the hospital which has yet been unable to explain his ability to seemingly escape his bonds and write on the walls in his own blood. Any orderly left to observe has been killed, his skin removed and the body displayed on the floor the strange writing surrounding it.

I paid the new night orderly fifty dollars to sit in his room he greedily took the money having no idea the danger he was in. I can only hope that I can see these symbols around his body in the morning. I can not sleep for the anticipation.

Vanburen Graystone

August 23rd 1908

I woke early and rushed to the hospital today and was lucky enough to get there before his body was discovered. I looked at the John Doe, he smiled at me and motioned for me to enter. He moved back to give me room by the body. I opened the door and moved in, the symbols were so wonderful, I could almost read them, I studied them intently tracing one out with my finger, the blood was congealed and cold but it was like fire on my finger. I looked up at the John Doe he smiled and his eyes rolled back in his head...the voices sang out with the sweetest symphony of death and I found my self drawn to taste the blood on my finger. I put my finger to my tongue and for one sweet instant I could see the truth in the message written there and then it was gone.

I moved out of the room my body shaking as the fit of rage took over my mad friend. I screamed for the orderlies and gave my report on finding him. I almost laughed as one of the nurses commented at how distraught I was over the death. I used it as an excuse to leave and return to my house. Blood is the key to my understanding. I watch a doctor pass by I can see the sweet life giving blood pumping through his veins. I so want to reach out and drain that blood to pour it out like a river, and navigate its secrets to the truth I know that is contained there...I need that blood.

Vanburen Graystone