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G.O.D’s Journal

Gods Journal

Estimated reading time — 10 minutes

The Michigan Inquirer

MAY 09, 2023

The following entries were transcribed by Michigan State University senior,
Marlee Yarborough. Last weekend, she and three fellow students were camping in
Manistee National Forest while researching the Michigan Dogman— a local
legend recently popularized within certain online communities. There, they
discovered a journal amongst the remnants of an abandoned cabin; written inside


its worn leather cover was:
“Property of G.O.D”

Date: _/_ /_
I don’t know the date, and I don’t care enough to find out; July something? It’s hard to
keep track since I started taking these stupid pills. I hate them— almost as much as I
hate this journal— almost as much as I hate you, Dr. Nelson… Writing isn’t “therapeutic”
when you know your therapist is planning to read it; your entire racket is a scam, and
I’m not taking your fake medicine anymore!

Do you seriously think patients are writing their innermost thoughts for you to jerk-off to?
They’re not! We all edit ourselves despite whether it’s intentional. Learning to feign
certain emotions just comes with the territory. Good people don’t exist— only good
actors… I’m pretty sure that’s a quote, but hell if I know who said it.

Go ahead, Doctor— blame my cynical outlook on watching my mother die. Tell me
again how it caused my antisocial tendencies; we have all the time in the world now that
you’ve convinced dad to put me in weekly sessions. Heaven forbid you— [text illegible]
I’ll never forgive that selfish bastard for dragging me out to this dump… Life sucked
without him ruining my last real summer break… He knows I’m going to stay inside the
whole time; he didn’t even tell me what we’re hunting… [text illegible]…he just repeats
the same bullshit over and over!
“Give it a chance, Glen,” or “come on, where’s that Delaney spirit?” —I’m sick of it!


Date: _/_ /_
Day 2— I hate this place! There’s no way I’ll last three weeks; I doubt I can make it
through one! I’m using the bathroom in an outhouse for… [text illegible]
…I couldn’t fall asleep until almost 5AM because of all the howling, and I’m sure it’ll be
the same tonight. I thought it was supposed to be peaceful out here— what a crock of
shit; the old man is lucky I can’t call a taxi! [remainder of entry illegible]

Date: _/_ /_

Day 4— or maybe it’s 5… It’s so hard to keep track… There’s no electricity, no phones,
and nowhere to go… There’s an old generator out here, but it only works a third of the
time… This isn’t how we should be living in 1998; we’re on the cusp of the 21st century,
yet we’re in this backwoods hellhole like it’s 1898!
It’s bad enough the wolves don’t stop howling until sunrise, but now someone has gone
through our trash. Garbage was strewn all the way around the cabin like they were
making a moat. Dad blamed raccoons, but I have trouble believing anything other than
a human could form such a perfect perimeter…
I just don’t see how another person would be way out here or why they’d bother. If
someone were hungry enough to dig through our trash, why make a huge display? Dad
claims he slept through it, but no one could have slept through that; yet— when I try to
argue— he says I’m being paranoid and rushes off… I haven’t been in the same room
with him for longer than 10 minutes since the drive up here. We don’t even eat together.
Every morning, I hear him drive away just as I’m drifting off, and— every evening, just
after nightfall— he returns and goes to sleep. He seems on edge— even more so than
when mom died— but if I ask him about it, he denies everything…
I’m going to be the person who proves it’s possible to die from boredom. One day, he’ll
come back, and I’ll just be laying here— dead. I wonder what the autopsy will say. I
hope they charge him with murder, because that’s exactly what it’ll be! I only wish it
would have happened before I had to clean up all that trash…
Dad should have been the one home when that man broke in, but no— he was out
drinking with his buddies. Mom was the one being strangled while I hid under a bed. My
18th birthday is going to be the last day I waste words on that asshole; he can die alone
for all I care.

Date: _/_ /_
It’s Day— shit— I still don’t know. Maybe I should’ve just written the dates… I wrote my
last entry the day before yesterday… I think…
This morning started like any other. Dad left at the usual time, but he isn’t back yet…
Now it’s 11:00, and I don’t know what to do; I don’t know if he’s hurt— or worse…. Do I

go looking for him? I don’t even know which direction he went… If something did
happen, then I’d be completely stranded… He takes the truck like he’s afraid I’ll drive off
with it, and sure, I probably would have, but look what’s happened! [text illegible]
I’m completely alone out here; I’d be grateful for Dr. Nelson at this point… At least
there’s no howling for a change; I guess even wolves need a break every now and
then… Or maybe they’re just too full tonight. [text illegible]
No, I can’t think that way… He has to come back; he has to. Maybe the truck broke
down and he’s waiting for morning so he can flag someone down… Or maybe he got
hurt and had to drive straight to a hospital… Either way, he would send help; he has his
faults, but he wouldn’t just abandon me here… He couldn’t… Could he? No… No, I’m
sure he wouldn’t do that… Not like this…

Date: _/_ /_
It’s almost 3:00, and he’s still not back… I have to go out there when the sun rises… I
don’t know what else to do… I also don’t know where to look… Maybe I should give my
other theories time to play out… What if he is sending help, but I run off when all I had to
do was stay put?!
[text illegible] …but if I don’t go, he’ll die… I don’t know if he told anyone our location…
It would take weeks for people to realize we were missing, and, even then, help could
be sent in the wrong direction… He must have told grandpa… I hope there’s enough
supplies to last that long… Grandpa might assume we just stayed late… As far as he’s
concerned, the only medicine I need is a good kick in the ass…

Date: _/_ /_
Dad is dead… I guess this is technically the same day as my last entry, but not for much
longer. I took advantage of the quiet night to sleep for a few hours before making any
life or death decisions. This journal will probably end up being a record of my final words
rather than a therapy aid…

It looked like a storm was brewing when I left, but— by some miracle— it held off.
There’s only one way out of the cabin’s clearing, but the tire tracks soon diverged in
multiple directions. Thankfully, I found a roll of trail-marking ribbon and used it liberally.
At that point, I still had a somewhat hopeful outlook… I was far more frightened at the
prospect of getting lost than finding a scene of carnage that would haunt me for the
remainder of my days— as if I weren’t already set in that regard… [text illegible]
I searched for hours without finding anything before finally turning back. I intended to
follow my markers straight to the cabin, but I couldn’t help… [text illegible] …was the
widest path I’d seen yet. I followed the new tracks for at least twenty minutes before
coming to a huge dropoff, and my heart sank as my eyes followed them right over the
edge. I don’t know how long I stood there; I think I was waiting for some sign of life, but
none came. Eventually, I laid on my stomach and peered over the edge. At the bottom
of a large ravine was dad’s truck; it had landed upside down, but there was no mistaking
I knew what I would see if I went down there, but I still had to see it… I barely remember
the descent… I called out upon approaching the wreckage, but then I noticed the stench
and the blood… Kneeling to see inside the shattered driver’s window, I collapsed at the
sight of long dead eyes staring back at me; dad remained strapped to his seat, but his
head was turned at a sharp angle, and what remained of his face was frozen in a
perpetual state of sheer terror.
I accidentally placed a hand in the pool of blood collecting beneath him and puked
everywhere; as badly as I wanted to run away, there were things I needed to collect
from the cab. When I felt composed enough for the first attempt, I realized the truck had
more damage than it should have received in the fall. There were deep claw marks
along the side, and one of the back tires had been ripped to shreds— like some
massive dog had used it as a chew toy…
The thought sent a new wave of nausea through me, but I managed to crawl into the
passenger’s side. At first I assumed dad’s neck was broken— and it probably was— but
the reason it looks so strange is because it was nearly severed… Plus, his torso was
ripped open and both of his arms were gone. I couldn’t find them anywhere…
Something inside of me clicked… I understand why they call it survival mode, now… It
suddenly became much easier to ignore my father’s mangled corpse in favor of
collecting his gear. In the end, I walked away with a rifle, a box of [text illegible] …which

was a great comfort to have on the hike back… I just wish I could have found the other
The climb out of the canyon was much more difficult than the trip down, but getting back
gave me something to focus on— something besides the awful reality of my
predicament. I’m trapped in the woods with very limited supplies… I’m gonna die here;
that’s all there is to it.
If I had any sense at all, I would try to find help before exhausting all of my resources,
but I can’t let go of the hope that someone will find me before that happens… Or maybe
I’m just too afraid of facing whatever killed dad… Either way, I guess everyone was right
all along— I’m a coward.

Date: _/_ /_
I just want to go home. The howling started up again. It was only quiet for that one
night… Now it’s at least three days later, and it’s like it never stopped. Except for the
fact dad died— that’s really different. Shit, I’m probably not far behind him…
It’s so weird what stories will get stuck in your head when you’re alone in the dark… The
week before we came here, one of my friends said he used to camp in this forest— but
not anymore… I thought he was just trying to scare me when he said his mom saw
something with the head of a dog that walked like a man… He made it sound like a story
you tell to scare little kids, so I didn’t think anything of it… She said it’s eyes made her

[page missing]


The only thing worse than hearing strange noises is hearing nothing at all. The mind
doesn’t like silence; if you don’t give it something to listen to, it fills the void on its own…
It always feels like I’m being watched— like something frightened all of the bugs and
birds into hiding, and now it’s just… Waiting… But waiting for what? I don’t know; that’s
the question, isn’t it? Waiting for me? God I hope not…

Date: _/_ /_

[first paragraphs illegible]

I know what I saw; that thing out there isn’t a wolf! Wolves don’t walk on their hind legs!
It can’t be a Dogman, either, though; there’s no such thing! It has to be some hairy ass
hermit wearing a mask; there’s probably some trick to make the eyes glow like that… I
bet that guy hasn’t left the forest in twenty years… He probably wants to line a coat with
my skin… But then what made the claw marks on dad’s truck?! Dammit I’m losing my

[a dark line strikes through the page, tearing a hole through the middle— likely the result

of being startled by the following event]

Jesus Christ, a window shattered; I wish dad were alive just so I could kill him myself. If
I… [text illegible] …I can hear the asshole walk over the broken glass… I’m locked in
the bedroom with a table jammed against the door, but “solid” is not a word I would use
to describe it…
I’m gonna die here; I can feel it. I know I am. I don’t wanna die. I thought I did, but I
don’t; I really don’t! God, it’s getting closer. Why? Why is this happening?! Its footsteps
are so slow; why won’t it just get this over with?! Is it toying with me?! I don’t know what
to do…

[remainder of page made illegible by ink smears]

I think it’s finally over… I heard its footsteps fade into the distance as they retraced their
route over the broken glass, but not before it had its fun with me… I put all my weight
into holding the door closed as it tried to force its way inside.
For the first several minutes, it just stood there, sniffing, before a high-pitched whine
preceded the unmistakable sound of claws tearing at the wood. As its patience wore
thin, the door began to splinter beneath its weight, and I knew that was my last chance
to shoot it; by then, I didn’t care if it was a person, an animal, or both. In one motion, I
raised the gun, stood, and fired through the door as its center cracked open like an egg
with the creature’s last impact.
The resulting sounds were deafening; my ears rang from a combination of the gunshot,
the exploding door, and the shrill cry of a wounded animal. I could barely hear its retreat
over the buzzing in my brain. Only when I heard the swinging door slam shut did I lower
the rifle and rush to the window.

I never entertained the notion of killing it. If things like that were easy to kill— it would
already be on display at some museum where tourists could gawk at it. I was only trying
to survive a little longer. No matter how hopeless your situation might be, it’s awfully
hard to just roll over and die… Still… I had to get one more look at it; I had to know if I
really saw what I thought I saw… And I did— I swear I did.
I’m not crazy; I’ve never been more clear in all my life since I stopped taking Dr.
Nelson’s poison. There’s no better way to describe that thing other than a Dogman… It
looks like a rabid Rottweiler suddenly learned to walk on its hind legs… It’s hard to say
whether its fur was black or just filthy and matted; its arms and legs were covered in
patchy bald spots, but it was hard to see with only the light of a waning moon.
For one brief instant it turned towards the cabin, and I could see a bloody wound in its
right shoulder. Overall, it seemed more angry than hurt or frightened. If I’m still here
when it returns, I don’t think I’ll be this lucky a second time. I have to leave…


Date: _/_ /_
I slept as long as I dared, but I have to go now; if I don’t find help by nightfall, I’ll have to
decide whether to come back or keep going… Either way, I don’t expect to survive very
long past that point… I’m gonna die, and this journal will rot away before another soul
sees it. I don’t know… Maybe if I shove it under the floorboards, some of it will last long
enough… Or it’ll rot away even faster… In the end, what does it really matter?
I bet Dr. Nelson tells everyone I likely killed dad before offing myself… I hope they don’t
believe him… I’d give anything to… [remainder of entry illegible]

Though this is the final entry, it’s noteworthy to mention that several pages have

been removed for time allowance.


MAY 16, 2023

What started as an innocent college project turned deadly for one MSU student
when a group of four returned to the Manistee National Forest to investigate a possible cold case from 1998.

Many details are still unknown as authorities have yet to provide an official statement,
but some sources claim police failed to investigate due to a theory the journal may have
been faked, or— at the very least— the product of a mentally ill teen. Regardless, the
tragic death of 20-year-old Patrick Morris is all too real.
During the amateur investigation, students became startled by an unidentified source
and fled the area. In their panic, they became separated and were forced to regroup at
the parking lot as it grew dark. Three students returned safely, but all attempts to
contact the missing fourth were met with failure.
The official search began shortly after, and a gruesome scene was soon discovered.
What remained of Morris painted a clear— though horrific— picture of a wildlife attack.
Be sure to stay tuned for further updates as the situation develops.

Credit: Page Turner

Official Site

Please Note the Author of this Creepypasta does NOT give permission for it to be used for any podcasts or narrations

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