July 24, 1955
Dear Journal,
I was deer hunting early yesterday morning, and all of a sudden, I heard a deer and followed. As I went, the sound grew louder and louder. I came to the spot where I was sure it was. I hid behind a tree and went silent. I got my bow ready. I took the shot and heard it hit, what sounded like thick hide, but there was no cry. So, I peeked around the corner. No deer. Just my arrow embedded deep in the dirt. Disappointed and confused, I went over to pull it out, but it wouldn't come out for the life of me. So, I dug and dug and found something-a small wooden box.
"A box?!", Logan puzzled.
It was beautiful! There was gold inlaid in the vines on the lid and everything! I don't think that there's a craftsman around these here parts to make something like that. There wasn't anything in it when I opened it. So, I stashed it in my bag and brought it home to use as my new collectors box.
I got it out last night, but instead of it being empty like I found it, it was full with old parchment and ink! It was late, so I had to wait until today to continue my investigation. I placed a couple small rocks in it and left it.
This morning, I went back to the spot where I found the box. There, I opened it again. Low and behold, my rocks were missing, but the paper and ink were there.
There was an inscription:
“Over yonder the river green, past oaken towers; There, I am."
As I spoke, the inside of the box began to glow green with specks of gold from the bottom of the box. I freaked, closed it, and threw it back in the hole. I ran and didn't look back.
"So, a magic box? Give me a break!" Logan huffed as he closed the journal and threw it on the bottom bunk.
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