On the morning of June 21, 1983, a three-year-old boy disappeared into the forests of Shawnee, Colorado. But just before the sun set the boy was found not very far from home, dirty but unharmed, hungry but in good spirit.
The boy’s parents thanked god their son had returned safe. They sighed with relief that tragedy and the unthinkable had been avoided.
But what that young couple did not know as they hugged that thing they thought was their boy, was their true son had found a passage into a place of darkness. What they held tightly and made promise to never leave them again was something strange. What returned to them was only a copy of their son; something that crossed over from the dark place.
What returned was me.
And until very recently, I had intended on taking that secret to the grave. I never wanted to write any of this. But after what has happened—I have to.
For most of you, what you read in these pages will be regarded as a story of fiction. It will be seen as a tale spun by an overactive imagination, a lunatic, or a person seeking attention. And that’s fine, because this book isn’t for most of you.
This book is for those who will read these pages and know, bitterly, that my words are true. And you will know this because you are one of us--even if reading this book is your moment of epiphany. Some of these events will be all too familiar to you. These pages might force you to relive things—I’m sure—you try desperately to forget. You might even close this book right now and burn it, because like me you’ve spent too much time wishing it away; wishing it was nothing but a nightmare.
But you need to read on, because this might be the only warning you get. You need to know how dangerous this could get for you. These pages are the only clues I have to give. So I’m telling you everything I know… because I let it out.
It’s here, and it’s hunting. You’ve been warned.