The 10th Entry

 For those who have difficulty reading cursive, I've provided a clear, printed version below.

I can barely write. My hands are shaking with excitement and fear. Last night was different. I don’t know how to explain it, but the lake felt alive in a way I’ve never experienced before. I set up my camp just as I promised myself, a small fire crackling beside me. I sat there for hours and just as I was about to lose hope, it happened. I saw it! A massive figure broke through the surface, shimmering in the moonlight. I swear it looked right at me. I felt a connection, as if the Monster was trying to tell me something. But just as suddenly as it appeared, it vanished. How can I convince anyone of what I saw? They’ll just think I’m more deranged than before. The morning brought a different kind of solitude. I tried to share my tale with a couple of fishermen, but they just rolled their eyes and muttered something about “lake lunatics.” 

    This entry is electric with emotion—fear, wonder, and isolation all tangled together. My grandfather claims he saw the Lake Monster, its massive figure shimmering in the moonlight. He even describes a connection, as if the creature was communicating with him. But by morning, his excitement gave way to loneliness. The fishermen dismissed him as a “lake lunatic,” deepening his sense of isolation. Was this moment his long-awaited proof, or just a desperate need to believe? Either way, it’s clear how much this encounter meant to him. Maybe he wasn’t as crazy as everyone thought.