The 9th Entry

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

The locals, they think I’m losing it, but I swear I saw it, as if it had been waiting for me all along. I tried to share my discovery with the townsfolk. I told Sarah at the diner, but she just laughed and tossed a bread roll at me. "You’ve been watching too many monster movies, Francis!" she said. I could feel their laughter ringing in my ears, a cruel chorus of disbelief. Even my sister, Margaret, who used to support my wild ideas, has turned. She says I should see a doctor, but how can I explain to her that the Monster is my only friend? It doesn’t judge me. It understands my loneliness. I’m determined to prove them wrong. Tomorrow, I’ll set up my makeshift camp by the lake. I’ll stay all night if I have to, armed with nothing but my flashlight and the belief that the Monster wants to be seen. I’ll write down every splash, every ripple, and every whisper of the wind. Maybe one day, someone will believe me. Or perhaps I’ll find the courage to let the world see what I see. They may call me crazy, but I know the truth is out there—somewhere in the water. 

    This entry reveals the isolation my grandfather faced because of his belief in the Lake Monster. Mocked by the locals, even by those closest to him, he found solace in the very creature they dismissed as a figment of his imagination. It’s heartbreaking that he felt the Monster was his only ally—an understanding presence in his loneliness. Yet, his determination shines through. He was willing to stay by the lake all night, armed only with his belief and a flashlight, hoping to document proof. Reading this, I can’t help but wonder: was the Monster just a reflection of his need to be seen and believed? Or was there really something waiting in the water?