The Dusk Hung Man

Æther Institute – Restricted Archive Note

Archivist’s annotation:

This journal was recovered from the scene of Clara M.’s death in Eldridge Hollow. The final page was removed—cleanly, deliberately.

Whether it was torn out by Clara or by the entity itself remains speculative.

What follows is a full transcription of the surviving entries.

Do not read aloud after dark.

Journal of Clara M., resident of Eldridge Hollow

October 4th, 1965

Saw something strange tonight. Out by the Miller’s field, right around sunset—there was… something. Looked like a person just hanging there. Not like—God forbid—someone hanged. Just… suspended.

At first I thought it was a trick of the light. Or maybe some leftover harvest display—people love to spook each other this time of year. But this didn’t feel like a prank.

It was far off, near the old scarecrow post at the south edge of the field. Still and tall, like a figure carved from dusk itself.

I turned to grab my lantern. Looked back. Gone.

Maybe it was never there. I don’t know.

October 7th, 1965

It was there again. Same shape, same eerie stillness—but this time it was on the east side of the field, by the tree stump where the crows gather. Closer to the road.

It doesn’t move. It sways. Just slightly, like it's caught in a breeze I can’t feel. Still no rope, no wire—nothing holding it up.

I tried watching it without blinking. Thought maybe I could catch it doing something. But a crow screamed, I flinched, and when I looked back—it was gone.

Closer this time. I know it was.

October 11th, 1965

Mentioned the Dusk Hung Man in passing to Mrs. Crowley today. Just a casual comment—said it was unsettling. She froze. Muttered something about “things that move when you don’t watch.” Said to stop naming it.

Naming what?

I walked past the Miller’s field again tonight. The figure was by the fence now—right at the edge of the road. Barely ten yards away.

It didn’t move. But the air felt sharp. Like the light was bending around it.

I blinked. Gone. Just gone.

I didn’t imagine it. I know I didn’t.

October 13th, 1965

The Dusk Hung Man was near again last night.

The air’s been heavy for days now. Shadows feel thick, almost sticky. I saw him again just before sunset—standing, hanging, whatever he does—just inside my neighbor’s cornfield. That's across the street from me.

Not quite a man, not quite a shadow. Just there.

I didn’t even have to go looking. I opened my window and saw him swaying between the stalks. Watching.

The wind changed when I looked at him. Like it knew.

I turned to call for someone. Just one second.

Gone.

October 16th, 1965

The townsfolk avoid me now. Mrs. Halbrook won’t look at me. Mr. Jensen crossed the street to get away.

They see it too. Or they saw it. Maybe they’ve already forgotten. Maybe forgetting is what it wants.

I saw him in my hallway mirror again. Standing in my doorway. 

Gone when I turned. But I heard the floorboards creak.

He’s inside. I know it. I can feel him in the corners. In the silence. In the cold breath of the dusk.

October 19th, 1965

Woke up with scratches on my arm. Light, but deliberate. Like fingers dragged over me while I slept.

I found footprints in the hallway carpet. Long, dragging steps that weren’t there the night before.

I checked the closet. Nothing. But the mirror caught something in the corner.

He’s inside now. Or near enough. I don’t know how he gets in. I just know he’s closer every time.

The walls whisper when the sun goes down. The trees groan warnings.

But it’s too late for warnings, isn’t it?

October 22nd, 1965

I barely leave the house now. I can feel him moving closer.

Yesterday I saw him in my reflection—in the glass of my cabinet door. Standing behind me in the hallway.

When I turned, nothing was there. But the hallway was cold.

Last night I heard scraping against my bedroom wall. Not the window—the wall. Like nails or teeth.

I pulled back the curtain and there he was, standing across my backyard, in the space where the garden used to be.

Too close. Way too close.

He’s moving in.

If this is my last entry, listen carefully: Don’t look for him. Don’t look at him. That’s how he finds you. That’s how he moves.

The Eldridge Hollow Gazette

October 24th, 1965

LOCAL WOMAN FOUND DEAD IN MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES — COMMUNITY UNSETTLED

ELDRIDGE HOLLOW — A local woman, identified as Clara M., 34, was discovered dead Tuesday evening near the edge of Miller’s Field in what officials are calling “a highly irregular event.” Her body was found shortly after sunset, positioned upright beneath the old tree line — her feet resting gently on the ground, her posture perfectly still, as if suspended.

“There’s no trauma, no wounds, no clear cause of death,” said Sheriff Walter Hask. “Frankly, we’ve never seen anything like it.”

First responders noted an unusual drop in temperature in the area at the estimated time of death — a sharp, localized cold front with no corresponding weather pattern. Several residents nearby reported clocks and watches halting at exactly 6:49 p.m., only to resume ticking hours later without being reset.

Witnesses described the scene as unnaturally quiet. Birds had gathered in the air above the field, circling silently. None landed.

A personal journal, believed to belong to Clara, was recovered near the site. Authorities confirmed multiple entries referencing a recurring figure she referred to only as “the man in the dusk.” One passage described a sensation of being watched, marked, and followed. The final page of the journal was missing — torn cleanly from the binding. Investigators have not located it.

Coroner Dr. Everett Kline, who initially examined Clara’s remains, left town the following morning and submitted an immediate leave of absence. His office offered no explanation.

Neighbors report Clara had grown increasingly withdrawn in recent weeks, claiming something was “reaching for her through the shadows.” No formal reports were filed.

Town officials have cordoned off Miller’s Field “until further notice,” citing public safety concerns. The sheriff’s department urges residents to avoid the area at dusk and to report any unusual behavior — human or otherwise.

Clara’s funeral arrangements are pending. The town remains quiet.

Too quiet.