The following is from Mr. Franklin Correra's journal. His journal starts off as an everyday diary but eventually becomes a deadly notebook which tells strange occurrences before the night he mysteriously disappeared. He was found 2 nights later. The part you are about to read is his last entry.
I have been in this room for a while now and I don't plan on getting out. It's my only safe shelter that I can depend on. I don't understand why he came for ME. Out of all of the people in the world, he could have picked someone else but I guess that's the way things have to go. Everyone had the chance of getting picked. Perhaps I had the lowest chance.
It doesn't matter anymore; he is pursuing me. I plan to be holding this journal in my hands when I lay sprawled on the forest floor with a circle of crimson blood around my corpse. I need to get this information out to you all.
So police officer out there, how are you doing? Are you too staid for this? Is this too foolish for you? Well don't go because this has all of the clues to who killed me. It wasn't Chikatilo for sure. Not Dahmer. Heck, who knows who he is?
Like what I said before, I don't know why he's coming for me. I also don't know why he's such an eccentric freak. He keeps smiling. He says his name is "Bogey".
My son got attracted by Bogey. My son loved clowns. Bogey smiled and dragged my son away from me. He turned around the corner and disappeared. I followed their tracks but when I turned around the same corner, they were gone.
A few days later, the police found my son. Apparently, they found an abandoned van in the woods. Inside they found a Nike sports bag from the 1960's or something. Inside was my son's body, chopped up into 38 pieces. There were balloons too. The police never suspected a "clown" serial killer but I knew that Bogey was behind this act.
Yes I was depressed. But I eventually got over it. My daughter was probably in danger too.
I called my daughter later that day. She picked up the phone and we chatted for a little while. I decided to end our conversation with the bad news about my son.
She fell silent.
"I'm just warning you honey." I said. "He might come after you so take care."
She said she would be careful and that she loved me. I loved her too. The days after that, I looked carefully after myself. I occasionally found red balloons throughout my house. I wasn't scared. There was no purpose for me to live anyway. I had already lived my entire life. At least that's what I thought back then.
Now I can feel the fear of dying. I think Bogey might be leaving one of his balloons in the Kitchen tonight. As always, I would pop them with a needle.
"FUCK YOU BOGEY! NEVER COME BACK!"
A few days after calling my daughter, 4 days to be exact, I received news from the police again. This time they found my daughter's body in front of some abandoned church. Coincidentally the church was located close to the place where my son was found. Oh yes. They found balloons.
And now, family dead, I was the only one left. I had armed my house with every single home security service available but the balloons would ALWAYS APPEAR. In the kitchen, in the bathroom, IN MY BEDROOM!
I always heard a dim circus theme song. Children cheering. Elephants whining. Peanuts cracking. Bogey talking.
BOGEY IS EVERYWHERE!
Last night, I had received mail from an unknown address. Along with the letter was an attached photo. It was of Bogey.
And now, I know I'm doomed. Cops out there, you'd better be looking for this clown or whatever it is. And for your service, I have attached the photo I received. Please do your best.
Franklin Correra was found dead in the same state as his son Matthew Correra. Other murders like this happened during the 1970s but stopped abruptly on the summer of 1981.
It was as if he ran out of balloons.