Field Notes
Livestock Outbreak Investigation
Location: Village ********
Day 1
The purpose of my arrival is to investigate an outbreak affecting livestock, particularly sheep. Mortality rate is high. Symptoms are inconsistent with commonly known bacterial or viral diseases in this region.
The locals call it a “night illness.” I consider it a local term with no scientific relevance.
Day 4
Eleven sheep died over two nights. No signs of struggle. No sounds reported. The carcasses were found intact, but internal tissues show unusual damage. As if biological functions ceased simultaneously.
No parasites found. No traces of toxins.
Day 6
I began direct observation at the enclosure during nighttime. Temperature normal. Humidity normal. No significant environmental changes.
However, almost all livestock owners refuse to accompany me. They advise me not to stand too close to the corners of the enclosure.
I did not record that advice officially. But I followed it.
Day 8
The sheep that died tonight were found facing the same direction. Not toward the door. Not toward any sound source. Toward a dark corner of the enclosure that contains nothing.
I rechecked the structure. No holes. No entry points for predators.
Day 10
The outbreak has spread to other enclosures without any geographic pattern. Distance appears irrelevant.
I had a nightmare last night. Not important. But since then, I feel uncomfortable turning my back to empty spaces. This is a minor concentration disturbance. I still record it.
Day 12
The villagers have stopped using the word “illness.” They now call it a “presence.”
I insist that this is not a scientific term. They do not argue. They only ask me not to say anything out loud while inside the enclosure.
They say the animals notice it first.
Day 13
I heard something behind me during observation. Not footsteps. More like a shift in air pressure. When I turned, there was nothing.
However, the sheep in front of me stopped moving at the same moment.
Day 15
Animals show no signs of sickness before death. No loss of appetite. No aggression. They simply… stop.
My hypothesis of a biological agent is no longer sufficient.
This is not infection. This is not transmission. This is selection.
Day 16
The village mortuary is mentioned in every conversation that ends in silence. Some sheep carcasses are brought there before burial. I do not know why.
When I entered the building, I felt the same thing as in the enclosure. A sensation of being watched from a direction that cannot be determined. As if something stands very close, yet always slightly beyond perception.
Day 17
I am beginning to understand that this is not limited to animals.
Sheep are simply more honest. They do not pretend to be safe.
Day 18
Livestock deaths have dropped drastically. Not because the outbreak has stopped, but because there are almost no sheep left to observe.
Instead, new reports are emerging. Not formally submitted. Only fragments of conversation. Villagers complain of extreme fatigue, sleep disturbances, and a persistent feeling of being watched. No fever. No rash. No indicators of infectious disease.
I record this as post-event stress.
Day 20
A farmer was found sitting in an empty enclosure for hours. He did not respond to calls. He showed no signs of unconsciousness. When he finally spoke, he only said he “must not move yet.”
The reason is unclear. He refused further explanation.
Day 21
Sleep disturbances are now the most common complaint. Villagers report waking up with the certainty that something is standing very close. Not a dream. No clear visual. Only an unexplainable certainty.
Interestingly, almost all mention the same direction: behind.
Day 22
I began structured interviews. However, whenever the conversation approaches a certain topic, subjects stop speaking and ask me to lower my voice, even when we are alone.
They are not afraid of being heard by others.
They are afraid of being heard by something unseen.
Day 23
One resident experienced temporary motor function cessation. He stood in front of a mirror for several minutes without moving. When asked, he said his reflection was “delayed.”
Medically, I found no neurological abnormalities.
I write this with trembling hands. Not from fear. Because I’ve started avoiding mirrors for too long myself.
Day 24
The mortuary is mentioned again. This time not as a location, but as a boundary. Villagers believe that “something” began moving outward from there once the livestock deaths ceased.
I find no testable correlation. However, the sensation I felt inside that building is now present elsewhere.
As if that space is no longer the only source.
Day 25
I notice a change in how I write these notes. I stop mid-sentence more often. Not due to fatigue, but because of a feeling that finishing certain sentences is a mistake.
I cannot explain this academically.
Day 26
The effects on humans are not initially physical. No injuries. No immediate deaths. What changes is observational behavior.
Villagers no longer sit with their backs to open space. They rearrange furniture. They speak more quietly, even outdoors. Children are forbidden from playing near corners.
They behave as if the world has dangerous blind spots.
Day 27
I am beginning to consider that this is not an outbreak transferring from animals to humans.
This is a reverse adaptation process.
Animals die.
Humans survive.
But in a way that increasingly resembles something less human.
Day 28
I am no longer certain this phenomenon “attacks.” There is no indication of aggression. No identifiable purpose.
Perhaps its mere presence is enough to alter how living organisms function around it.
These notes will continue tomorrow, if possible.
I am writing this while standing.
I do not feel safe sitting.
And I am not sure whether that feeling comes from me.
Day 29
I reviewed all notes from day one. There is a consistent shift, though I did not notice it while writing.
The focus of observation has moved.
From animals.
To villagers.
Then to the environment.
And now, unintentionally, to myself.
This is not good scientific practice.
Day 30
I find myself waiting before turning around. Not out of fear. More like… ensuring something has finished doing whatever it needs to do.
I do not know where this habit comes from. There was no specific triggering event.
The villagers notice it. One of them said I have “learned.”
I did not ask what they meant.
Day 31
The symptoms I recorded in villagers now appear in me in the same sequence. Sleep disturbances. Heightened spatial awareness. Sensation of presence without stimulus.
This should be sufficient to remove me from the study due to subject bias.
I do not leave.
Day 32
I tried returning to my initial approach: identifying an agent, transmission patterns, environmental triggers. But each time I write a certain hypothesis, I feel strongly that it is irrelevant.
Not wrong.
Not rejected.
Just… unimportant.
As if there is a variable I do not need to write because it is already known by something other than me.
Day 33
I notice another change: I rarely write the words “it” or “something” anymore. Not because I don’t think about it, but because it feels strange to name something positioned too close.
Like labeling one’s own shadow.
Day 34
The villagers no longer treat me as an outsider. They stop giving warnings. They stop correcting my behavior.
This should be reassuring.
But it feels more like the final stage of a certain process.
Day 35
I returned to the mortuary alone. Nothing unusual occurred. No sounds. No temperature changes. But for the first time, I did not feel the pressure I felt before.
The room felt… complete.
I record this carefully, aware of how dangerous that word is.
Day 36
My provisional conclusion as a researcher is as follows:
This phenomenon is not an entity attacking living organisms.
It is a condition of existence.
Animals die because they cannot adapt.
Humans survive because they can.
But that adaptation has consequences.
I am no longer certain the line between observer and phenomenon still exists.
Day 38
I am closing this research.
Not because of direct threat.
Not because of fear.
But because I am beginning to understand that further documentation will only help define this phenomenon in a way that is unnecessary.
And I am not certain that definition is something safe to provide.
If these notes are found, consider them the final report of someone who came to observe an outbreak, and left with the understanding that not all natural processes require explanation.
Some only require presence.
And now, I must stop writing.
Not because something is stopping me.
But because for the first time since I arrived in this village, I do not feel alone while holding this pen.