Oh please, help me.
   If you are reading this, help me, for I seem to be in a predicament that no one can get out of. You see, I have been kidnapped by the man only to be known by the name Yuri. He says he is the perpetrator of the Black Dalia murders that have recently happened. I have had to keep myself calm. I had stress relief pills in my pocket when I was kidnapped, and I have been forced to use mass quantites of it. For, you see, I wouldn't be so stressed if it wasn't for Yuri's strange habit of eating my flesh. He will cut off parts of my fingers every night and eat them. The pain killers help me, and, he says when I run out, he will sneak me more bottles. I am on pain killers right now. He is currently nibbling on my flesh while I set here, staying calm yet writing in hopes that someone will see this and help me. But, as far as I know, you could be reading this 2020. I must be long gone by then.
I must have been killed by this cannabilistic mastermid. . The pain I am enduring is everlasting, for he is cutting my arms off. He is now eating them. Oh, my, this seems to be my final day on this, cruel, somehow enduring Earth. The people on this planet are rotten, maybe even more rotten then Yuri. But, as I approach my final statements to be written out in this journal, I must say, don't look out the window. You will regret it. He will get you, just do not let him know you are in your home.


- Note found in the Streets of Hamilton, Montana