The lost colony of Roanoke, a tale told throughout the United States. A mystery that went unanswered...until now. This letter is all that remains other than the legendary ‘Croatoan’ post.

The lost colony of Roanoke, I suppose that’s what they’ll call it. Not that it matters though, they’ll find a few clues, but bodies and houses are just gone. Of course, no one will remember our names, they’ll just think of us as the lost people of a dying colony. A spectacle of one of the many tales this New World holds.
I’m wasting time. If someone finds this, congratulations, you solved the probable mystery. Now the question is, after reading, will you really want to share? Or will your body begin to quake, much like mine is now, and will you throw it out?
I won’t write my name, I don’t know if I could either way. It’s already fuzzy in the back of my mind, and I don’t think it really matters at this point. My identity means nothing to you, reader. Honestly, it means nothing to me as well.
They warned us, but we were so hungry. We didn’t mean to, we really didn’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry mom, dad, and God, if there still is one.
The Croatoan tribe warned us about the spirit on the Wendigo, a beast formed from the act of cannibalism. Yet we didn't heed their warning. We didn't even listen to the one piece of advise they offered. We were all so hungry, dying of starvation, we beleived that we had no choice. At this moment, I wish we had heeded their warnings, and just died from starvation.
They’re everywhere, the atrocious beasts. What used to be called  friends are beasts. Ripping apart the whole camp, searching for more human beings to eat. I would say I’m likely to be eaten, but the thing is, I’m not entirely human either. Hopefully what little human scent there is in me will be hidden by the horrid stench of Wendigo flooding my veins.
I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t, I must think that I didn't or my guilt conscience will grab hold of me and throw me to the wolves. My family tried to protect me from the horrors of the camp, they held of from eating our own for so long. They told me they had died at night, I didn’t know what to do. I was so small, an orphan in a time of horror. How could I have known?
I ate my own parents. I ate my own parents and I didn’t even know. I ate them, and soon I won’t even be able to feel guilty.
I can feel the change, I can feel my body morphing. I’ll be one of them, a fifteen feet tall monster with a lanky build, searching the world for other humans to eat. I can’t control it, and I can’t end myself either or they will eat me, and I can’t handle that.
If you hear the howls at night, the growling of an unknown attacker- don’t move. Don’t move a muscle. Move and you’re dead. BE CAREFUL, DON'T STRAY FAR FROM YOUR HUMANITY, DON’T

The page is ripped and ineligible from this point on.