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Chapter Text

June 3rd, 1993
4:00pm Entry no. 1
Dr. Jonathan Crane

I happened upon the discovery of a new and frightening specimen today. A truly marvelous and fascinating thing, something like a dark shadow in the night, or the crack of a twig from behind when there is nothing but silence and emptiness. It had been tucked away, hidden inside one of the broom closets at Arkham Asylum (the reasons for my rooting around inside the broom closet to begin with are now inconsequential, and it should, under no circumstances be assumed that I was aiming to borrow any of the supplies for a previously planned escape).

At first, the creature did not do much of anything noteworthy, merely stared back at me in contempt and bafflement, as if I were just as intriguing and curious to it as it was to me. The creature moved and made a terrible and wonderful screeching sound from somewhere, though it did not appear to have a mouth at all. Or perhaps it was that the creature had ten mouths and three eyes. I recall its shape changing quite often, the thing never sticking to one form or another for much longer than a millisecond. It seemed to grow more frustrated and irritated with every form that it took, each one more deliciously devious than the last.

Once it took the form of a terrible clown that resembled the Joker’s likeness, then a disfigured Batman zombie, that sorry excuse for a warden, Bolton. And of course the typical creepy crawlies, spiders, cockroaches, etc.

It did not take me long to deduce this creature was attempting to morph itself into my worst fear (weaponizing fear is, after all, my entire schtick; I know when another entity is attempting to play copy-cat), but as I myself am immune to fear, it appears the creature is unable to settle upon a single form. This lack of fear confused the specimen and disoriented it. It becomes agitated.

Nonetheless, the specimen is beautiful, stunning, really. I simply had to study such a horrendous looking monstrosity.

I decided at once that I would capture the creature and take it back to my room. I have done so by entrapping the creature in a hat box I acquired from Jervis Tetch. As studies continue, I shall record my findings in this journal.

Chapter Text

3 June 1993
16:00
Padfoot’s journal
Entry no. 1

I found this journal in the bin. I'm not sure why I'm writing this. I've never been able to sit still for it before, and it's likely going to be all over the place, but I'm writing in this journal now I suppose.

Maybe I just need to get it all out of my head, since it's been stewing for twelve years. Maybe it's because that rat bastard Wormtail slipped through my fingers again. Or the fact that I promised Harry I wouldn't kill him, but I've been looking for him anyway. I'm not sure what I'll do if I find him. I know what I want to do to him, but… well, I promised Harry.

Reckon the kid's right anyway. James wouldn't want me to become a killer. Still… it's not right. He shouldn't be out here a free man, after everything he's done. He should be the one the ministry is chasing down, not me…

….And I broke my quill from clenching it so hard in anger; I had to hunt down a muggle pen, so I reckon I should write about something else now. I doubt Pettigrew will be state side anyway so it's no use going on about him now.

I wanted to keep looking for the rat, but Dumbledore insisted I come here, specifically this city in New Jersey called Gotham. He reckoned I'd be safe from the ministry here… I wish I could have brought Harry with me, but I know rumors would have spread like wildfire. None of them say anything good about me. I don't care about people's opinions, or course, but I don't want to cause Harry any grief…

I wish I could have been the godfather he deserved. Instead he got stuck with those good for nothing Dursleys. I mean really, Dumbledore couldn't have found anyone else to take him in?? I understand he thought I was guilty of those murders, too, but the DURSLEYS????

I'm getting angry again. It's just not fair. None of it. Harry deserves better than the hand he's been dealt.

Anyway, I'm in Gotham now. It's a bit of a fixer upper, and far be it from me to question Albus Dumbledore but I can't imagine why he thought I'd be any safer here. The people here look worse for wear, so maybe he just thought I'd blend in. Tomorrow I suppose I'll sneak into the larger areas of the city in my dog form to find something to eat. I'm starving. And exhausted. It's been a long couple of days and I have to find a way to keep Buckbeak hidden from the muggles in a city this large. So far no one seems to have taken notice of the hippogriff, but he's large so he won't stay invisible for long. Finding a place to lay low should be top priority.

I'm not sure I'll write again. I might. Putting it all on paper has helped ease my anger about everything. Not by much, but it has helped a bit. I'll probably write again.

Chapter Text

June 4th, 1993
4:00 am
Entry no. 2
Dr. Jonathan Crane

It has been 12 hours since I have discovered and captured the magnificent fear monster, or Phobos as I have begun referring to it(for simplicity's sake I shall henceforth also begin referring to the creature as “Phobos” in my notes as well).

I have begun examining Phobos’ effects on the other Arkham inmates. It creates a state of panic within the subjects similar to that of the fear toxin (FT). Elevated heart rates, dilated pupils, excessive sweating, catatonia. All the tell-tale signs of a panic attack. The only clear difference between Phobos and the FT thus far is the manner in which the state of fear is thrust onto the subjects. The FT seeps into the subjects’ body and mind, directly affecting the subjects’ adrenal glands. Meanwhile, Phobos confronts subjects with their own worst nightmares, externally, exposed for all to view and use for their own nefarious purposes.

I am yet to decipher precisely how Phobos is able to discern what the subjects' worst nightmares are. My working hypothesis is that it has something to do with telepathy. Perhaps, Phobos is a mind reader of some sort, but I am hard pressed to prove it.

I had planned to continue researching the matter here in the Asylum, however, this may not be as applicable as previously thought. Already, my fellow inmates threaten me with bodily harm. Pamela has positioned poisonous plants under my pillow, Harvey is sitting in the cell across from my mine as I write these notes. I can see him flipping his coin, no doubt trying to determine if he should smoother me in my sleep or simply shoot me with the guards gun.

While I am unconcerned by their meager attempts to scare me into submission, into quitting my experiments all together, I concede it would be rather difficult to continue my studies of Phobos if I were to be sent to the ICU. Perhaps, I will take my studies elsewhere…

Chapter Text

4 June 1993
8:00
Padfoot's Journal
Entry no. 2

Gotham City is a mad place. I walked the streets in my canine form for half an hour, and I must say, in spite of being a wanted man both by the muggles and the Ministry, I think I'll attract less negative attention as a human. One would think that people would be captivated by a dog's presence. I expected to be handed table scraps; instead the Gothamites kicked at me and swatted me with newspapers. One man even tried capturing me in a kennel, presumably intending to ship me off to the dog fights. Narrowly avoided that one…

Walking around as myself may pose to be a much safer option, albeit a more risky one…

Ah, well. The risk is half the fun, after all!

Buckbeak and I are camping out in an alleyway for now. I'm not entirely sure what to do with him. He'll have to eat soon; so will I for that matter. A tourist dropped a map of the city earlier. It's soaking wet and the ink is smeared, but it looks as if there's a park in the center of Gotham. I might be able to leave Buckbeak there for a time while I search for something large enough to fill his giant belly.

I suppose I could go to the store, though how I'll get the money to pay for food I don't know…