Journal of John S. Renfield, Esq.
I showed the stone to my roommate this morning and asked him to describe it to me. It seems I'm not hallucinating that part, at least -- the stone is very much real. That means that whatever happened yesterday must be real as well, however impossible it seems. I find that I'm actually rather excited by that prospect.
Mrs. Banks called me today to ask about her cat. To be honest it had completely slipped my mind. I didn't think she'd appreciate the charred remains of a skeleton, and I certainly couldn't tell her what actually happened. So instead I brought her the broken collar, told her that I hadn't been able to find it, and wished her luck with the posters, because I had too much schoolwork to be able to continue the investigation. To say she was less than pleased is to put it mildly -- who knew a mild-mannered housewife would know so many cursewords? I feel lucky to have escaped with my hide. It's rather comforting, though, running from something normal and real and tangible.
Possibly nothing, but I've gotten shivers down my spine every time I've entered my room today.
I sent some emails to the geology professors on campus, describing the jewel and asking if I can get a professional opinion from them. I'm hoping that at least one of them can tell me something about it. It's actually been losing some color, with the edges clearing up a little, especially near the crack. I don't think it's quickly enough to worry about just yet, and it remains warm to the touch, but I am still concerned -- I feel responsible for what happened, and I want to fix it, even if this thing is potentially dangerous. It was probably just trying to feed itself, really... I don't know how much I can blame it for that...
Addendum as of 6:35 PM: Fuck the geology professors, I'll try the jewelry professors next. "Don't waste their time", indeed.
Addendum as of 9:07 PM: Fuck the jewelry professors, too.