It didn't take long for the internet to figure out who I was. My message was already being ignored. I wanted to clarify that the Boneless had a real backstory. That the lore of my hometown was being bastardised and inspiring real-life crimes. Most people thought I was trying to sell them something or I was trying to profit somehow. When they figured out I was a writer, they felt their suspicions were vindicated. They did not respond to my concerns and instead mocked me in their forums. This resulted in some rather incendiary emails and an online campaign to "review bomb" my books.

I had purposely distanced myself from my profession in my posts. I figured, correctly, that if they had known I was a professional writer, they would not have taken me seriously. They would have thought I was trying to market my own work. I should have, at the very least, given my email pseudonym a male name. The emails might not have been as bad if I had.

I'm not bitter. I blocked a few email addresses, and had Amazon investigate the review issue. Within a few weeks, it was like nothing had happened. However, the problem I emailed about intensified...

Since my initial email to the Observer, there have been disappearances. First, four dogs have gone missing over the course of a month. The police didn't investigate too closely, but it happened at properties where the Boneless had been spotted, and the animals had been behaving strangely in the preceding nights. The abductions happened on nights when the neighbourhood dogs had all been barking madly.

Then two children went missing. This time the police saw the connection – both children had previously reported seeing the Boneless. It isn't subtle. It likes that its victims know it's coming. But afterwards, it leaves no trace. No evidence has been discovered. No bodies were found.

I am ashamed to admit it, but I had decided to leave it alone. However, that is no longer an option. Last night, as I was walking home from a dance recital with my daughter, we saw it.

We were walking through an apartment complex. It was a shortcut home, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shape at the corner of the building. It was large and rotund. At first, I thought it was a pile of dirt or trash, but then it moved.

Its eyes flashed in the dark. That was the first thing I noticed - those eyes like mirrors, reflecting the dim light. It didn't have a distinctive head. Its facial features were simply set in a lump at the top of the pale fleshy mound. It pulled itself forward with two long appendages. I can't bring myself to call them arms. They had no joints. At the end of those appendages, and - I'm almost gagging remembering this - long, wriggling, boneless fingers. Like worms impaled on hooks.

The last thing I saw was its mouth opening and six crooked teeth glinting in the light. I didn't have time to consider the significance at that moment. But I know for a fact there were six mismatched teeth in that thing's rubbery maw.

I picked up my daughter and ran away as fast as I could. My heel broke and I tripped, nearly falling. I've clearly sprained my ankle, but, at the time, I didn't notice. Adrenaline and parental instincts had taken over. I kicked off my shoes and continued running. I could hear it, you see. I could hear it scraping against the ground behind me. It was fast - faster than you would ever expect - but I never turned back. Somewhere back in the dark, that wet, scraping sound faded away, but I didn't stop running until my daughter and I were home behind a locked door.

We spent the night locked in my bedroom facing the door. I've had a knife either in my hand or beside me ever since.

I called the police and told them what I saw. They are taking it seriously now, but I fear there is nothing they can do. They are still looking for a man, and even if they weren't, there is no way they can keep us safe. Thanks to your writers, the fucking thing can move up drains now.

That's why I'm writing to you again, this time with the full story from start to finish. I have no idea how this thing works, but something about the story shifting changed him. This isn't our story anymore, it's yours and I'm trapped in it. I doubt I have long, so I will ask you again. Remove all content related to the Boneless from your site and print the true origin of Boneless Jim. If not for me, do it for my daughter.

Click the articles attached to this email. They have all the details you will need to know I'm not making this up. This is happening and if you do nothing, our blood will be on your hands. You will be allowing this to continue, growing more hideous and abstract with every subsequent post. Like a faded copy, losing shape and meaning with every iteration. James McCarthy is gone. Boneless Jim is gone. All that's left is a shambling mass fueled by the creative subconscious of your readers. Stalking, stealing, and biting with stolen teeth. And when we're gone, the next victim will see that thing smiling from the shadows. Eight mismatched teeth glimmering within an empty, pointless, hunger.