Dead leaves and gnarled sticks crunched under the heavy steps of Jacob’s worn-down
converse. He was in the forest on a dare. The camera was turned on to prove he was actually
doing it. The last thing he wanted was to lose his lunch to Harris again, the jerk. Jacob cursed
himself out as he slowly got closer to the crumbling building ahead. Local legend told that those
who visited it were never heard from again, seemingly deciding to be a permanent resident.
Some sort of feeling allured its guests to never leave. Of course that was only a tale, Jacob knew,
but as he scaled the camera up the twisted, molding planks that made up the wall of the house, he
couldn’t help but listen to the fear welling in his gut. Jacob shook his head, swallowing his
anxiety and looking at the building with a new determination. He had a dare to fulfill. It’s not like
anybody was inside, and his pitiful shaking was spoiling the footage.
Tentatively, Jacob pushed the deteriorated door open, gritting his teeth as the high-
pitched squeal of rusted hinges pierced his ears. He fumbled to turn on his flashlight before
stepping inside and getting the best shot he could of the terribly damp, empty interior. It was odd.
From the outside, the building looked like an old, worn-down house, but the inside was gutted of even its partitioning walls. The snap of a twig and the calls of a frightened bird had Jacob quickly backing out of the building. The slightest visage of beady, gleaming eyes and a shape all too unnatural choked Jacob. He turned and ran, lungs working overtime to keep him moving. He only stopped when a stump that seemingly appeared caught onto the toe of his shoe and tripped him. He hissed at the burn in his knees and mourned at the dirt and grass stains in his beloved jeans. Had he been allowed to change, he would’ve. Another snap of a twig and suddenly he didn’t care that his new jeans got dirty. He watched a rabbit, pale as snow, run across the clearing and suddenly, he couldn’t see much of anything at all.
Pam wailed as she repeated the description of her son to the officer again. “Long, black
hair, birthmark on the corner of his eye, fair skin, baggy clothes.” Over and over, she repeated,
pleading for help, for progress, for anything. She even whispered Christ’s name, beseeching for
an answer.
Officer Stalts sighed as he calmed the sobbing woman he was stuck on call with. “Yes,
ma’am, we know he’s missing. We’ve been looking just like you asked. My fellow officer just
informed me that they may have found his camera, and they are bringing it in to be searched.”
Pam only wept harder. Stalts hesitated before grumbling, “I suppose you and your husband can
come down the station and look through the camera with us. You’d be better able to identify it
than we would.”
The woman’s head snapped up and she stared at her phone in disbelief. “We’ll be right
there, sir. Thank you. Thank you so much,” she bawled, elated and yet mulling over the pit of
dread that had hardened in her chest.
It didn’t take long for Pam and her husband to arrive at the police station. The officer
couldn’t blame them, he supposed. Their son was missing, after all, and it had taken him and his
crew weeks to find a lead as to where Jacob had gone. The poor old woman had sounded utterly
distraught over the phone. Upon seeing her, his observation couldn’t have been more correct. Her
eye bags sagged, her brown hair frazzled, and she heaved heavily, almost looking as though she
had run a marathon. Her husband, however, looked none the wiser. Regardless, Stalts motioned
them over to the table his fellow officer currently sat at, going through the camera they had
found. The officer’s white gloves contrasted against the scuffed black material of the thing.
Pam covered her mouth, choking back a sob. “That’s it,” she whimpered, “That’s his
camera.”
Stalts tilted his head a little. “Right.” He turned to the other officer, “Play the most recent
video for us, will you?” The officer nodded and pressed play. The entire room was transfixed on
the tiny screen of the camera. The lens was to the ground. Dead, grey grass lightly obscured its
view of the forest around it. The trees blew peacefully, even if the branches heaved and groaned.
A blood curdling scream erupted from the speakers of the device, interrupting the peaceful
silence the scene radiated. Pam gasped and looked away. Her husband simply stared blankly as
the screaming continued. Each time it started and stopped it caused a new lump of disquietude to
settle in the stomachs of the poor people hunched over the tiny camera screen.
Pam bleated, “Please, please make me listen to this no more! This is torture!” Stalts
nodded and gripped the other officer’s shoulder until he skipped through a significant portion of
the video.
It wasn’t until the screaming stopped that the sound of rustling leaves presented the
possibility of a warm body. Perhaps a survivor. Perhaps Jacob. Pam waffled between cowering
away and staring at the screen with hope and shock. Her next peak made her breath hitch. A pair
of perfectly shined black dress shoes entered the frame, gleaming in what little light escaped
through the gaps of the leaves above. Beside them dropped a rabbit, bearing a mark of brown
over its eye, marring the near white coat that flashed in the few escaping lights casted from the
moon. Blood seeped from the rabbit’s nose and more pooled around its limp body. The shoes
stayed perfectly still. The wind howled through the trees. Leaves stirred and whipped around the
camera, and yet, the figure held its ground. It was as though he were a wolf presenting the
observers with a successful night’s kill.
