Maplebrooke, a small town located in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by mountains and thick trees. It was an old, quaint town filled with charming Victorian houses, serene nature that pair well with any season, and the usual appeal that all little cities have. Though, there was one issue that bedeviled the residents…

The sudden rise in disappearances that occurred for the past few weeks in the outskirts of Maplebrooke. Nobody knows who or what was responsible for these people suddenly vanishing…

Tonight, there was a gathering of both anxious parents and frustrated civilians, determined to find the culprit. They were all dressed in their warmest clothes with flashlights gripped tightly in their hands, while some brought first aid kits and others brought their guns. Before the party began to search, they all cooperated in formulating a strategy; since the cops were doing investigations in the town during daylight and haven’t had luck with any of the cases there, they decided to inspect the surrounding forest instead. They chose to split up in packs of three and attempt to search almost every last space of the land.

Once their plan was set, the search parties went their own ways, the crunching of their footprints in the snow getting softer as they became further away from each other.

There were seven groups of three, who looked for hours and none of these people found anything. Well, all except for one set of people…

The atmosphere was tense for this trio as they **slowly **walked through the wintery forest, the radiance of their flashlights cutting through the pitch-black sky. It was silent except for the occasional call for one of the victims by the search team and the sound of the nocturnal animals carrying on with their lives. But suddenly, a horrific shriek came from one of the poor men in the trio, who was swiftly snatched away after walking too far ahead from the others. The other two’s eyes darted around quickly, fearing for the safety of the man.

“Where the hell did he go?!”

One yelled, wagging his gun around as he was ready shoot whoever took the kidnapper. The other man pointed his finger to where he thought the kidnapper disappeared to, “Over there!”

The two sprinted off in the way the man pointed, bolting past the trees for what felt like forever, but it was all payed off when they came across a massive cave that was located where the woodland ends and the mountains meet. They slowed their pace considerably while attempting to catch their breath, noticing the cave near them the cave before getting a whiff of the stench of dead bodies.

“What the-?”

One of the men mused before shining their flashlight in the cave, their eyes enlarging and their face growing pale at the sight before them.

A towering, lanky, monstrous creature stood inside the damp cave with warm blood under its feet, its grip tight on the now-dead body of the vanishing search man as it sucked its teeth into him. The monster was almost camouflaged with the stone behind it due to its inky black pigment, but its snow white feet nearly gave away its presence. The most shocking thing is that they found the missing people, who were all lying unconscious in big piles with their flesh and blood gone, decomposing and emitting the vile smell from before.

As the monster noticed the glare of the flashlight, it slowly turned its head to face the two men, sending them both in a state of paralysis. The man with the gun snapped out of his state of shock quicker, trying to shoot the advancing creature while pulling the other man behind him. Inconveniently, due to his frantic efforts, the only bullet that was loaded in his weapon missed.

The only thing that the two, petrified men could do is run…

Perhaps I am a wretch Perhaps I am a god Perhaps I am an optimist beneath this grim facade

Or maybe my identity Lies leagues beneath the sea Amid the Stygian darkness, where sunken valleys be

Perhaps I am a songbird Perhaps I am a seed And maybe what defines me is my weakness and my need

Yet No matter who I am Thirty thousand years from here This heartbreak hurts, and I cannot contain it within any sphere.

—— A/n: This poem literally started as a shower thought. Just kinda grew from there.

Once Corin told Romingo to wait outside he followed Blackar into what was supposed to be a living room but the ripped wine-stained couches had mice crawling out of them bottles laid everywhere across the floor “Do you want to sit your majesty?” Blackar said in a croggy voice he tried doing a mocking bow but when he caught Koh’s red eye he abandoned the thought halfway through doing an awkward lean and ended up knocking over his lamp which shattered to the floor with a thud “meant to do that, heh.”

“Mr. Blackar.” corin stated firmly

Blackar flinched “yes?”

“The information.”

“Right… what do ya want to know?.”

“A young girl was murdered in the Crooked Alleyway. We have a lead that a Bounty Hunter saw the attack we need your help finding him.”

Blacker kept glancing in the out the bay window he suddenly regained his composure

“I don’t know anyone Bounty Hunter in this part.”

Koh was losing his patience he stepped forward, Blackar stepped backwards almost tripping over the couch

“We don’t have all day I know your hiding something so, either you tell us or I will drag the person out of your kitchen closet and make them tell us.”

“Damn your cursed Red eye.” Blackar said irritably

Suddenly loud shouts filled the outside Corin turned to rush towards the door to check on Romingo

“What was that?”

Blackar stepped infront of Corin back to the door

“It’s nothing people get mugged in the streets all the time!.” Blackar said

“I know who the Bounty Hunter is.” Blackar said hoping Corin would follow back to the living room and he did he couldn’t believe his luck

“Who is the Bounty Hunter?” Corin said following Blackar Romingo could handle a low life thief so he put checking on him out of his mind for now at least

“Hesss a guyyyy named….. Jet he lives in WestSide Bar acrosss town.”

Suddenly a howl pierced their conversation “Romingo!.” Corin said as he rushed to the door again but was cut of by Blackar

“Jet dosnt like visitors it’s best to go at night you can wait here if you want.”

“Mr. Blackar my bodyguard is in danger I need to help him.”

“We have a lot of dogs in the neighborhood that howl at this time of night.”

“It’s day actually.” Corin said raising his eyebrows quizzically

“ isn’t your bodyguard a quiet fellow??.” Blackar replied

“Not unless something is wrong.”

“There’s a alleyway that you came through that are full of wolfbanes.”

“Oh would you look at that it’s closing time for the WestSide bar don’t want to miss Jet here go out the kitchen door.” Blackar rambled

“Your still a traitor Blackar.” Koh said menacingly

“I didn’t want to go to your bondfire ok? I’m a busy man.”

“Yea drinking yourself to death maybe.”

While they bickered Corin tried to get past them to get back to the door but there was no other way past without making it obvious Then he felt a searing pain not from the corrupt staff. But from the searing brand mark on his right forearm.

“That’s enough bickering both of you.” corin said sternly in his cold voice

“Koh we are leaving Let go.” and with that corin walked to the front door when he opened it he was expecting to see Romingo standing guard but he was gone all that was left was his sword on the ground and some blood

“Romingo!.” corin called out

Nothing

“We shouldn't have left him out here by himself. Koh, can you see him?” corin said

Koh’s laser eye could see through walls and looked all over the alleyway even the alley they took before Blackars house

It outlined human bodies with a red outline Wolfbanes where blue

“I can't see him, boss, too many wolfbanes in the street.”

Corin clenched his staff feeling the rage and ancient death mage magic flowing through his corrupted hand

“We will find him,.” corin said almost sadly

“But right now we need to find the girl’s murderer. Let's go talk to Jet.” and with that Koh led corin deeper into the heart of Saria’s underground

my name is detective james and this is my progress report on all the missing peopel in this small town in wisconson. i am still in the middle of the investigation. i am a detective that was trancfered from new york to help with thies missing people. it is the strangest thing there are no bodys and they are all different races, gender,and ethnisitys. this person dosnt have a type wich makes this a pretty difficult case but i think i have a break in the case. it is somthing i never thought i would say or even experiance but i will get to it. lets start off with my first incounter with the police force here. this town seams so nice and everyone is welcomeing. so belive me when i say this was a shock of what is happening in this town. the police are a different story. yes they are all nice but when i ask anything about the missing peopel they get gittery and have limited things to say. the original detective on this case is now in a mental hospital beacuse of what he saw, so oviously that was my first stop. his name is David Jhonson when i got there he seamed normal. made normal small talk could hold a stedy conversation and even held eye contact, but when i told him why i was there it was like watching a swich flip. he couldnt look me in the eyes and his speach changed and he got mad. not violent, but you could hear it in his voice like he didnt want anyone to know what happened. i was told that he had gotten a lead on one of the missing people and when he called it in everything seamed normal but when the backup arived they found him curled up in a ball mumbling to himself about god know what. all i could get out of him is that he saw a flash of light and then nothing after that. he didnt didnt even remember getting the call for the lead. it was like his memorie was erased. after that i did some digging around the area he was found there wasnt to much there but i did find imprints from what looked like a trypod, there where 2 of them one significently smaller than the other. which mean this thing that has been taking peopel records every taking and that he was planning on taking David but was interupted. the other trypod must have been for the bright light that he was talking about. this is probibly one of the crazyst cases ive ever had. noone will even talk about the people who are missing or even egnolige that they ever existed, even there familys. its like they where never born. even the record of there births where missing. who ever is doing this is covering all there basses. i thought i had hit a wall tell i got a call about another abduction. when i got there it was a female who was on the ground curled up in a ball. i got there just in time to kida see what was happening. the person who is doing this is trying to make it look or seam like an ailien abduction. its not aliens but it is proseved to be. they have gone all out even as much to fly a helecopter out to make it seam like a UFO. i spooked them beacuse they left all there gear including the camara. i am curently scrubbing it for videos of the previus abductions. the only one sofar is Davids. the person recording is talking so i am also running a voice recognition, that can take a while but it also means that he is not working alone. it could make it easyer or harder to find them, but i am closer than anyone els had been. as for the girl she is doing good. she still has hermemories but is not ready for questining yet.

tell my next report, Detctive James.

The sound of a staple gun on the tired small-town noticeboard in this small supermarket made her stop placing the shopping g from the wire basked onto the checkout for scanning. When the young girl stepped away, her notice made a perfect line of four missing persons notices. Earl leaned into her ear, “We’re on holidays Kate.” He pulled out the last of the items, adding them to the others. Kate turned and gave him ‘that smile’, her eyes bright.

I was Kai Andrews. I'd just moved to Shadow Creek, NY; I was a police officer. I moved here because three teens, two boys, and a girl, had been murdered not far from the nearby High School, and it was my job to find out what had happened. As I was a freshly new member of the police force, I wasn't allowed to go out on my own just yet, and I'd decided to find out a bit more about the murders of these victims and how they were connected to both the town's witchcraft history and each other. On Monday morning, I decided to come into work and head upstairs into the "Media Room." Because this area was "confidential," a big red-lettered sign was attached to the wall that read, "ALL STAFF MUST SIGN IN AND OUT UPON EXIT AND ENTRY OF THE MEDIA ROOM. Thank you." As I signed in, I saw my commissioner, Adam Henderson's plaque; as I recalled how he tragically died, so too did everyone else who knew him who walked past the corridor. He wasn't currently married but did have kids (from a prior marriage), Anna and Kyle Morgans. Anna was a vital part of our team. She worked on the Repair and Service team; she had soft blue eyes, blonde, winding curly hair, and a few tattoos on the sleeves of her midnight blue jacket. To accompany this was a lip pricing and T-shirt with the words, "Mondays are a dealbreaker for me!" on the front, whereas her boyfriend Kyle worked on the technology side, helping ensure police info was safe. Kile was a big technology nerd. As I checked the watch on my hand, I realized I was late to go to the gym. The gym was adjacent to the precinct, and upon starting the machine, I struggled to think about my workout and, consequentially,( a word that meant repeatedly thinking about something). I kept thinking about the unsettling mages I'd seen in the footage and decided to email Kyle. Just as I cautiously picked up the phone to see who it was, I got an email saying that Kyle had picked up the sample from the local lab and that I'd swung by on my way to the gym. They had been told that whoever had killed the three suspects had a gun on them because there were gun stains in Di Anglo's locker along with two casings in the lockers of the other two victims. After I walked to the entrance hall to collectively tell the suspects' parents what had happened to their sons and daughters, I closed the door. I told the parents to follow me into the Confidential Room: Di 'Angelo's father, a balding, Cuban-American man, a thirty-something tall brown-eyed man called Rikki, burst through the door and said, "Is my beautiful daughter dead? Kile (Morghans, who was also on shift with me that day has said in his soft southern LA voice, "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down, or I'm gonna have to be forced to hold you in custody which may impact the likelihood of you being able to see your daughter being buried," after a bit of what felt like a very long wait, a woman of about thirty- five came h hurriedly int the door, she looked disheveled with makeup and h

When your daughter is missing three years, you think about burying an empty coffin. You need a place to visit that can continue holding the emptiness for you. You wonder if this makes you a bad mother. How you think about walking into her bedroom, still hers, and burning the old unmade black sheets which then catch the comforter long left on the floor. You are transfixed by the image of the curtains rolling up the wall in strips thick with flame, taking with it that dark botanical print of scarlet mawed, waxy-leaved flowers and ponderous long-necked egrets. You always thought those curtains were bad for a bedroom. Those blossoms are ravenous with snakes and things smaller and more sinister, things you cannot see but know are there, the way we have all placed a foot into a boot a second before a huntsman spider brushes spiny legs across your bare calf, the way we have all at least once tasted milk gone solid and sour, bit into a banana the too sweet sweet of a foul-smelling bruise. And whatever took your daughter was nowhere near as obvious a threat as the dark curtains.

Three years. Why three? You should ask this. Only you have not yet puzzled about the symbolism of the three. You have not thought anything beyond the first deep jab of a sharp edged shock. The librarian’s husband was not anyone remarkable. You forgot his face a minute after looking at the missing person’s flyer, feeling fraudulent and guilty when you must look back. He’s been missing now for a week. Three years ago less a week, you had known how many hours and minutes that totalled. You thought how profound it is to know the breadth of a thing by name. You did not understand yet how time keeps its own secrets, the small ones we all keep, like how you threw your wedding band into the river so you wouldn’t have to wear something that belonged to the dead. You did not know then how close death still cleaved to you, as noticeable as the pale indent engraved around your ring finger.

You have a new ring now. And a subtle paunch beneath your navel. Your arms can lift heavier boxes and duffel bags on hikes through the woods. When you notice yourself in a mirror, enough time has passed that you feel surprised by what you see. Less often though it still happens, you remember the old things you still nurse. You carry her absence with you in a world that is not the same world where you buy the groceries and de-ice the windshield and make picadillo so spicy your husband and other daughter sweat and you remember what it was like doing shrooms.

You would have said those worlds were parallel, two realities incompatible with one another in both trajectory and location. You need them to be separate. Which is why you do not know what to do when you glimpse the round forgettable face of Jeff Poninski, or as all the middle school mothers call him, Janie the librarian’s husband, his face under that familiar heading. Missing. He had always been sort of missing. He made only a perfunctory appearance in your emailed pleasantries with Janie, I hope this finds you well. How is your husband? You want to write to her now but don’t know what to say now the old script no longer fits.

To be continued…

The documentary was my idea, not his. In the media outlets, he would later say that he was the one who wanted to showcase the mysterious disappearances in our town in an effort to bring justice to those lost. That’s a lie: it was my idea to start the documentary, and the films will show this to be true.

They are kept in the basement of my childhood home, behind the wall on the west side, under the only window, cobwebbed and in disrepair. There are some newer bricks; look there.

It’s time this town knew the truth.

Transcription of audio from four minute film found in Mr. Heary’s residence, 1/09/08. Ellipses indicate broken film where the audio could not be reconstructed, or where sensitive information has been redacted. Two voices speak in the film, indicated by 1 and 2, for consistency.

1: No, that’s not true. I think we’re getting somewhere with this. We didn’t waste all this time for nothing.

2: Then what have we found?

1: Well, we found that … and the note, too.

2: The note? The note wasn’t tied to the disappearances. It was just a note.

1: No, you can’t think like that! We have to have a detective’s mind. For us to find out what happened to those missing people, everything is tied to the case. As far as we know, the murderer wrote the note.

2: … murderer? Why’d you say that? …

1: Missing people? … said so. That many disappearances and we don’t have caves nearby for people to go falling into.

2: We’ve never discussed it being a murderer before. We … and considered … but never that.

1: Well, I thought you assumed the same as me. That somebody has been killing these people. I don’t know what else we thought it would have been.

2: Something more natural? I’m just … A fun little documentary, on a fun little mystery. Not something so real.

1: Oh, it’s real, alright. That’s why this film matters.

2: What’s that? That boy … Is that his ID? … Why would you have that? Hold it up to the camera for the documentary. Where did you find it?

1: I can’t show this on the film … It’s nothing, I knew him from school. Put it back where you found it.

2: No … this is important evidence. What else is in this box? You’ve never showed me … ?

the film ends with the sounds of a struggle, an indecipherable crackling, and a short groan that is cut off by the film being stopped

✍🏻 THIS IS PART TWO! IF YOU HAVENT YET PLEASE GO READ THE FIRST PART THANK YOU! 💖💖💖🤍

They said there was something wrong. That I had experienced severe head trauma. They don’t think I killed the man lying there. I was put in rehab for months. Working with me everyday, trying to get my memories back. But once I did, I didn’t want them anymore. My fiancé was a kind man, always there for me. He held me in his arms when I needed to cry and he listened when I needed to talk. He was rather handsome too. Thick brown hair, tight jaw, sweet smile, blue eyes like oceans. I loved him and he loved me. But he was the man lying there that night. The man I can’t get back. The memories I never regained were the memories of that night. I couldn’t remember. I hoped I hadn’t killed him but there was one thing I did know, and that was my fascination with blood. It could be nothing, it could just be a normal thing. Someone has to be fascinated by blood or no one would ever study it. But that curiosity I gained that night, the fascination I learned of. It made me wonder, am I the monster?

——

Part two! Hope you enjoyed!!💖🤍

She was begging so hard the security had to escort her out. Her voice remained true, ringing in my head,

“Please, please, he’s got to be out there, just keep looking.”

That was Jonathan’s mother’s reaction to my decision to close the case. Two months with nothing turning up was enough time for me to realise it was a lost cause. Oh, right, I better give you the details?

It started 6 months ago, Jonathan’s story, but in Presorder, people go missing all the time.

My theory is that teenagers become so miserable with the lack lustre social clubs and horrific weather that they simply run away. Skip town.

I wished I could too, to tell you the honest truth. Presorder is one of the most sullen towns in North America, that’s a fact. The mayor moved away last year, that’ll tell you something.

Jonathan was 15 when he first started running away.

We estimate his hysterical mother would call into the station about once a week, blubbering that someone had kidnapped him or that he had been run over or some nonsensical story.

In reality he had usually snuck off with some friends to a party or to explore an abandoned building. There’s a lot of those round here.

Jonathan was no perfect angel like his mother thought he was. He wound up spending the night in one of our cells a lot towards the time of his disappearance. Yet, he was a good kid. Noisy, brash, rebellious, yes, but he loved his mom more than anything and was always very chivalrous to ladies, surprisingly.

So, when his mom called in in October, we all reacted the same. It still haunts me. She was like the boy who cried wolf. And this time the wolf had actually came.

I remember just laughing, in her face, at her desperation. Her blond hair was wild and unkempt. She used to shave her eyebrows and draw them on with brown pencil, but in her frantic hurry she’d forgotten.

I assured her he was probably just at some function, because I knew that my neighbour’s son was celebrating his birthday that day. I regret that now.

As you’ve probably guessed, he was not at that function. Jonathan was not anywhere.

At 7 o clock on the evening of the 23rd of October, he had left his house headed to his girlfriends in his black mustang, wearing bootcut jeans, Chelsea boots, a Rolling Stones t-shirt and his signature denim jacket, known by its zipper and anarchy symbol painted in red on the backside.

Him and that jacket were inseparable, and it was never seen again. You can work it out yourself.

The car did turn up however, but in the strangest way possible.

When we opened up the case, it was around two days after he disappeared. It was then we worked out no one had actually seen or heard from him, that he had vanished.

His mother was inconsolable. I distinctly recall feeling so awful due to the fact they lived in quite a large house, and Jonathan always had someone over or was blasting some heavy metal music, and I thought of how quiet the house must have been without him. My heart broke a little for her, I won’t lie.

Well, his mother was with us at the police station and being head of the case, I took all the details from her. By now her eyebrows were back in shape and she had seemingly pulled herself together.

They only had one lonesome car, the black mustang, and it was still missing at this point, so I offered to give her a ride home. You’d think with the humongous size of their house they’d buy another car, but in her words,

“Two cars? Walking is good for the heart. Anyways I like driving his Mustang. Makes me feel powerful.”

I laughed at that. Her image, that’s all she cares about other than Jonathan. Full face of makeup almost always, clothes the most expensive and in trend and her hair in a crazy up-do or slicked back. Not your usual mom, I’ll say that.

She shrieked her head off when we pulled up to the house. There it sat, Jonathan’s car parked neatly in the steep drive.

We both tore the house upside down looking for him. The keys were neatly left on the front step. No fingerprints, no evidence, just the car. 2 months with nothing, it’s enough.

Still, Presorder has its fair share of missing victims. Let’s just say, I’m not necessarily liked in this town, for that reason. I’m in charge of every one of them somehow.

There’s 6 in the last 6 years now. 4 girls, 2 boys, all under the age of 19 and over the age of 14. Teenagers.

If you can imagine, there’s utter hysteria over it. Every anniversary there’s a protest that the police should have done more, that we ‘failed’ them. I think those teens are living it up in Cali right now, but that’s just me.

What’s even stranger, each has not a drop of evidence to their names, except for one thing.

A personal item of theirs is always returned to their parents.

If you think the Mustang parked in the drive is crazy, Jennifer Tillage’s signature red lipstick was found in her locker the day after they cleaned it out.

Our first boy, Fred McLoughlin, rode this tremendously tall bike painted jet black everyday to school and back. When he went missing after a concert two blocks away from the station, his bike turned up tied up to the bike racks in the school. Again, no fingerprints, no evidence, nothing.

When you arrive here, you want to get out of here as soon as possible too. You’re running the risk, kid. From what I’ve been told, you turned 19 last month. Keep one eye open, I’m serious.

Your not safe just because your a cop.

Signed, Chief Stanley