It was too quiet in the lodge. Something had to be wrong if the radio wasn’t playing the hottest hits of the eighties and Janine wasn’t singing along like a dying cat from the kitchen. Dale was unnerved by the silence. It had been a long time since a man like him had felt any fear. But now, in his own dream boutique bed and breakfast cabin on Longhill range, he felt a fear drip down his gullet and into his stomach like red slime.

The worst part is that he was right.

The land he had built the cabin on should have remained vacant for a reason. Unfortunately for Dale and more so, Janine, the realtor failed to mention the history of the property to Dale. Ernest Conway had been struggling for six months by the time the Baretts arrived at his office. The decline from farmers market splurges to boiled hot dogs proved difficult for Ernest. Whatever thin morals he possessed before the dip in the market were fully evaporated along with the flavor of those hot dogs he bitterly eat.

What he didn’t disclose to the optimistic couple was the old folklore known by everyone in town. The story about a lost child that had wandered into the hills to take refuge during a bad storm. The storm proved worse than expected and kept the child trapped in the thick forest. The rain fell like a celestial river and the wind blew with the force of an angry god. The child never walked back out of those woods— but months after, the townspeople who had once scoured the woods in search of the child, steered clear of them. For during the twilight hours and beyond, they could hear a steady rasp behind them. If they broke into a run, they would hear the keening cry of a stricken animal, followed by rapid footsteps.

The townspeople have never said how many more have been lost in the hills since then. But the population has dipped without comment— as if talking about it might draw it further to them.

Dale summoned all of his meager and previously unneeded courage before stepping into the kitchen. He found nothing. Not Janine, not the radio, not a single item was left in the room. It looked like the same as when it was first built. Dale ran his hand along the baseboard in shock. Not even a build up of grime or dust. With all the bacon Janine cooked for clients, it seemed impossible. Everything about this seemed impossible.

Dale ran to his truck and sped into town— patently ignoring the speed limit posted. He got to the police station and ran in to find a tired secretary waiting.

“Yes?” A slim man with heavy lidded eyes asked Dale.

“You have to help me! My wife, Janine, she’s gone missing!”

“Have you filled out the form?” He asked taking a sip of coffee.

“A form? My wife— a human being is missing. What more do I need to tell you?”

“Your name and phone number to start. All the officers are in the field right now. Something about an accident in the hills. I’ll have them call you after they’re done.” Dale felt his heart quiver.

“Where was the accident?”

“Out by Twillsen lane. It’s been a common place in the past for accidents. Unfortunate with how beautiful it is up there.”

“Twilsen lane… Is that one over from Trundle?”

“Pretty sure it’s two. But close enough, yeah.” Dale ran out of the station before the secretary could say any more. He had to make sure that wasn’t Janine. It couldn’t be. She had only gotten up fifteen minutes before him.

His truck slammed to a halt behind the police cruisers. There lights were dimmed by the raising sun overhead as he ran into the long grass on the hillside.

“Janine! Janine!”

A police officer in a sherpa lined work jacket turned to head him off from the trio of officers that remained behind him.

“Sir, we can’t have you out here. This is an active scene.”

“Active scene, what does that mean? Is that Janine?” He asked trying to look past the bulky man. “Is it her? Please— please just tell me it’s not.”

“I’m going to need you to calm down,” the man said placing his hand on his hip. “It’s a boy on the hill, not a woman. Someone camping called it in after they saw him shivering in the field.”

“A boy?”

“That’s all I can tell you.”

“But my wife is missing. Not a boy. Please— you have to help me,” He said taking a step towards the officer.

“I am going to give you your final warning. If you step any closer you will be impeding an active investigation and I will take you in for charges. Do you understand me.”"

“Please just-” The officer slammed a forearm into Dale’s face and took him to the ground. Dale struggled against the sudden weight, trying to get enough room to breathe. Cold metal latched his wrists and he was jerked upright.

“You perverts make me fucking sick. Hanging out at crime scenes— there’s a sick child up there scared half to death. And I’ve got you yelling in my face about some imaginary problem. I’m gonna let Judge Foster know about this.”

Dale spent the car ride in a daze— landing on a slightly damp blanket placed over the jail cot. He spent the first hour yelling. Screaming for someone to go check his house. But no one even opened the door to tell him to stop. He was alone.