now the act of seeing begins your work of mourning

“Hey. Shane.”

Shane spins around in his desk chair, flipping a pen between two fingers and looking at Ryan dubiously. “Whatever batshit insane theory you’re about to tell me, I don’t believe it.”

“First of all, rude,” Ryan retorts. “Second of all, I… I actually think I might have something.”

“Aliens?” Shane tosses his pen backwards onto his desk and leans back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. “If you’ve got proof of aliens, Ryan—”

“Dude, shut up.” Something in Ryan’s voice seems to make Shane take his words to heart, because he goes silent, slowly sitting back up and giving Ryan his attention. Ryan taps his fingers nervously on the manila folder he’s holding, then slowly sets it down on Shane’s desk, keeping one hand flat on it to prevent Shane from grabbing it. “It’s about the missing people.”

Shane blinks. “I thought we said we weren’t going to do an episode on the missing YouTubers. Too close to home.”

“We’re not. This isn’t for an episode.” Ryan drags a spare desk chair over with his foot and sits down in it, scooting close to Shane and finally opening the manila folder. “This is for me. And…for them.”

“...Okay,” Shane says eventually. “I guess I’m listening.”

Ryan didn’t expect his friend to accept that easily, but he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Inside the folder are scans of yellowed newspaper clippings and screenshots of traffic cameras. Shane blinks at it in what looks like his signature wry amusement, but Ryan is entirely serious. He spreads the scans of articles out, headlines like TOWN WIPED OFF MAP BY MUDSLIDES and EXIT 41 PERMANENTLY BLOCKED, as if it’s just another episode of Unsolved and he’s about to start narrating.

Ryan motions at the first group of newspaper scans. “1978. Rainiest autumn on record, loads of mudslides and flooding of highways, and this: an entire town seemingly wiped off the map and the highway exit leading to it being permanently blocked.” He pulls out a printout of Google maps, a small junction between two roads circled in red sharpie. “The town was called Everlock. It was a carnival town, under 50 residents, and so after the rains passed, nothing ever happened to try and find it again.”

“You’re really going to tell me that an entire town got wiped off the map and no one did anything about it?” Shane asks dryly, raising his eyebrows. “Ryan, I find that hard to believe.”

“You’ve seen how our government operates,” Ryan retorts. “CalTrans can barely keep the potholes filled, much less clear an entire mudslide.”

Shane seems to think about this for a moment, then he shrugs in acquiescence and motions for Ryan to go on.

“Everlock disappeared. It’s not even on Google Maps, there’s no labels, no one’s mentioned it in newspapers since the 70s. As far as the world is concerned, it doesn’t exist.” Ryan’s got that look in his eyes now, the one that says that he’s found something that lights up the part of his brain dedicated to mysteries and he’s going to unravel it as best he can. “Exit 41 isn’t on maps now, either. The only maps I could find that mentioned either were archival maps that predated the mudslides.”

Shane nods, seemingly humoring Ryan. “Okay…and…this has to do with the missing people, how?”

“Exit 41 isn’t on maps. But it still exists. I found it when I went looking for it on 101. And more importantly, I found this.” With a flourish, Ryan whips out a screenshot from one of the Department of Transportation’s traffic cameras, showing a blue hatchback turning onto a two-lane road in the distant corner of the frame. “This is Exit 41. And Teala, Teala Dunn, drives a blue hatchback.”

For a long second, there’s only the sounds of the office bustle around them both, phones ringing and people chattering. Then Shane blows out a long breath and scrunches his face, reaching back to pick up his pen again and fiddle with it as he thinks.

“I don’t know. This is…”

“I know it’s a long shot,” Ryan says quickly, cutting Shane off. “I know it’s kind of stupid. But Shane, look, if that is Teala’s car—”

“If that is Teala Dunn’s car, and that’s a really big if, then you should take it to the police,” Shane replies firmly. “This isn’t Unsolved, or like, a— a cold case.”

“You think I didn’t try the police?” Ryan asks, his voice shrewd. “They basically told me to fuck off. They thought I was a prank caller. Shane, come on. I’m not saying this is for sure or anything. I’m just saying…it’s weird.”

“Weird does not a case make,” Shane says, with an air of superiority. “If weirdness were grounds to build a criminal case on, Joey Graceffa would be in prison. I still think it’s sketchy that he just reappeared out of nowhere after an entire year…”

Ryan glares at him. “I’ll just go alone if you don’t come with me.”

Once again, Shane raises his eyebrows at him. “You actually wanna try and find this mysterious, missing town?”

Ryan suddenly looks a little unsure. “Don’t you?”

“Of course I do!” Shane throws his pen down. “Are you kidding? I would love to go explore a ghost town! I’m just kind of shocked that you want to do this.”

“It’s not like I think it’s haunted or anything,” Ryan says crossly. “It’s just an old town up in the hills. Besides, if the missing people are there, then we’re doing something good.”

Shane makes a face. “Well, sure, we could be altruistic about it, but I’m in this for the exploration, Ryan. I mean, what do you think the missing people are doing up there? Back-to-back raves?”

“A cult, maybe?” Ryan suggests, and Shane scoffs.

“Okay, if it’s a cult, I want nothing to do with it. Unlike ghosts, cults are real, and they frighten me.”

Ryan ignores him. “Worst case scenario, we find a mudslide and have to turn around. Best case scenario, we find at least one of the missing people.”

“Most likely scenario, we find an old ghost town,” Shane adds mildly. He spins around in his chair and checks the time. “I’m assuming you want to do this tomorrow.”

“What? Think I’m afraid of the dark or something?” Ryan snickers, but at Shane’s deadpan expression, he clears his throat. “Tomorrow morning. Meet me at my place at 6. We’ll drive up together.”

—

—

By the time 7:30 AM the next morning rolls around, Shane and Ryan are sitting together in Ryan’s car, driving down the busy highway with Shane holding an atlas in his lap. It’s weathered and beaten up, the pages yellowed just like the newspaper scans, and the date on the front proudly proclaims that it’ll be current until 1980.

Ryan taps his fingers on the steering wheel as he stares ahead of him at the road. Every few miles, they pass another billboard with another missing person’s face on it, like a fucked up bouquet visible to every person that leaves or enters LA. It’s been a month since the last confirmed disappearance – JC Caylen – and everyone is still on edge. Nine last year, 14 this year, plus the mysterious reappearance of Joey Graceffa last month after he went missing with the other eight last summer.

Ryan can’t deny he’s curious. Of course he’s curious. He wants to know what happened to these people, if they really did join a cult like the news is saying, if they’re all just taking a break, if…if it’s something worse. Ryan tries not to dwell on that option too much. After all, he knew some of them – Safiya Nygaard, though not a close friend, was an acquaintance when she worked at BuzzFeed, and he’d hate to see anything bad happen to her. She always seemed too smart for a cult, anyways; and Ryan has a hard time believing she’d run off without warning her partner. He peers out the window as they pass the last missing person billboard, showing the face of Matthew Haag, and accelerates a little faster as soon as the speed limit picks up to signify they’re out of LA city limits.

“Do you actually think you’ll find the missing people?” Shane asks, staring down at his phone now and comparing it to the atlas.

Trust Shane to make it sound like he’s talking about the weather. 23 missing people and a mysterious town and Shane’s asking it like he’s asking Ryan if he wants to grab lunch. Ryan just looks ahead.

“I don’t know.”

Ryan knows it’s a long shot. He knows they probably aren’t even anywhere close to finding the missing people. After all, LAPD’s finest have been working on the case ever since last year, and they haven’t found anything. Whatever happened to them is probably so far out of Ryan and Shane’s realm of understanding that he doesn’t even know why he’s entertaining this thought, but…he is entertaining it. What if he’s right? What if they do?

What if we walk into a cult compound and get shot? Ryan’s brain asks him.

“Probably not,” Ryan adds, more to assuage his own anxiety. “We’ll probably just find some old ghost town.”

“I, for one, love old ghost towns,” Shane says with his usual misplaced exuberance. “I brought a good camera to take some pictures of anything interesting. But, honestly, Ryan, there probably isn’t even anything there at all. If the town got covered in a mudslide…”

Ryan makes a noise of reluctant agreement. “Yeah, the papers weren’t really super clear on that. I never really understood if the town got wiped out by a mudslide, or if only the exit supposedly did.”

“Why not both?” Shane asks, and Ryan grunts.

They don’t speak for a while, content just to let the radio play quietly and the scenery zoom past as they exit the exurbs of LA and into the dry, rural valleys just beyond. After about 30 minutes, Shane shifts in his seat and peers out the windshield.

“It should be the next exit.”

Ryan switches to the right-most lane, joining Shane in staring out the windshield in preparation for the sign that will announce their exit. Instead of being marked by the typical overhead signpost, there’s a small, vertical marker that whizzes past nearly too fast for Shane and Ryan to read the crudely lettered “Exit 41” spray painted on it. Shane twists to look back at it as Ryan slows down slightly, searching for the turn-off.

“Spooky,” Shane quips, turning back around in his seat.

Ryan ignores him as a small side road appears seemingly out of nowhere. The cars around them have gotten much less frequent, Ryan notices with a tinge of unease, and so as he guides the car onto the little two-lane road, nobody sees them. It dips down, into a steep, scrubby ravine, and pretty soon Ryan can’t see the highway in the rearview mirror. The road is still shadowed in the November morning light, and despite the comfortable temperature of the car, Ryan can’t help a small shiver. Something about this road feels…off. Different.

He tells himself he’s just being stupid, and he hears it in Shane’s voice.

“So, uh…” Ryan clears his throat, wanting to make conversation to avoid thinking too hard about the way this road is taking them further and further into the mountains and away from civilization. A few glances at his cellphone mounted in the center console tells him that he’s quickly dropping service. “Do you think we’ll find the missing people?”

Shane gives him an odd look. “Of course not. We’re gonna get up there, and we’re gonna find a couple buildings poking out of a hillside. Or we’ll have to turn around because the road got washed out 40 years ago.”

Shane’s line of thinking is rational, as always. Stupidly rational. Ryan knows he’s probably right. This is all probably for nothing. A sudden wave of dread slams into Ryan like a truck, and he blinks at the road, the car suddenly feeling foreign to him. Why are they doing this? They should just turn back now, because whatever they’re doing will just lead to their ruin.

…What?

“Woah,” Ryan says softly, mostly to himself, blinking and shaking himself a little as the feeling begins to pass. “That…that was weird.”

“Didja see a ghost?!” Shane asks, looking over at Ryan just to give him a shit-eating grin.

“No, I…” Ryan doesn’t even have the wherewithal to snap back like he usually would. He shakes himself again and tightens his hands on the wheel. “No. It was nothing.”

“Don’t you dare go all low blood sugar on me out in the middle of nowhere,” Shane warns. “I didn’t bring any snacks.”

“Don’t worry,” Ryan says, regaining himself a little bit at Shane’s usual teasing. He tries to put the strange shot of dread out of his mind. “There’s not enough of you to eat.”

“Au contraire!” Shane sounds offended. “I’m very tall; there’s plenty of me to eat.”

Ryan scoffs. “Great. Now I’ll be thinking of cannibalism.”

“That’s on you,” Shane says sagely. He traces his fingers along the atlas, then checks his phone. “I downloaded a map off Google, and you’re right. There’s no road listed here. According to Google, we’re driving through brushland right now.”

Again, unease prickles down Ryan’s spine. He tries not to squirm in his seat. He knows it’s irrational, but it’s just a little creepy.

“Well, we’re not.” Ryan slows down to read a battered old road sign, leaning at a precarious angle like it’s about to fall over any second. “Everlock, population 34. 7 miles. Well, I guess we’re on the right track.”

“Population 34?” Shane asks drily. “Ryan, this isn’t a town, it’s a hamlet.”

“We’re not in the UK, jackass, we don’t have hamlets.” Ryan speeds up again and settles himself in his seat when another wave of dread threatens to break over him. “It was a carnival town, remember? Permanent residents were few and far between.”

Shane ponders that for a moment. “Well, now I am hoping we’ll actually get to see the town. What if the carnival stuff is still up? Do you know how cool it would be to explore an abandoned carnival? Free ferris wheel rides!”

“I am not going on an abandoned ferris wheel, oh my God,” Ryan says before Shane’s even finished speaking, shaking his head. “I don’t actually want to die today, thanks.”

“I’ll go on an abandoned ferris wheel for both of us.” Shane, like the absolute weirdo that he is, looks a bit more excited now. “And take lots of pictures. And flip you the bird from up in the sky.”

“If it’s abandoned, how’s it gonna move?” Ryan shoots back.

Shane flips him off. Ryan considers that a win.

The ravine seems to get ever-deeper as they go on, with no other signs of life except a rabbit that stares at them from the side of the road, its small, black eyes seemingly trying to tell them something. Or maybe that’s just Ryan’s own anxiety. The juniper shrubs and valley oaks further shade the valley they’re driving through, feeling oppressive and tight around Ryan’s small car. He grips the wheel a little tighter.

“What’s that up ahead?” Shane asks after about 15 minutes, pointing to something at the side of the road.

Ryan guesses it’s some kind of sign, and as he slows to a stop next to it, he finds that he’s right. It’s whitewashed wood, stained and faded, with script lettering in weather-worn red paint. A painted carving of an old-fashioned jester with a red hat and white face makeup adorns the top of the sign, just as beaten up as the rest, grinning eerily with an empty gaze. The paint has bled over the years, and now the red from the jester’s hat has pooled in the carved contours of the face, making it look as though it’s bleeding from the eyes. Written below it are the words,

TOWN OF EVERLOCK
“The carnival capital of the West!”

“Should we take a picture with it?” Shane asks.

Ryan can’t help but shudder. “I’m not getting near it. That thing looks cursed.”

“Aw, come on,” Shane whines, drawing the words out, but Ryan just accelerates forwards, leaving the sign behind.

The road curves, taking them around the jut of another hill before they go up a small incline, ending up on the leeward side of the hill, where more trees and shrubs eke out an existence. As soon as they get around the bend, Shane’s eyes widen.

“Holy shit, Ryan, there’s something up ahead. I think the town might actually still be there.”

Ryan thinks Shane’s fucking with him at first, but then he peers through the trees, and Shane’s right – he can make out something a couple miles up the road, down in the valley formed by this hill and the next. Pretty soon, the road climbs a little higher.

“Oh my God,” Ryan breathes. “There’s actually a goddamn ferris wheel.”

Sure enough, a ferris wheel rises high above a small collection of buildings, the architecture like something straight out of a western. Ryan can’t help but speed up a little until he reaches a small dirt and gravel side road that leads towards the town. Out of habit, he checks his phone again. They’re in a complete dead zone now. The sight of Everlock, proof that he was correct, washed away some of the unease. The sight of his phone with zero bars and the worry that he might not be able to call for help brings it right back.

“There wasn’t any mudslide on the road,” Shane says abruptly.

Ryan doesn’t look over at him, too busy maneuvering the car down the bumpy, pothole-ridden road. “Huh?”

“There was no mudslide on the road. They must have cleared it at some point.” Shane looks at the atlas, then at his phone screen again. “But if they cleared the road and the town’s still here, why isn’t it on any maps?”

Jesus, this gets weirder and weirder. Shane’s right, they didn’t see any evidence of a mudslide on the road, which means that at some point, the government – or random citizens, Ryan supposes – must have cleaned it all up. And then…they just kept the town off the maps? Maybe the townsfolk like their privacy…

“Well, if the road is clear, then…maybe this place isn’t abandoned after all,” Ryan says, somewhat optimistic. If this is just a normal small town, then he has nothing to worry about except cranky old people. “Maybe it’s just a tiny little town off the maps.”

“Maybe,” Shane says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. Shane might not be as big of a sucker for mysteries as Ryan is, but he still likes something he can bite into now and again.

The trees thin, and the road flattens and widens into a large, grassy field. A fence lines one end, and just beyond a dry creek bed, the town, with only a small, rusted metal bridge crossing the small ravine of the creek bed. To one side, there’s another grassy expanse, and then a small graveyard and an old-fashioned church. Behind the church, a sparse forest spreads across the valley floor. Up close, the ferris wheel looms dark and imposing, and the town is silent and still. Somewhere, a sign creaks in the breeze.

“Looks pretty abandoned to me,” Shane says, looking around from his spot in the passenger seat.

Ryan has to agree. No signs of life appear anywhere. No cars, no people, no lights. Just an old, empty town.

“Well, we came this far,” Ryan says, trying to put on a brave face despite the dread that’s remained clenched in his stomach from the moment he turned onto the exit that led here. “We might as well look around.”

“Hell yeah we might.” Shane’s climbing out of the car by the time Ryan’s unbuckling his seatbelt. “This is gonna be so cool.”

Ryan tries to share Shane’s enthusiasm. Really, though, he just feels a little sick. There’s something off about this place. Something’s wrong here. Ryan doesn’t know what it is – he doesn’t even know if he’s imagining it or not. Either way, his brain doesn’t like this place. As Ryan also climbs from the car, he sneaks a glance at Shane. His friend looks the same as he always does, totally at-ease as he slings a camera bag over his neck and tucks his phone securely into his pocket. Ryan wishes he could be half as comfortable as Shane. He slides his phone into the pocket of his jeans and grabs the jacket thrown in the backseat. Despite the California morning sun, the air up here in the mountains is cold, still not quite warmed up for the day yet.

Ryan walks to the trunk and pops it open as Shane tucks his sunglasses case into the pocket of his jacket. When he looks up and sees what Ryan is holding, he groans.

“Seriously, Ryan?”

Ryan can’t help but feel defensive over the spirit box, clutching it close to his chest. “It’s an abandoned town, Shane, there’s gotta be some people who died here!”

“Great, and here I thought you were being rational for once.” Shane shakes his head. “Fine. Whatever. Have fun with your toys.”

Once their supplies have been gathered, Ryan tucking the spirit box into his bag, they make their way across the small metal bridge, just wide enough for them to walk side by side. The town remains silent and still. The bright paint is fading, peeling from exposure, but other than that, it looks as though the town was locked in time. They see no people. Hell, not even the scavengers and assorted critters of the area seem to want to populate the abandoned storefronts and run-down paths between the building. Ryan tips his head up to look at a single raven soaring high above their heads in the pure blue sky.

“You, uh…you told someone where you’re going, right?” Ryan asks nervously, dropping his gaze again to look around the town as they step out onto the other side of the bridge.

“Yeah,” Shane says easily, not a care in the world. He takes his camera out and snaps a picture. “You?” “Yeah,” Ryan replies. He did. Whether they believed him or not is another matter. Still, it provides a bit of much-needed bravery, and he takes a breath. “Alright.”

The road into town is lined with small carnival stalls, bright fabric faded from being exposed to the elements, devoid of any contents. Shane takes a few more pictures, then drops his camera, walking over to one of the stalls and running his hand along the fabric.

“This does not feel old enough to have been sitting here since the 1970s,” Shane says, motioning Ryan over. “Come here and feel it.”

Reluctantly, Ryan does so. Shane’s right. The fabric, though worn out and faded, isn’t stiff or tattered like one would expect from 40 years exposed to the sun, wind, and rain. Ryan steps away from the stall, but Shane sticks next to it, peering inside as if looking for scattered carnival prizes.

“Maybe they had another carnival and we missed it,” Ryan says, hoping Shane doesn’t pick up on the apprehension in his voice.

Shane finally leaves the stand alone and walks over to stand next to Ryan, looking around. “I would hate to miss a carnival. Where do you want to explore first?”

“Um…” Ryan’s eyes fall on the church, standing alone in its grassy field. He can take an old, abandoned church. Any house of worship is still a safe place, right? He nods towards it. “How about the church?”

“Ooh, old graves. I wonder if there’s any really old ones here.” Shane starts towards the church.

As they cross through a small opening between two of the stands and across another small ravine, the missing people once again come to the forefront of Ryan’s thoughts. They won’t do an episode about it, no matter how many people ask, because it’s too recent, too close to home. But that doesn’t mean Ryan hasn’t thought about it. Well, really, he’s sure that everyone in LA is thinking about it, because the news has been impossible to escape. Every YouTuber, especially, because…what if they’re next?

It wasn’t Teala Dunn’s car, Ryan tells himself firmly. This is just an old abandoned town. It was just someone using the pull-off to check their phone or something. There’s nothing to find here except tumbleweeds and asbestos.

Ryan wants the missing people to be found, but he doesn’t really want to be the one to find them. Not that he ever could. He’s just some guy who likes mysteries a little bit too much for his own good, he’s not some hardened detective or grizzled old investigator, the kind that crime dramas always seem to have solving these types of things. Ryan thinks the actual detective is a young woman, though. He’s seen her on TV a few times. She looks like she knows what she’s doing.

Being the one to find seven missing people would bring down attention that Ryan doesn’t really think he or Shane is equipped to handle. So as they walk towards the church, the white paint peeling and the doors hanging ajar, Ryan is glad they don’t see any signs of anyone having been here since a very, very long time ago.

Shane tests the steps leading up to the door before stepping up onto the lowermost one, looking at the cracked windows before carefully pushing the door open a little further so he can look inside.

“Anything in there?” Ryan asks, peeking in from behind Shane, glad that Shane’s the one in front of the door. “Demons?”

“Uh, no demons,” Shane says, then he looks back at Ryan with a furrowed brow. “Nothing much of anything, really. Just an empty room.”

Indeed, as Ryan’s eyes adjust to the darkness inside of the church, he sees that there’s nothing there. No pews, no pulpit, just a hard wooden floor and crumbling wall facades. Despite the fact that this is ostensibly – or at least was, at one point – holy ground, Ryan feels uneasy looking in. It’s almost as if someone came in and cleared this entire place out…

“Want to play with your little ghost box?” Shane asks, and Ryan wants to say no, because there’s a part of him that’s certain they’re going to get a response.

Ryan clears his throat. “Um…sure.”

He reaches for the spirit box, pulling it from its bag and warily stepping inside the church proper. It’s silent except for Shane and Ryan’s footsteps and the squeaking of the floor underneath their feet, both of them hanging back near the door. The air smells like mustiness and dust, stale and old, and it just makes the dread grow stronger. Ryan tries not to stand too close to Shane as he turns the spirit box on.

Static crackles from the device, spilling out into the room as Shane gives an overexaggerated wince. The sudden shift from the silence of before is frightening in its own right, and Ryan shudders as the wind outside picks up, the door creaking behind them as it threatens to close. The spirit box stutters, white noise filling Ryan’s ears, and though he tries to stand still he can’t stop himself from tapping his foot nervously on the wooden floor as he waits for anything that would make his anxiety about this town warranted.

The spirit box says nothing.

“It seems our lovely little church isn’t haunted, then,” Shane says brightly.

For once, Ryan is glad to switch the spirit box off and stuff it back into his bag. He can’t help but feel that if they had just let it go on a little bit longer, they might have proof that ghosts are real. He practically shoulders Shane out of the way to get out of the church, taking in a grateful breath of mountain air and trying to ignore the way his legs are shaking.

Shane breezes past him without a care in the world, heading for the graveyard gate. “Come on, I’m gonna check out the graves.”

The wrought iron gate squeaks when Shane pushes it open, a breeze rustling the dry grass overgrowing the black fence. Shane steps inside without a care, but Ryan picks his way over the threshold carefully, unable to shake the feeling that they’re stepping into a world they can’t walk back out of.

The graves are weathered and chipped, around 30 in rows of five, the graveyard small and tight. Shane and Ryan end up standing in front of one dated from 1897 to 1975. Shane kneels to get a better look at the inscription.

“In loving memory of Celia Hanson,” Shane reads, reaching out to brush a bit of grit off the words. “1897 to 1975. Cherished sister and mother.”

Ryan walks to the next one, wary of moving too far from Shane’s presence in the eerie space. “This person was born in 1886. Died in 1972. Richard Webster.”

Shane stands again and brushes his jeans off, looking towards the back of the cemetery. “I bet the oldest ones are back there.”

“Yeah, probably.” Ryan doesn’t really want to go any further into the graveyard, despite the fact that it’s a perfectly pleasant day at this point, but he doesn’t want Shane to call him a little bitch, either, so he follows Shane through the graves until they reach the last row before the back fence.

“Oh, yeah, look at this.” Shane whistles through his teeth. “Born in 1852 and died in 1944. Didn’t California become a state in 1850 or something? This town has been here for a while.”

Ryan has to admit, it is kind of cool to see these old graves. He looks around, trying to find any signs of life. Behind the church, the long grass rustles in the wind before turning into dry woodland, twisted, gnarled trees reaching up to the wide sky. It seems that they’re completely alone aside from whoever rests in these graves.

“Maybe it’s a gold rush town,” Ryan suggests, though the lack of mining equipment doesn’t really support that. “Or was a gold rush–”

There’s a scream.

Ryan jumps, cutting himself off so fast he nearly bites his own tongue off as he whips around to look at the forest again, scanning the treeline. What was that? That– that sounded human. There’s no movement except the plants in the wind, no other sounds. Ryan’s heart pounds in his throat, his whole body winding tight as adrenaline floods his veins.

“What is it?” Shane asks, looking towards the treeline as well, his sunglasses reflecting the sparse forest. “Did you see something?”

“No, I– I thought…” Ryan swallows. He’s pretty sure Shane’s going to call him an idiot for this, but he knows what he heard. “I thought I heard a scream.”

Shane stares at him flatly. “Ryan, if you’re trying to fuck with me, it’s not going to work.”

“I’m not trying to fuck with you, okay?!” Ryan snaps. He drags his gaze away from the forest’s edge to glare at Shane. “I– I heard something, I know I did.”

“Okay, fine, you heard something.” Shane seems to back down a little, because he holds a hand up in surrender. “I doubt it was actually a scream. You probably heard a bird of prey of some kind.”

Ryan’s on edge now, and he scoffs at Shane. “Oh, sure, Mr. Audubon Society. What kind of hawk makes a sound like a human scream?”

“Uh, hell if I know,” Shane says blithely. “But there’s no one else around here, Ryan, so what else could it be?”

“It could be someone trying to communicate,” Ryan mutters, but Shane’s already turning back to the graves.

Ryan looks around with a new sense of unease as Shane snaps a couple photos of the graves. There’s something wrong here, and Ryan suddenly regrets this, wondering if maybe he’s gotten himself into something he shouldn’t have. He looks at the treeline again.

It was a hawk, Ryan tells himself, not because he believes it, but because he wants to believe it. A big-ass hawk. It’s broad daylight. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

They spend a little longer wandering through the graves, with Shane taking a few more photos of the little church and graveyard. The earliest birth date is 1851, and the latest death date is 1978 – it seems like after 1978, no one died here, which is…weird. After all, if the road out of town supposedly got blocked, where did everyone go?

“No one died after 1978,” Ryan says, as they start heading out of the graveyard, their steps crunching on the dry grass and dirt. There’s no flowers on any of the graves, either, just chipped stone and weathered words. “It’s like…everyone left in the 70s.”

“Maybe they all got out before the landslide,” Shane suggests. “It was already a rainy autumn, wasn’t it? They probably expected the town to be damaged and got out of dodge before they were washed away.”

“And then they never came back?” Ryan asks skeptically. He does so enjoy picking holes in Shane’s no-nonsense theories. “Or told anyone to go fix their town?”

Shane is undeterred. “Maybe they hated the place.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. There’s no use arguing with Shane; the fucker’s head is not only huge, it’s also hard as a rock. A question Ryan asks himself every day: why did he have to become friends with the most stubborn person in existence?

They’ve crossed back over into the town proper by now, and the first thing that greets them as they pass back through the abandoned carnival stalls is a two-story building with a flat roof, the upper balcony still bearing red, white, and blue pennants, faded with age. They flutter in the faint breeze, giving the illusion of movement as Ryan and Shane stare up at the building.

“Must have been one hell of a carnival,” Shane remarks, raising his camera to get a picture.

“A carnival of horrors,” Ryan adds grimly, only half-joking as he remembers the creepy sign on the way in here.

Shane laughs. “Do you have a fear of carnivals or something? Or, ooh, is it clowns? You don’t like clowns?”

“I don’t like overpriced popcorn.” Ryan steps away from the building, turning around to stare at the ferris wheel behind them. “Well, there is a ferris wheel. Still want to get on it, big guy?”

Shane turns as well and tips his head back to look up to the top. It’s starting to rust, and with all the lights off, it looks just as dead and abandoned as it really is.

“Mm. You know, for once in your life, you may actually have a point about something,” Shane says, trailing his eyes down the rusted metal bracing. “I don’t think I want tetanus.”

“For once? I was right about this town, wasn’t I?” Ryan asks.

Shane gives him a noncommittal hum. “Twice, then.”

“Whatever.” Ryan walks to the base of the ferris wheel, where an abandoned stuffed animal sits, a purple-and-white bulldog with a plush, squished face. For nothing more than a piece of fabric, it’s strangely forlorn.

“Someone forgot their toy,” Shane says, meandering over to join Ryan. “Some kid probably dropped it off the top.”

Ryan nudges it with his foot. “Hm.”

Ryan isn’t entirely convinced by the story around this place. He once again remembers the shrill scream from the woods, and looks around the town. In the shadows cast by the valley, the buildings suddenly loom large and threatening, unfamiliar and trapped in a bygone era. Ryan can almost imagine the scent of blood on the breeze, and he shivers and pulls his bomber jacket tighter around himself.

“There’s a drugstore right over there.” Shane points to their right, and Ryan follows the movement to a square building with a low deck and a small awning. “Want to see if it’s unlocked?”

“Careful, there might be someone in there with a needle full of heroin just waiting for an unsuspecting Shane Madej to walk in,” Ryan quips, trying to hide his fear, but he still follows Shane down the dusty road and up onto the deck of the drugstore.

The door is unlocked when Shane turns the handle, and the interior is dark, the curtains half-down over the grimy windows. One wall is covered in rickety metal shelves, with countless jars and bottles in the signature amber of medicine bottles taking up all the horizontal space available. A layer of dust covers everything, but it’s not quite as thick as Ryan first expected it to be. Shane looks around, then steps inside. With growing unease, and a last glance behind them, Ryan follows them, propping the door open as best he can with the kickstand on it.

There’s a cash register, a counter, and two more sets of shelves, one with household supplies – dish soap, cotton swabs, gauze and glass bottles of aspirin – and the other with snack items and candy in glass bowls. The packaging is all wholly unfamiliar to Ryan, and he picks up a bag of potato chips, examining them before shaking the bag slightly. It still sounds like they’re whole. Ryan can’t help but wonder if they’re still edible.

“Candy,” Shane says brightly, picking up a lollipop and examining it. It looks…remarkably fresh. “Wanna try some?”

“That’s been sitting there since before you or I were born,” Ryan replies, setting his chips down. “I don’t think so.”

“It’s pure sugar. Does it really go bad?” Still, Shane sets the lollipop down as well, wandering over to the other snacks and starting to take pictures of the packaging.

Ryan looks around the small shop. It could fit maybe four customers in it at a time, but the white-and-black linoleum floor is worn like foot traffic was commonplace here. What was this town like, before it was abandoned? Did the townspeople like it? Was it a fun place to live, with carnivals and festivals and a tiny drugstore straight out of a magazine? Shane seems to notice his silence.

“Are you still worried about that sound you heard?” Shane asks, raising an eyebrow at Ryan. “Ryan, come on. It was a bird.”

Ryan shakes his head, knowing Shane is too stubborn to admit that birds don’t scream. “Whatever. Just shut up about it.” Then he rubs his arms. “Come on, this place is fucking weird, dude, and I want to get out of here before noon. Let’s go look at the other buildings.”

“I find it delightful,” Shane says airily.

They leave the drugstore behind, stepping back out into the town right in front of a building labeled with a dead neon sign as Flint’s Arcade. The blinds are drawn, but as the wind rustles in the stand of trees behind the drugstore, Ryan can almost see movement behind them.

It’s like a bucket of cold water dumped on his head and Ryan chokes a little, stepping back before he realizes he’s doing it. Oh, fuck–

Before Shane can move, Ryan grabs his arm, pointing towards the leftmost window where a shadow seems to be standing just behind the curtains, a dark, humanoid shape that shouldn’t be visible but is. “Shane–”

“I see it.” Shane doesn’t jerk himself out of Ryan’s death grip, for which Ryan is appreciative, but he raises his other arm and waves at the shadow. “Hello? Ghoul? Is that possibly a ghoul in there? We could get our spirit box out and you could talk to us–”

The shadow disappears.

Shane frowns. “The ghoul didn’t want to talk to us.”

Ryan swallows thickly, his heart pounding in his chest. That sense of dread is once again settling over him, and he remembers the scream, that wail of pain and fear coming from the supposedly empty woods. He knew it, he knew there was something wrong here, he—

“Ryan.” Shane’s voice is surprisingly kind, and he turns to look at Ryan, still not making any move to unlatch Ryan’s arm from him. “Ryan, it was our reflection. It’s fine. It was nothing.”

“If it was our reflection, then why did it disappear?” Ryan asks, his voice a little strangled.

“The light changed,” Shane says patiently. “That’s all.”

Sometimes Ryan forgets that Shane really is his friend, not just his coworker. Sure, they play the banter up for the camera, and Ryan loves to call Shane a jackass when they’re off camera, too, but Shane does care about him. The way he’s letting Ryan cling to him says that.

“That was not our reflection,” Ryan says, his voice trembling, but he still loosens his grip, staring at the dark arcade. “Shane—”

“I’m gonna open that door, and there’s gonna be nothing there. Watch.” Shane walks up to the arcade and reaches for the door.

Ryan reaches out to stop him, but Shane’s already pulling it open, and the interior of the building is dark and silent and—

There’s no one there.

“This place is fucking creepy,” Ryan mutters to himself, his heart still pounding. His mouth feels dry, but he swallows thickly and hugs his arms around his midsection. “That wasn’t our reflection, dude.”

“Well, then, what was it?” Shane asks, turning around and letting the door hang open behind him. “It wasn’t some kind of ghoulish little ghostie, because those aren’t real, Ryan.”

Ryan avoids looking too hard into the darkness of the arcade, suddenly feeling absolutely no urge to go inside despite the fact that an abandoned 70s arcade sounds cool as shit. This isn’t an episode, where the entire internet will make fun of him if he doesn’t go inside; this is real life, just for the fun of it, and so Ryan hangs back as Shane pokes his head in and looks around.

“No ghouls here!” Shane says brightly, and he closes the door behind him.

As soon as the door to the arcade is shut, Ryan feels his muscles relax, some of the dread that gripped him easing. He shudders and turns away from the building.

“We should go. I don’t like this place.” Ryan looks longingly towards where his car is parked, hoping that maybe Shane will agree that this place is boring or creepy and decide to leave. But he has no such luck.

“Aw, come on,” Shane prods, raising his arms and turning in a half circle to motion to the town. “You really wanna leave all this behind so soon? Look, there’s a carousel down there. Don’t you want to check that out?”

Ryan looks down the road, where there is indeed a carousel, abandoned in front of another building with a sign that reads Fatman Slim’s. As he and Shane watch, the carousel shifts slightly, beginning to spin with an eerie creaking noise.

“Not really,” Ryan says, and the creaking from the carousel makes his point better than he ever could.

“Ooh, spooky wind,” Shane says teasingly, and he starts off towards the carousel.

Reluctantly, Ryan follows, hoping without much hope that this will satisfy Shane’s urge for exploration and they can leave after this. As they walk down the short gravel and dirt road that leads through town, Ryan feels a prickle on the back of his neck, as if someone is watching him. Like he’s not supposed to be here, a kid getting caught where they were told to stay away from—

Unable to resist any longer, Ryan turns around, bracing himself for the worst.

No one’s there.

“Cool carousel,” Shane says, and Ryan turns back around as Shane runs his hands over the animals frozen in place, their painted eyes glowering at the two men. “Must have looked great in its heyday.”

This whole place probably looked great in its heyday. Though the paint may be peeling now, Ryan can almost imagine this as it was in the 70s, a carnival town bustling with performers and audience members out for a fun night. He glances around at the old buildings and feels a sudden sense of wistfulness. He almost wishes he could have seen Everlock in the 70s, when it was still full of life.

“Okay, Ryan, you’re going to hate this, but…”

Shane’s voice is filled with thinly veiled glee, and immediately, Ryan wants to say no to whatever the hell Shane found this time.

Ryan follows Shane’s eyes down to their left, where a side road splits off, forming a T with the road they’re standing on. At the end of the road is a pump station, and behind that, the forested scrubland that fills this valley. Closest to Shane and Ryan are a police station, a motel, and… Oh, no.

A doll shop.

“No,” Ryan says automatically. “No, absolutely not.”

“Ryan, just a few minutes, please—” Shane’s already started off towards the doll shop, chortling all the while. “Oh, holy shit, this is so cool, look at this place!”

A creaking wooden sign hanging from the front reads out Dollmaker’s Shoppe in weathered paint, and the corner doors’ windows are filmed over with age so they can’t see inside. Ryan can’t even find the words to tell Shane to fuck all the way off before Shane’s walking up the steps and standing on the stoop as he jiggles the handle, trying to peer in through the dirty windows. For a moment, Ryan feels relief like he’s never felt before — the door is locked, they don’t have to go inside — but then the door clicks and Shane manages to pull it open.

The waft of air that spills out nearly makes Ryan gag. It smells like death in there, like some wild animal got trapped and died under the floorboards. Ryan’s eyes water as he blinks up at Shane, who scrunches his face and then shakes his head.

“We’ve smelled worse, Ryan. Remember the sanatorium? That place was aromatic.” Shane nudges the door open all the way, keeping it from moving with the kickstand. “It’s already beginning to go away. C’mon, it was probably just an unlucky raccoon. It smells better already.”

“I don’t care what it was, I am not going into an abandoned fucking doll shop, you absolute psychopath,” Ryan says firmly.

Shane pouts for a moment. Then he sighs. “Fine, Ryan. If you don’t want to go inside, I won’t force you. I’ll just go into this abandoned doll shop all by my lonesome, with no one beside me to keep me safe from any demons that might haunt this place…”

As Shane speaks, he slowly steps inside until he’s crossed the threshold and is edging out of line of sight. Not being next to another living person makes the feeling like Ryan is being watched grow ever stronger, and Shane’s guilt tripping has the effect he hoped for. Ryan raises his eyes to the sky, silently prays for his and Shane’s safety to whoever might be listening, and steps inside the doll shop.

Immediately, Ryan regrets his decision.

Every square inch of the shelves and tables in the shop are filled with dolls, from stuffed baby dolls to puppets and mannequins, their dead eyes staring at Shane and Ryan. Puppets hang from the ceiling, suspended by strings to form a menagerie of horrors that looks as though it’s about to swing down on Shane and Ryan at any second. Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs, more than the rest of the town, and Ryan shudders, wanting to turn around and walk straight back out again. It feels so cramped, so oppressive, every breath tasting of dirt and a vague metallic edge that Ryan tells himself isn’t blood. Shane wanders towards the far edge of the room, and despite himself, Ryan trails close behind, not wanting to get separated. Especially not at the memory of the shadow in the windows of the arcade.

“I don’t claim to believe in no ghosts…” Shane picks up a doll, turning it this way and that as he examines it. “But this place is probably haunted by something.”

“Don’t touch that,” Ryan says automatically, glancing behind them nervously. “You’re gonna get possessed, dude.”

“I’m so scared,” Shane replies sardonically. He wiggles the doll at Ryan. “She’s gonna getcha.”

Ryan just shakes his head, clutching the strap of his bag just to hold something in his hands. He’s trying not to touch anything, refusing even to let his elbows brush against any of the dolls sitting on the shelves. The shop is small, and the rows of dolls make it feel even smaller, so small that Ryan feels a little claustrophobic, his breaths a little sharp in his chest. The table in the center of the room takes up most of the space, leaving narrow walkways on all four sides, and in the back of the shop is a heavy iron door that’s set into the wall.

“I can’t believe I’m actually asking this,” Shane starts, his voice light. “But I want to hear what the spirit box will give us.”

“You asshole.” Ryan glares at him. “You just want to see me squirm, don’t you?”

Shane smiles benignly.

Well, Ryan’s already stepped foot in the freaky, probably-haunted abandoned doll shop. What’s a little spirit box action to go with it? He pulls the device from his bag, ignoring the prickling across the back of his neck and the way his legs threaten to give out from under him, and flips it on.

“Um.” Ryan wets his lips, his mouth still feeling dry with fear and apprehension. “Hi. I’m, um, Ryan. And this is Shane. And—”

The spirit box crackles.

“He—”

“He?” Shane asks, raising his eyebrows. “The pronoun game, I see.”

Ryan shushes him.

The spirit box crackles again, and Ryan’s palm feels sweaty as it spits out, “—killed—”

Even Shane shuts up at that.

“—me—”

“He killed me,” Ryan breathes.

He can practically feel the adrenaline in his veins right now, and even Shane has a look on his face, vaguely concerned as he stares at the spirit box. Then he shakes himself and clears his throat.

“Wow, I think that’s the most coherent sentence your toy has ever given us!” Shane laughs, setting the doll down and looking around. “Anything else? Who you are, perhaps, or who he is?”

“He—killed—me—” The spirit box says again, stuttering in Ryan’s shaking grip.

Ryan’s too shocked to speak. Oh. Oh, no. He believed in ghosts, yeah, but he didn’t believe in ghosts, he didn’t have evidence like this, staring him in the face—

“What happened here?” Ryan asks, and he becomes acutely aware of the way his whole body is trembling. “What— who are you? What happened to you?”

“Co—een—” The spirit box stammers. “Co—ll—een.”

“Colleen?” Shane asks softly, and even he’s staring at the spirit box with wide eyes now. “Colleen— Colleen Ballinger?”

The spirit box says nothing. Then, in a cascade of static, “He—killed—me. He—killed—me. They—killed—me—”

“Shane—” Ryan starts, but Shane shakes his head quickly.

“Coincidence. It’s coincidence, Ryan, it’s— it’s pareidolia, we talked about this—” Shane’s rattled, Ryan can tell. “Look, we— it doesn’t mean anything, it’s not—”

“I—want—my—family—” The spirit box says mournfully, and Ryan breathes out with tears in his eyes.

Proof. It’s proof. Someone named Colleen died here, someone that could be the Colleen that’s in all the news stories and all the headlines—

No. Ryan can’t think about that possibility. Colleen Ballinger is not dead. Just like all the rest. They’re not dead. They can’t be. Ryan looks up at Shane, desperate for him to lay off the snarky skeptic act for once and actually look at the proof that’s staring him right in the face.

Shane holds his hands up, shaking his head, and though there’s an edge of apprehension to his tone, Ryan can tell he’s trying to hide it. “This is stupid, Ryan—”

Shane’s cut off by a wail.

Shane and Ryan both jump about a mile high, and Ryan yelps, the spirit box nearly clattering from his hand in his shock. The wail wasn’t far away, from the forest, it was right here, close to them, and so Ryan nearly pisses himself as he backs up against the table and wildly casts his eyes around to try to find the source of it. What the fuck is going on? Why can’t he move? He wants to run straight out of this shop back to the car so he can get away from this terrifying place, but his legs refuse to work.

Shane whips his head around and fixes Ryan with a glare. “You set this up, didn’t you?”

“What?!” Ryan asks, every breath a wheeze in his chest. “No! What the fuck, Shane, why would I do that?!”

“I don’t know, but—”

There’s another wail, long and mournful, coming from the back of the shop where the heavy iron door is bolted closed. As Ryan and Shane turn to look at it, a heavy thud sounds from the other side, as if someone is trying to push it open.

“I just want to see my family again…”

The feminine voice is low and raspy like the person hasn’t spoken in a while. Ryan’s brain threatens to shut down as he stares, wide-eyed, at the door. There’s something on the other side, something that he doesn't know and can’t comprehend, something that proves everything. Ryan can’t move. He’s barely breathing, and his chest feels tight as he gropes behind him to cling to the table desperately, searching for something to hold him up.

Shane takes a different approach. He strides to the door, banging on it in return as he shouts, “If this is a set-up—”

“I want to see my family again!” The voice wails again, and the windows seem to rattle with the force of it, the wind picking up outside to blow eerily through the cracks in the building. “He killed me! He killed me! They all killed me!”

“Ryan—” Shane spits, turning around and jabbing an accusatory finger towards Ryan. “You’re not going to make me believe in ghosts with some paid actor and a sound effect—”

Ryan can’t even find the words to defend himself. Here it is, proof, and Shane won’t believe him but that doesn’t matter, not when Ryan knows the truth. Ryan doubles over, gasping for breath, and when he manages to look back up, Shane is trying to tug the door open, despite the fact that there’s no obvious handle on this side. Then he steps back without warning, his gaze trained on the floor at the bottom of the doorway.

A thick, red substance is oozing from beneath the door, spreading in a slow pool on the floor close to Shane’s sneakers. Shane takes another step back with another disgusted noise, and it’s only then that the smell hits Ryan again, metallic and rotting, old blood and decomposition. He gags, choking on the scent like it’s a physical obstruction, and even Shane covers his face with his arm as he backs away from the door.

The sight of the blood creeping ever-closer is what finally spurs Ryan into action, and he manages to force his body to move after several long seconds staring at it. Quickly, he dodges around the table and bolts for the open front door, glad that Shane propped it open as he lands on the outside stoop and pauses to catch his breath. Shane follows, slamming the door closed behind them.

“What the fuck was that?!” Shane asks accusingly, crossing his arms at Ryan.

Ryan is doubled over again, his hands on his knees as he wheezes for breath, trying to get the scent of death out of his throat. He manages to weakly shake his head.

“I don’t know, I didn’t— I didn’t do that, Shane, I didn’t—”

“That wasn’t a ghost.” Shane sounds convincing, but he sounds convincing in the sense that he’s trying to convince himself. “That was— that was some dumb— dumb kid trying to scare us, and— and it was pig’s blood or something, like fucking, I don’t know, Carrie or some shit. That was not a ghost.”

Ryan stumbles off the front stoop and stands on solid ground once again, still breathing deeply past the anxiety and fear. He feels a little sick to his stomach, shaky and weak, and the world spins around him as Shane comes to stand next to him.

Eventually, Ryan feels like he can breathe again, and he straightens back up and blinks past the sunlight beginning to spill into the valley. Most of the buildings are still in shade, and the sight of it makes him shiver.

“Believe what you want, dude,” Ryan says, unable to find the strength to truly argue with Shane. “That was fucking supernatural. Is the only way you’re gonna believe in ghosts if one fucking appears and then disappears in front of you?”

In response, Shane shrugs his shoulders as if to say, Yeah, probably.

Ryan shakes his head. “Whatever. Can we please leave now?”

Ryan just wants to go home, back to the safety of his house, back to the safety of his life, and try to process all this. He knows now, without a doubt, that everything he believes in is real. The fact that Shane can’t — won’t — admit it infuriates Ryan, and to spend any more time with the man would surely just lead to another circular argument because now they’re both tired and on-edge. Ryan would rather just go home and sleep.

At least, if he can sleep after hearing that.

He killed me! They all killed me!

Who was that woman? What happened to her? Ryan supposes this might have been some sort of Old West town at some point, or some gold rush settlement, so there’s any number of things that could’ve happened to that poor woman. But her name…Colleen…

“Yeah, I want to get out of here. There’s probably dumbass kids watching us right now and making fun of us.” Shane starts walking down the street towards where the car is parked, turning onto the main road that leads down past the arcade.

This section of the town is still in shadow, and Ryan keeps pace with Shane so as not to be left behind. The silence is uncomfortable and tense, and once again, Ryan is reminded of how little birdsong and chattering of wildlife there is in this town. He’d expect it to be overrun with wildlife, but there’s not a single squirrel, deer, or bird to be seen.

The vibes of this place are simply rancid, Ryan thinks to himself, and it’s almost funny enough to bolster him a little.

They’re just passing by the arcade — Ryan pointedly not looking in the windows as he does — when, all of a sudden, there’s the sound of gravel crunching behind them.

Ryan turns first, already on edge, and Shane joins him a moment later, looking to the far side of the arcade as a voice shouts from the little alley between it and the next building.

“Wait— wait, guys, wait for me—”

The voice talks like it knows them, and Ryan looks at Shane just to make sure he’s not imagining this. Shane’s staring at the alley too, his face set in a determined, stony glare, and he crosses his arms next to Ryan.

“Who are you?” Shane calls back, annoyance lacing every word. “And just for the record, that was a fun prank you pulled on us in the doll shop. 10 out of 10, would fuck with us again.”

After a moment, a person stumbles from the alley, a woman with long black hair hiding her face dressed in a red turtleneck sweater and jeans with a leather, fur lined jacket over top. It’s a strangely 70s outfit, though Ryan supposes that makes sense. She’s hunched over, and in a brief flash of vague recognition, Ryan knows he’s seen her before.

“Guys—” The woman’s voice is so familiar, and Ryan takes a step forward, trying to get a look past the curtain of her hair. She’s clutching her stomach with both hands, and when she finally raises her head to look at them, her face is pale as if it’s been drained of blood, her eyes deep-set and dull as she stumbles towards them.

It’s Shane that manages to speak first, his voice choked. “Safiya?!”

Safiya Nygaard, missing since October 13th, 2017, stands before them, hunched over and gripping her stomach as if she’s in pain. Her clothes are all wrong, her face is all wrong, but it’s her, without a doubt, and Ryan feels so dizzy he nearly topples to the ground.

“Oh, my God, Safiya—” Ryan nearly runs to her, but his legs feel frozen again, his limbs heavy and refusing to work. “Safiya, where have you—?! Everyone’s been looking for you, where— Are you okay?!”

“I don’t know—” Safiya sobs, and as her hands shift, Ryan sees a crimson-stained tear in her sweater across her stomach. “I was just— I was just standing there— and then—”

She looks down at herself, seemingly stunned, slowly taking her hands away from her stomach. As she does, Ryan sees that the tear isn’t just a rip in the fabric of her sweater. Visible through the torn fabric is a ragged, bloody gash, splitting her stomach in two with bright red gore visible through the blood-smeared skin. Safiya’s hands are trembling as she holds them out, and as she stumbles towards Shane and Ryan, something pink and snakelike slips from the wound and hangs in a loop across her legs.

Her intestines, Ryan realizes numbly, and the thought makes him feel like he’s going to puke.

“I was just—” Safiya sobs again, holding out her bloody hands as if they can grab them and pull her out of whatever hell she exists in. “Please, help me, please, I don’t want to die—”

“Safiya—” Ryan tries to say, but his voice cracks, and as he looks away from the wound in her stomach and reaches for her, she reaches back, their fingers almost touching.

“I don’t want to die,” Safiya whispers desperately, and then—

And then she disappears.

“Safiya!” Shane reaches out to try and grab her, but she’s already gone, vanished right before their very eyes. “Safiya—”

“Oh my God,” Ryan whispers, and the memory of the bright red film of blood across Safiya’s insides sends him to the ground, his knees hitting the dirt with a bright but distant flash of pain. The world tilts dangerously around him, his sense of balance fading, and Ryan slumps with his hands on his knees as he stares at the spot where Safiya stood just moments ago. “Oh my God.”

“That—” Shane starts to pace, his eyes wild. “That wasn’t— that couldn’t be—”

“Her ghost.” Ryan’s still in danger of puking. “That was— that was fucking Safiya Nygaard’s ghost, I—”

“Ghosts aren’t real and Safiya isn’t dead!” Shane shouts, and he looks like he’s about to tear his hair out, staring wildly around himself like he expects more ghosts to come crawling out of the woodwork. “That wasn’t— that was a fucking— a— a— I don’t know, but it wasn’t a ghost, it was—”

“It was her ghost.” Ryan slowly slides his hands down his thighs to rest them on the ground, his entire body trembling. “Safiya is dead. Oh, my God.”

Safiya Nygaard is dead. And— and if Safiya is here, then the Colleen from the doll shop, that must be— and if they’re dead, are all the other missing YouTubers, too? What happened here?

“We need to get out of here,” Ryan says thickly, his voice strangled. “We need to— we need to go.”

Whatever happened to the other people might happen to them, too. And whatever it was—

Ryan can’t think about this. He can’t think about any of this. Already, his brain is trying to wall it off, but—

They all killed me!

I don’t want to die—

Ryan manages to push himself up into a standing position and stumble towards the car, keeping his eyes on the road. He was right. Something terrible did happen here. Something terrible happened, and…they can’t do anything about it. Shane and Ryan are the only people in the world who saw these things, and they had no recording equipment, no crew, just them, and they saw it and—

No one is going to believe them.

“No one will believe you,” Shane says, keeping pace with Ryan, his eyes still with a feral edge to them like he’s about to snap and start screaming his head off.

“No one will believe us,” Ryan agrees numbly. They’re within sight of the car now, leaving Everlock behind them.

Can they really leave this place behind? It killed Safiya. It killed Colleen Ballinger. Leaving it behind feels like leaving them behind, but what can they do here? It’s a tiny abandoned town in the hills of California, a town that nobody lives in and nobody cares about. Now that Ryan knows the truth about it, the buildings loom ever larger behind them, the sun still rising over the valley like this is a normal day instead of a day that changed Ryan’s life forever.

Safiya Nygaard is dead and I saw her fucking ghost, Ryan’s brain screams at him, but he takes a shuddering breath and leans against the roof of his car thankfully, trying not to picture the sight of her stomach torn open or her deadened face staring back at him. He can deal with this. He can—

He can’t deal with this. He wants to scream. He wants to run to the police and tell them everything, but Shane’s right, they’d never believe him. Ryan opened this Pandora’s Box; now he has to live with what he found.

“Get in.” Shane’s already climbing into the car, staring straight ahead with a mask of calm over his face that Ryan knows hides terror and uncertainty. “Let’s get out of this fucking place.”

Ryan has no choice but to obey. Slowly, he slides into the driver’s seat, the car feeling foreign under his numb hands. He turns the key in the ignition, and is almost shocked when it starts. As he looks up to back out of where he parked to turn onto the road again, he half-expects to see another bloodied YouTuber standing at the hood of his car.

No one’s there.

Ryan turns around, driving on autopilot, and he and Shane leave Everlock behind.