The beauty of these verdant woodlands suffocates under a veil of damp gray. Everything about Lee, Massachusetts is cold. It even smells cold. And now my chai latte is cold. I dump what’s left just outside the yellow tape before entering the small cave, the last known location of the five missing children.
Inside, my team pokes around for any clues. Every little scrap of litter must be treated as delicately as a rare antiquity. You just never know what the missing piece of the puzzle will turn out to be. I approach an older gentleman in a gray uniform. His hair is gray.
“My name is Agent Jeff Young, Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“Sheriff Cody Tapper.”
I flash my badge, but the sheriff's eyes remain fixed on some of the missing children’s belongings. A battery powered lantern sits on a rock overlooking some old blankets lain out to cover the cold earthen floor. On top of the blankets are snacks in a plastic bowl, toy swords and an action figure surrounded by small green toy soldiers. It’s the perfect place to set up a fort and hide from your parents for a few hours. It brings back memories of congregating in tree forts. But the scattered numbers used to mark evidence twist the innocent play things into macabre shadows of lost innocence. Crouching investigators mumbling amongst themselves, snapping photos; they’re invaders in this place. Myself and the sheriff, too.
I continue. “I am currently in charge of the search. First, I’d like to thank you for your hard work and for reaching out to us. I still have a lot to catch up on and would be glad to have you stay with us to sort through details as they come in.”
The sheriff nods.
“Thank you. So, these kids were all friends?”
The sheriff sneers. “Still are friends! We’re gonna bring ‘em back livin’!”
Five children have been missing for three days. I can tell he hasn’t been sleeping. I’ve seen many families pushed past the brink of mental and physical exhaustion, but rarely do I observe local law enforcement this wound up. I put my hand on the frazzled sherrifs shoulder.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound callous. I’m eager to return them to their families’ arms.”
“I’m afraid you’ll be helping us find the families too.”
“What?”
Sheriff Tapper peers out of the cave, into the woods.
“They went searchin’ late last night. Some made it back, some didn’t.”
“Losing a child makes you desperate. They’re probably still out there looking, not afraid to suffer through exhaustion or the elements. Part hopeful, part self-destructive. Pain to ease the pain. Maybe they’ll get lucky.”
The sheriff shrugs and whispers. “It’s possible.”
I look the exhausted old sheriff in the eyes apologetically. “I’m used to handling tragedies of this magnitude in my line of work. But I’m guessing they’re a rarity in a small town like this, I know this can’t be easy to digest.”
“Tragedy? She’s no stranger to these parts, friend.”
The sheriff's tone and pallor are now as gray as the woods.
“What do you mean by that?”
“There’s a history of this kind of occurrence. Children vanishing. Not recently. Not until this.”
“Really? Missing parents, previous disappearances; these are the kinds of details we need to know if we’re gonna find these kids.”
He doesn’t speak but I know how to read a face. The sheriff is desperate to tell me something, but he doesn’t trust me. Or at least he doesn’t trust that I’ll be willing to hear him out. Does he know who did this? Could he be involved somehow? Time is of the essence. I have to find out what he isn’t telling me.
“Listen, there is no time to play games. If you have information relevant to this investigation you need to spill it. Now.”
The sheriff turns and gazes into the abysmal cloud of gray, weaving through the tree trunks.
“You see that fog?”
I’m losing my patience.
“Of course I see the goddamn fog.”
“Damned is right. Occursed spectral haze. It always gets this way. Always during times like this. When the young go missing.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a coincidence. It’s easy to get lost in the woods when you’re inexperienced and can’t see where you’re going.”
“No, it’s no coincidence. When the fog comes, it takes whom it choses, judges them.”
“Judges them how?”
“Some she keeps, some she lets go. But anyone who survives the fog is driven mad by the experience.”
My heart sinks as I realize the sentimental old man is also a superstitious fool. I can’t contain my disappointment; he reads it on my face and responds, dejected.
“I know, nonsense right? That’s what we said 15 years ago, and 15 years before that. And 15 years before that as well and as far back as anyone can remember, over and over again!”
I do my best to remain professional. He may be a kooky yokel, but I still need his assistance.
“Well, be that as it may, if I tell my superiors that the haunted woods are responsible for the disappearance of these five children, they’ll think I’ve been driven mad by the fog too. So I would like to conduct a search, through the “cursed spectral haze”, and would appreciate your assistance.”
I can tell that my skeptical tone has wounded the sheriff’s ego. He turns course.
“Forget it, I knew it was a bad idea trying to reason with an outsider.”
Just then, I notice a figure appear in the woods over the sheriff’s shoulder.
“Hey, is that one of the missing parents?”
The sheriff turns again to look and freezes.
“Misery me…”
A misty haze slowly drifts across the expanse between the dark silhouette and the mouth of the cave. Long hair and a loose fitting dress seem to wave gently as if caught in a soft breeze, but I remember the air outside being still as death. The sheriff’s mouth hangs open.
“Do you recognize that woman?”
He pauses, seeming to muster the courage to respond.
“I do, that’s the awful bitch herself. She has the children.”
I don’t respond to the sheriff. You can’t easily sway the deeply superstitious. Witch or not, shadowy figures skulking around a crime scene in the woods are still persons of interest. I start towards the mouth of the cave, but before I exit she vanishes in the mist.
Several members of my team begin combing the woods, searching for the mystery woman. The sheriff and I head straight in the direction we had spotted her.
“Now, Sheriff Tapper, if we catch up to this individual I trust you are able to conduct yourself professionally and in accordance with the law. I know this is an upsetting situation but we can’t let our emotions get the best of us. No mistakes.”
“I know you think me a fool. I’ll not hold it against you, young man. If you’re concerned about me exacting violence on the specter then worry no more - the loathsome whore can’t be slain. I’m just here to bring back our missing.”
I have no question that the sheriff is hopelessly lost in a world of fantasy, but I was relieved to know he wasn’t planning on shooting the woman on site. I would dismiss him but he knows these woods well and I cannot spare any time becoming lost.
A tent emerges from the ever thickening fog in the near distance.
“Could that belong to the kids?”
“Could be.”
I see a glimmer of hopefulness cut through the sheriff’s dark demeanor as we approach the moss colored tent. I bend to peer inside and find myself looking down the long dark barrel of a Remington 30.06.
I speak as calmly as I can manage. “Sir, drop your weapon. My name is Jeff Young, I am a federal agent.”
“You workin’ for that cock suckin’ demon? She put the witch on you, Jeff?”
“Dammit Jerry, put that fucking gun down! We’re lookin’ for the youngsters!”
The sheriff’s words cause the large disgruntled man to ease up. He lowers the rifle and closes his bleary eyes, taking a moment to regroup before responding. Nubby teeth can be seen gritting in the middle of a wild beard, like tiny eggs hiding in a massive bird’s nest. He is wearing dirty overalls and a crooked trapper hat. Intimidating as he appears, there is something child-like about his presence, like a giant hairy baby with a drinking problem.
“Apologies, misters. Can’t be too careful.”
“Jerry, you are a fat fool if you believe you can just shoot the witch and be done with it!”
“Well, what do you have in mind? You gonna wave your prick and blow her kisses?”
I put myself between the excited yokels and put an end to their argument.
“I would like to remind the both of you that I am in charge of this investigation. We are here to first, find the missing children and second, apprehend anyone responsible for their disappearance. Now, sir, we were following a person of interest, a woman. Did you happen to see anyone pass by here recently?”
My lack of concern for the existence of a supernatural menace was far more troubling to these men than any worry I possessed for their own naïveté. My plea only served to make Jerry more indignant.
“You’re in charge, Mr. Federal Agent? Well, la-di-fucking-da.” Jerry cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted into the woods. “Do you hear that, you rotten steam hooker! Jeff is in charge here!”
He holds his hand to his ear, as though waiting for a response, then shrugs cynically.
“Sorry Agent Jeff, I don’t think she’s impressed.”
I start to speak but, at that moment, Jerry farts slowly with volume and intention. Jerry’s nostrils flare and his brow clenched tightly as he glares into my eyes. The echo reverberates softly through the dead trees. He tapers off and we stand for a moment in stunned silence; all of us frustrated, offended and unsure how to proceed.
Then, from the distance, a throaty yowl answers back. It sounded animal in nature, but not like any animal I’ve ever heard.
The two local men froze and looked at one another. My heart sank, but only momentarily.
I mutter. “Sounds like a bobcat.”
“Probably not.” replied the sheriff.
“Now, Sheriff Tapper, if we catch up to this individual I trust you are able to conduct yourself professionally and in accordance with the law. I know this is an upsetting situation but we can’t let our emotions get the best of us. No mistakes.”
“I know you think me a fool. I’ll not hold it against you, young man. If you’re concerned about me exacting violence on the specter then worry no more - the loathsome whore can’t be slain. I’m just here to bring back our missing.”
I have no question that the sheriff is hopelessly lost in a world of fantasy, but I was relieved to know he wasn’t planning on shooting the woman on site. I would dismiss him but he knows these woods well and I cannot spare any time becoming lost.
A tent emerges from the ever thickening fog in the near distance.
“Could that belong to the kids?”
“Could be.”
I see a glimmer of hopefulness cut through the sheriff’s dark demeanor as we approach the moss colored tent. I bend to peer inside and find myself looking down the long dark barrel of a Remington 30.06.
I speak as calmly as I can manage. “Sir, drop your weapon. My name is Jeff Young, I am a federal agent.”
“You workin’ for that cock suckin’ demon? She put the witch on you, Jeff?”
“Dammit Jerry, put that fucking gun down! We’re lookin’ for the youngsters!”
The sheriff’s words cause the large disgruntled man to ease up. He lowers the rifle and closes his bleary eyes, taking a moment to regroup before responding. Nubby teeth can be seen gritting in the middle of a wild beard, like tiny eggs hiding in a massive bird’s nest. He is wearing dirty overalls and a crooked trapper hat. Intimidating as he appears, there is something child-like about his presence, like a giant hairy baby with a drinking problem.
“Apologies, misters. Can’t be too careful.”
“Jerry, you are a fat fool if you believe you can just shoot the witch and be done with it!”
“Well, what do you have in mind? You gonna wave your prick and blow her kisses?”
I put myself between the excited yokels and put an end to their argument.
“I would like to remind the both of you that I am in charge of this investigation. We are here to first, find the missing children and second, apprehend anyone responsible for their disappearance. Now, sir, we were following a person of interest, a woman. Did you happen to see anyone pass by here recently?”
My lack of concern for the existence of a supernatural menace was far more troubling to these men than any worry I possessed for their own naïveté. My plea only served to make Jerry more indignant.
“You’re in charge, Mr. Federal Agent? Well, la-di-fucking-da.” Jerry cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted into the woods. “Do you hear that, you rotten steam hooker! Jeff is in charge here!”
He holds his hand to his ear, as though waiting for a response, then shrugs cynically.
“Sorry Agent Jeff, I don’t think she’s impressed.”
I start to speak but, at that moment, Jerry farts slowly with volume and intention. Jerry’s nostrils flare and his brow clenched tightly as he glares into my eyes. The echo reverberates softly through the dead trees. He tapers off and we stand for a moment in stunned silence; all of us frustrated, offended and unsure how to proceed.
Then, from the distance, a throaty yowl answers back. It sounded animal in nature, but not like any animal I’ve ever heard.
The two local men froze and looked at one another. My heart sank, but only momentarily.
I mutter. “Sounds like a bobcat.”
“Probably not.” replied the sheriff.
Jerry was right about one thing. Someone is living out here in these woods. We approach a bizarrely primitive looking hut surrounded by a number of stones and etched pieces of wood, all placed very intentionally but with no clear significance. I don’t believe in witches, but I’m beginning to see why everyone else around here does. I’ll wager the owner of this moldy yurt is crazy enough to think they’re a witch, too. But are they crazy enough to abduct children?
“Well Sheriff? Are you gonna tell him or what?”
“Tell me what, Jerry?”
The sheriff’s eyes become cold and serious. “Listen, we’ve all been here before. We’ve seen this place, but when people go in there, they don’t tend to come back out. At least not the same.”
“What if the kids are in there?”
“They are.” whispered Jerry, solemnly. “When I was a youngster, I watched my friends go into that place. Thirty years ago. I was too afraid, I stayed outside and waited. After a few minutes I heard them crying in there. I ran away home and told my parents, and they told all my friends’ parents. Nobody would do anything, they knew better, except my friend Kyle’s dad. He convinced a couple other guys he knew to try and get them. Well, Kyle and his dad and his dad’s buddies never came back. And when the kids came back they…”
The sheriff cuts off Jerry’s story. “Don’t waste your breath on Agent Young, he already thinks we’re nuts. But you listen to me, those kids are in there, and we gotta get them to come to us somehow. We can not go in there, Jeff. Do you understand?”
“You know what, I am sick of you two and your superstitious horse shit! Lives are at stake and it is our job to help them! You cowards can wait here. I’m going.”
Jerry and the sheriff are silent. I make my way towards the front door.
The stench of musty rotting wood fills my nostrils as I enter the decrepit woodland shanty. Light and fog pours inside through the many gaps in the crudely constructed walls and thatched roof. The interior is sparsely outfitted. It is barely fit for habitation, resembling something out of an ancient history book. Next to the entrance lies a pile of small shoes, backpacks and jackets. There were many more than could have belonged to five children - some items were relatively new, others looked ancient and weathered. No one appears to be home. Across the room, through the haze, I spot a ladder leading down to a cellar.
I peer down the ladder, but cannot make out much detail besides the flicker of faint candle light. “Hello? Is anyone down there?”
A chorus of small voices respond with a mixture of sullen yeahs and yesses. They are alive, but in what condition? I hurry down to see for myself.
The floor of the cellar is carpeted in dry grass and twigs. I scan the room for any signs of danger but all I could make out is a cage, twice the size of a dog kennel. Four children were crouching inside, looking at me with sad, tired eyes. Despite their situation, they seem disappointed to see me.
“It’s going to be alright, I’m a policeman and I’m here to rescue you. Can you tell me if anybody else in the house?”
In broken unison, another round of yesses and yeahs. My heart quickens.
“Can you tell me where?”
“Upstairs.” They answer as though repeating a familiar chant.
“I didn’t see anyone upstairs.”
“She hides in the fog.”
The sound of the front door slamming shut reverberates down through the rotting floorboards. I can faintly hear Jerry and Sheriff Cody shouting excitedly outside, but their cries are muffled and incomprehensible. Then, the awful creaking sound of someone making their way towards the stairs. I motion for the children to be quiet and I take cover behind a large chest. I aim my Glock at the ladder and wait for someone to appear. Adrenaline courses through me as I prepare for confrontation. I’m nearly too distracted to notice the smoky mist seeping through the floorboards. It erupts from the groaning wood beneath each heavy foot step. But as the individual nears the stairs, their steps become softer and the plumes of mist grow denser. Then there is no sound, only a swirling cloud billowing down the cellar entrance.
The fog smells sour and chokes me as it envelopes the room. I press my arm against my face to help filter the air as I continue to point my gun into the blinding miasma. The children don’t react to the suffocating vapor, they just hang their head pitifully. They seem to be in a pocket of clear air. In fact, it appears that the mist has now concentrated entirely around me. I begin to feel dizzy. My gun grows heavy and drops as my hand gives up on me. All of my muscles turn to jelly and I collapse in a heap.
A hoarse, female voice breaks the silence.
“So glad to have another visitor. I was beginning to worry. I just wanted to have one more. I’m quite happy to have you.”
The gas has made me weak, but I am still fully alert. The grass where I am lying is wet and stinks like death. I struggle to respond.
“What have you done?”
“I haven’t done anything. You came to my home. You’re breathing my air. I’ve only come to greet you.”
“The kids, let them go.” I choke as I speak.
The voice laughs at me. “They’ll go, but not yet. I’ll rest again soon. But not yet. They have more work to do. Right, children?”
They drone back to her. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good children. Just once more, now.”
The mist dissipates rapidly and in its place a massive, boney ghoul appears. It vaguely resembles an old woman, or rather the corpse of an old woman. That is, if not for the glowing eyes and gaping mouth stuffed with huge dagger-like teeth. She appears ghost-like, slightly transparent in places and struggles to manipulate the lock on the children’s cage. Son of a bitch...those crazy bastards were right!
“I never used to need help. But I am old and weak. I once faded easily. Now parts of me are lost.”
The children march out of the cage without instruction and walk towards a table across the room.
“My teeth grow with age. So many years have come and gone. I can no longer close my mouth. I cannot bite. I cannot chew. I would STARVE if I didn’t have help! I am so grateful for my helpers. I would never hurt my helpers.”
The children now come towards me holding large filthy buckets and utensils. They sit down in a circle around my incapacitated body.
An evil violet glow begins to envelop the creature as she cackles and gurgles. “Remember, children, I’ll be watching you. I’ll watch you from here, by the ladder. Don’t get up til you fill my buckets. Or else, you’ll go in the bucket, too! Just one more dinner to chew. That’s all I ask.”
I feel knives and forks jab into me from every direction and try to cry out, but the toxic air inside me has taken those muscles now too. All I can do is leak tears and stare at the monster as she watches them saw at me with table knives. It speaks again.
“WAIT! You’ve forgotten again! What do we do before dinner?”
The children remove their utensils from my flesh, set them down and bow their heads. Once again, they speak in unison.
“Bless us, O lord and these thy gifts we are about to receive…”
The witch watches and drools. Her eyes, glowing with anticipation, gaze into mine.
My eyes. I can’t even shut my eyes.
“Well Sheriff? Are you gonna tell him or what?”
“Tell me what, Jerry?”
The sheriff’s eyes become cold and serious. “Listen, we’ve all been here before. We’ve seen this place, but when people go in there, they don’t tend to come back out. At least not the same.”
“What if the kids are in there?”
“They are.” whispered Jerry, solemnly. “When I was a youngster, I watched my friends go into that place. Thirty years ago. I was too afraid, I stayed outside and waited. After a few minutes I heard them crying in there. I ran away home and told my parents, and they told all my friends’ parents. Nobody would do anything, they knew better, except my friend Kyle’s dad. He convinced a couple other guys he knew to try and get them. Well, Kyle and his dad and his dad’s buddies never came back. And when the kids came back they…”
The sheriff cuts off Jerry’s story. “Don’t waste your breath on Agent Young, he already thinks we’re nuts. But you listen to me, those kids are in there, and we gotta get them to come to us somehow. We can not go in there, Jeff. Do you understand?”
“You know what, I am sick of you two and your superstitious horse shit! Lives are at stake and it is our job to help them! You cowards can wait here. I’m going.”
Jerry and the sheriff are silent. I make my way towards the front door.
The stench of musty rotting wood fills my nostrils as I enter the decrepit woodland shanty. Light and fog pours inside through the many gaps in the crudely constructed walls and thatched roof. The interior is sparsely outfitted. It is barely fit for habitation, resembling something out of an ancient history book. Next to the entrance lies a pile of small shoes, backpacks and jackets. There were many more than could have belonged to five children - some items were relatively new, others looked ancient and weathered. No one appears to be home. Across the room, through the haze, I spot a ladder leading down to a cellar.
I peer down the ladder, but cannot make out much detail besides the flicker of faint candle light. “Hello? Is anyone down there?”
A chorus of small voices respond with a mixture of sullen yeahs and yesses. They are alive, but in what condition? I hurry down to see for myself.
The floor of the cellar is carpeted in dry grass and twigs. I scan the room for any signs of danger but all I could make out is a cage, twice the size of a dog kennel. Four children were crouching inside, looking at me with sad, tired eyes. Despite their situation, they seem disappointed to see me.
“It’s going to be alright, I’m a policeman and I’m here to rescue you. Can you tell me if anybody else in the house?”
In broken unison, another round of yesses and yeahs. My heart quickens.
“Can you tell me where?”
“Upstairs.” They answer as though repeating a familiar chant.
“I didn’t see anyone upstairs.”
“She hides in the fog.”
The sound of the front door slamming shut reverberates down through the rotting floorboards. I can faintly hear Jerry and Sheriff Cody shouting excitedly outside, but their cries are muffled and incomprehensible. Then, the awful creaking sound of someone making their way towards the stairs. I motion for the children to be quiet and I take cover behind a large chest. I aim my Glock at the ladder and wait for someone to appear. Adrenaline courses through me as I prepare for confrontation. I’m nearly too distracted to notice the smoky mist seeping through the floorboards. It erupts from the groaning wood beneath each heavy foot step. But as the individual nears the stairs, their steps become softer and the plumes of mist grow denser. Then there is no sound, only a swirling cloud billowing down the cellar entrance.
The fog smells sour and chokes me as it envelopes the room. I press my arm against my face to help filter the air as I continue to point my gun into the blinding miasma. The children don’t react to the suffocating vapor, they just hang their head pitifully. They seem to be in a pocket of clear air. In fact, it appears that the mist has now concentrated entirely around me. I begin to feel dizzy. My gun grows heavy and drops as my hand gives up on me. All of my muscles turn to jelly and I collapse in a heap.
A hoarse, female voice breaks the silence.
“So glad to have another visitor. I was beginning to worry. I just wanted to have one more. I’m quite happy to have you.”
The gas has made me weak, but I am still fully alert. The grass where I am lying is wet and stinks like death. I struggle to respond.
“What have you done?”
“I haven’t done anything. You came to my home. You’re breathing my air. I’ve only come to greet you.”
“The kids, let them go.” I choke as I speak.
The voice laughs at me. “They’ll go, but not yet. I’ll rest again soon. But not yet. They have more work to do. Right, children?”
They drone back to her. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good children. Just once more, now.”
The mist dissipates rapidly and in its place a massive, boney ghoul appears. It vaguely resembles an old woman, or rather the corpse of an old woman. That is, if not for the glowing eyes and gaping mouth stuffed with huge dagger-like teeth. She appears ghost-like, slightly transparent in places and struggles to manipulate the lock on the children’s cage. Son of a bitch...those crazy bastards were right!
“I never used to need help. But I am old and weak. I once faded easily. Now parts of me are lost.”
The children march out of the cage without instruction and walk towards a table across the room.
“My teeth grow with age. So many years have come and gone. I can no longer close my mouth. I cannot bite. I cannot chew. I would STARVE if I didn’t have help! I am so grateful for my helpers. I would never hurt my helpers.”
The children now come towards me holding large filthy buckets and utensils. They sit down in a circle around my incapacitated body.
An evil violet glow begins to envelop the creature as she cackles and gurgles. “Remember, children, I’ll be watching you. I’ll watch you from here, by the ladder. Don’t get up til you fill my buckets. Or else, you’ll go in the bucket, too! Just one more dinner to chew. That’s all I ask.”
I feel knives and forks jab into me from every direction and try to cry out, but the toxic air inside me has taken those muscles now too. All I can do is leak tears and stare at the monster as she watches them saw at me with table knives. It speaks again.
“WAIT! You’ve forgotten again! What do we do before dinner?”
The children remove their utensils from my flesh, set them down and bow their heads. Once again, they speak in unison.
“Bless us, O lord and these thy gifts we are about to receive…”
The witch watches and drools. Her eyes, glowing with anticipation, gaze into mine.
My eyes. I can’t even shut my eyes.
