Evan Mallory

Just slammed energy bars and started hiking downhill. We figured if we kept going down, we'd hit a road or a stream, something. We didn't say it out loud, but we all knew the truth. We weren't on the Appalachian Trail anymore, and whatever trail we were on, someone had put us there. We didn't talk much that morning, not because we were tired, none of us had slept, but because we were scared.

Just slammed energy bars and started hiking downhill. We figured if we kept going down, we'd hit a road or a stream, something. We didn't say it out loud, but we all knew the truth. We weren't on the Appalachian Trail anymore, and whatever trail we were on, someone had put us there. We didn't talk much that morning, not because we were tired, none of us had slept, but because we were scared.

Josh still hadn't said another word. He just followed us, eyes down, like he was being led. We moved fast, choosing the steepest downhill we could find, hoping it would lead us to water. A forest road. Anything. We tore through brush, tripped over roots. Didn't care. Compass needles kept twitching. Phones were still dead. Fog pressed in tighter the lower we went. And that feeling?

Josh still hadn't said another word. He just followed us, eyes down, like he was being led. We moved fast, choosing the steepest downhill we could find, hoping it would lead us to water. A forest road. Anything. We tore through brush, tripped over roots. Didn't care. Compass needles kept twitching. Phones were still dead. Fog pressed in tighter the lower we went. And that feeling?

Like we were being watched? It hadn't left. About an hour in, Ray spotted something ahead. A structure. We thought maybe it was a trail shelter or a ranger outpost. Turned out it was an old half-rotted lean-to with a collapsed roof and moss covering half the frame. We stepped inside anyway, just to breathe. Inside were drawings, dozens of them, nailed to the wooden walls.

Like we were being watched? It hadn't left. About an hour in, Ray spotted something ahead. A structure. We thought maybe it was a trail shelter or a ranger outpost. Turned out it was an old half-rotted lean-to with a collapsed roof and moss covering half the frame. We stepped inside anyway, just to breathe. Inside were drawings, dozens of them, nailed to the wooden walls.

Crayon, charcoal, blood-colored paint. All of them were the same. Stick figures walking in a line into a spiral. In one drawing, five stick figures were colored red. The rest were black. There was also a Polaroid tacked to the back wall. It was us. Standing at Springer Mountain two weeks earlier. Same clothes, same gear, same smiles. None of us remembered anyone taking that photo.

Crayon, charcoal, blood-colored paint. All of them were the same. Stick figures walking in a line into a spiral. In one drawing, five stick figures were colored red. The rest were black. There was also a Polaroid tacked to the back wall. It was us. Standing at Springer Mountain two weeks earlier. Same clothes, same gear, same smiles. None of us remembered anyone taking that photo.

The moment I saw it, the nausea hit me. Not the kind you can walk off, the kind that comes from deep, like your body knows something before your mind does. Then we heard the dragging sound, metal scraping over stone, slow, heavy. Right outside, Liam whispered for everyone to shut up. We backed into the far corner behind a stack of old crates.

The moment I saw it, the nausea hit me. Not the kind you can walk off, the kind that comes from deep, like your body knows something before your mind does. Then we heard the dragging sound, metal scraping over stone, slow, heavy. Right outside, Liam whispered for everyone to shut up. We backed into the far corner behind a stack of old crates.

Through the cracks in the wall, we saw them, the children. Same eight kids, same dead expressions, same clothes. They weren't walking this time. They were standing still, in a semicircle, humming something tuneless. Their mouths didn't move. Behind them was the tall figure, the adult.

Through the cracks in the wall, we saw them, the children. Same eight kids, same dead expressions, same clothes. They weren't walking this time. They were standing still, in a semicircle, humming something tuneless. Their mouths didn't move. Behind them was the tall figure, the adult.

still hooded still silent he stepped forward and unrolled a massive piece of paper a map our map same trail route same campsites but now there were new marks symbols we didn't recognize loops and slashes and spirals The trail didn't lead to Hot Springs anymore. It led right back to that clearing with the stone piles. At the center of the spiral, written in black ink, was one word. Return.

still hooded still silent he stepped forward and unrolled a massive piece of paper a map our map same trail route same campsites but now there were new marks symbols we didn't recognize loops and slashes and spirals The trail didn't lead to Hot Springs anymore. It led right back to that clearing with the stone piles. At the center of the spiral, written in black ink, was one word. Return.

Josh stepped forward like he was about to walk out and join them. Caroline grabbed him. Ray flicked a lighter. That tiny flame felt like our last defense. We ran. Didn't look back. Just booked it through the trees, slicing through thornbush and undergrowth. I don't know how long we ran, maybe an hour, maybe three. At some point the fog started thinning. The air felt lighter. Sound returned. Birds.

Josh stepped forward like he was about to walk out and join them. Caroline grabbed him. Ray flicked a lighter. That tiny flame felt like our last defense. We ran. Didn't look back. Just booked it through the trees, slicing through thornbush and undergrowth. I don't know how long we ran, maybe an hour, maybe three. At some point the fog started thinning. The air felt lighter. Sound returned. Birds.

Leaves rustling. Distant water. Then the trees opened up and we hit gravel. A fire road. Five minutes later, a green US Forest Service truck pulled around the bend. The ranger inside gave us a weird look when he saw our condition. Torn clothes. Dried blood. No packs. But didn't ask many questions. Just radioed for backup and drove us to the station near Hot Springs.

Leaves rustling. Distant water. Then the trees opened up and we hit gravel. A fire road. Five minutes later, a green US Forest Service truck pulled around the bend. The ranger inside gave us a weird look when he saw our condition. Torn clothes. Dried blood. No packs. But didn't ask many questions. Just radioed for backup and drove us to the station near Hot Springs.

We told them we got turned around and lost our gear. That's all we said. No one mentioned the kids. No one mentioned the map. A few days later, I went back online and looked up missing persons reports. Found eight cases from the last 40 years. All from that same stretch of trail. All unsolved. Ages ranged from 6 to 12. A few were listed as runaways. Most weren't.

We told them we got turned around and lost our gear. That's all we said. No one mentioned the kids. No one mentioned the map. A few days later, I went back online and looked up missing persons reports. Found eight cases from the last 40 years. All from that same stretch of trail. All unsolved. Ages ranged from 6 to 12. A few were listed as runaways. Most weren't.