Estimated reading time — 60 minutes

The camera didn’t look like something that should still work. Didn’t feel right from the start. When my sister handed me that box on my birthday, I could tell it’d be a pile of garbage. She’d always been a cheapskate, the woman can’t walk past a yard sale without stopping. Doesn’t matter if it’s raining, if it’s just a table of jack shit and fuck all. She’ll pick up broken lamps, weird figurines, stuff that looks like it was collecting dust in someone’s attic for the past thirty years.

Then a few weeks ago, she showed up at my place with a box that smelled like it’d sat next to an ash tray for a decade. I opened it to find a handheld camera. Nothing fancy; a bit on the older side (much like myself), scratched up around the edges. The real strange part was the burn marks. And I’m not talking about a little singe either, I mean proper fire damage. Probably lived through a house fire, though I don’t suppose living was quite the word I should use to describe it. The casing was warped along one side, plastic bubbled and hardened. The strap was half-charred, stiff and brittle in places, leaving a sootstain on my hands. The smell of smoke filled my house, goddamn woman always brings me things that stink like hell. But the smell was that of old smoke, nothing fresh. I asked her where she got it.
“Yard sale,” she said. Of course.
Apparently it’d been sitting in a box with a bunch of random electronics. Old phones, tangled chargers, that sort of thing. Housefire starting kit, probably. No price tag on it. The guy running the sale told her she could just take it if she wanted. Said it didn’t work. She took it anyway and gave it to me. Lovely.
She just handed it over with a shrug. “You like this kind of stuff, right? Maybe you can fix it.”
Now, I don’t fix cameras, but I do tinker enough to know when something’s completely dead and when it’s on life support. This one was the latter.

After a night of tinkering, I finally managed to get it working again. Turning it on took a second, but the screen flickered on eventually. Battery still had a bit of charge too, which didn’t make a whole lot of sense considering how it looked, but I take what I can get.
First thing I checked was the storage. There were files on it; videos, a lot of them by the looks of it. Didn’t have labels, of course, just some dates starting a year ago and ending a few months back. Some of them stretched a few minutes, others lasted hours. Whoever owned it before my sister got her hands on it, they used it a whole hell of a lot. I figured it was just someone’s old recordings. Family stuff, vacations, kids running around in a backyard playing tag. I almost didn’t watch them. But, like the stupid idiot I am, I clicked on the first one and hit play.

The video opened with a blurry shot of a gravel road. The low-quality sound of shoes grinding against gravel came through the speakers of the camcorder. This sound mixed with the chirping of some nearby birds, though it didn’t sound nearly as pretty as you might be thinking. Truth be told, if the guy recording the video hadn’t stopped walking when he did, I probably would’ve thrown the damn thing out and done something more productive with my time. Man, how I wish I had.
The sounds of rustling leaves and chirping birds were overwhelmed by heavy breathing as the guy filming came to a stop and pointed the camera up. The view that met me was honestly kind of beautiful. From what appeared to be a cliff, the camcorder looked down at a lush forest, with a big river running downwards, as rivers usually do. The sun was setting, but it looked much prettier than any sunset I’ve seen. Virginia sunsets aren’t special, especially at this time of year.

It was obvious that the guy recording was exhausted. If you couldn’t tell by his deep, erratic breathing, the shaky way he recorded made it pretty goddamn clear. It honestly looked like someone had given the camera to a person with Parkinson’s. Still, he managed to speak, albeit between deep gasping breaths.
“Been hiking for a few hours now. Really tuckered me out, but gosh would you look at that view,” he said with a surprisingly upbeat tone, before turning the camera around to show his face. The man, though I’m hesitant to even call him that, appeared to be in his early 20’s by my best estimates. He had an awfully young babyface, along with a childishly gleeful attitude.

Anywho, he filmed the view some more even though I was honestly getting kind of sick of it. When he was done about 2 minutes later, he turned back and went further up the winding gravel road. The path ahead seemed like your standard tourist hiking trail, so nothing too dangerous. He zoomed in on a sign that simply read: CAMPSITE, 350m. There was a symbol on the left side of the text. Though hard to make out, it resembled a crude hourglass encased in a circle. The boy filming flipped his camera around to show his face again. He was positively beaming, smiling from ear to ear. Last time I saw anyone that happy was… well I can’t say I’ve actually ever seen anyone quite so happy.
“See you guys there!” he said before the video cut to black. Funny feller, alright. And I don’t mean funny as in humorous, I mean funny as in funny in the head.

The screen lit up once more, showing the same boy with the same goofy grin. Only it had gotten darker, though, and the background now showed leaves gently dancing in the wind.
“The campsite doesn’t seem very popular,” he said as he moved the camera to show an almost empty campsite. It was connected to the gravel road, and the campsite itself was a rather small, grassless circle that ended at a treeline. There were three tents, one belonging to our cameraboy. He had his tent placed just right: close enough to chat, far enough not to hear anybody’s nightly bathroom visit. Credit where credit’s due.

Cut ahead, probably a few hours had passed. Now there was a fire going. The camera showed two other guys sitting around it. One had a rainbow-colored beanie and a chipped tooth, real ugly to be honest. The other had a mustache he didn’t quite pull off, the bits of food in it only cementing the fact that he oughta shave it off. They were feeding each other marshmallows in a way that made my skin crawl. Anyway, the cameraboy spoke up again: “So I met these two guys, they’re from Roanoke. Pretty cool, right?” He chuckled to himself, then zoomed in a little too far on the beanie guy’s face, catching him mid-yawn.

“What are you doing, Emmett?” Goddamn, I couldn’t have thought of a more fitting name for our cameraboy if I tried. Emmett, half-witted, but with a good enough heart.
“Oh, sorry,” Emmett said, laughing. “I like to film my adventures.”
“Well, film this,” mustache-boy said, raising both middle fingers. “Welcome to Camp…” he paused, contemplating. “Ah shit, can’t think of anything funny.”
They all laughed. It felt like the start of something good, even if I wouldn’t’ve liked the company much.

Then, a quiet voice from the side. “Evenin’, boys.”
The camera shifted, catching someone new stepping into the firelight. An older woman— maybe pushing seventy, maybe older, it was hard to tell. She wore a thick shawl, handwoven by the look of it, and a broad straw hat that didn’t quite match the rest of her clothes. She held a kettle in both hands like it was worth more than its weight in gold.
“Sorry,” she said, smiling, “didn’t mean to spook you. I’m set up just past those trees there. Thought I’d come say hello.”

The boys blinked at her.
“Hey, no worries. You camping solo?” the barefoot one asked.
“Well I’m not campin’ so much as I live here,” she said, grinning real gentle-like. “Just me and the pines. But I do enjoy company when it shows up. I’ve got some herbal tea if you boys’d like a cup.”
Emmett turned the camera toward the others, they looked unsure, polite but stiff and uneasy. You could tell none of them wanted to be rude, but there was something about the way she stood there, not quite in the light, not quite out of it, that made your skin crawl a little.
“Gee,” Emmett said, voice as goofy and happy-go-lucky as ever. “I sure would like that.”

Emmett seemed to forget all about his camera for the next hour or two. It sat at an awkward angle where he’d put it after taking a cup of the elderly woman’s tea. The other boys accepted a cup each, though more hesitantly than cameraboy had. The group sat and chatted amongst themselves, saying a whole lot of nothing special. The only thing worth noting was the woman’s attitude. She was very friendly, but slightly too much so. She treated the boys like a grandmother would treat their grandbaby, chucking compliment after compliment at them. Not that our cameraboy seemed to mind, though. He slurped the compliments down as eagerly and annoyingly as his tea.

“Pretty spot, isn’t it?” said the boy with the abhorrent beanie.
“Oh, you have no idea.” The older lady looked longingly at the forest as she spoke those words, the dying fire reflecting in her glossy eyes. “But it ain’t nothin’ compared to you boys.”
“Gosh, you’re really nice ma’am.”
“Oh, nonsense. You boys’re a gift from God himself,” the lady said, chuckling. “Real people. Not one of them… digital types. Always on their phones, ain’t they? No good, no good at all.” She paused for a moment, then continued. “The right folk always do find their way here. Good folk. Like you.”

The boys were quiet, not knowing how to respond. The lady was sweet, sure, but something was off with the things she said. Could be dementia, or something less serious, or maybe she was just funny in the head like Emmett.
“You boys got enough food for the rest of the trip?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“Well,” Emmett started, “I do, but it’s not very tasty. And Jules and Casper don’t have anything but noodles and I don’t like noodles.”
The lady made a tsk sound, shaking her head.
“Well that won’t do. Not at all. Say, why don’t I come get you boys in the morning and get you some hot meals? There’s a little settlement close by. Real quiet folk. But like I said, them’s good folk,” she said, smiling kindly. The boys shared an uncertain glance, not quite knowing how to respond again. It was a nice offer, the kind I certainly wouldn’t make, but real strange too. Stranger danger and all that.

“Tell you boys what,” she said, getting up, “I’ll give you some time to think. I’ll swing by in the mornin’ and if you want, I’ll bring you down for a warm meal.”
“Sounds good ma’am,” Emmett said, though Jules and Casper glanced uncomfortably at one another. The boys told the lady their goodbyes, Emmett more furtively than the other two, and she left without much further ado. Though none of them seemed to pick up on it, I noticed that the lady had left her kettle and cups near the fire. Now I’m a simple man, and I like to believe that I give people the benefit of the doubt when I can, but I’m not convinced she didn’t leave those there on purpose. She was weird, sure, but she didn’t seem like the forgetful type. There was more to it than that.
Emmett seemed to remember his camera when he finally turned back to his tent. He took the camera in one hand while crawling into his tent with the other.
“Ah, darn. Forgot to turn you off. Well, g’night!” And with that, the screen went dark.

The darkness dissipated after a few moments as the next recording started automatically. It was focused on Emmett’s face, who seemed to be figuring out whether or not his camera was recording. In the background, I could hear those two boys talking with the old woman. Their voices were muffled, so I couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying, but it sounded to me like they were politely trying to decline whatever she was suggesting. The tone in their voices just reminded me of how you have to wiggle your way out of a conversation when you’re trying to leave but the host won’t let you. I hate people like that.

“Well I hope this is recording,” Emmett said, resigned. His head snapped up as the woman spoke to him.
“Oh, Emmett, is that necessary dear? I don’t like all that technology and whatnot.”
“I just film my adventures ma’am,” Emmett said with a smile. I don’t think that boy was capable of a negative thought.
“Well alright then, as long as you don’t go putting it up on the internet and whatnot. Life’s out here, not on some screen.” A moment of silence passed, then she spoke again. “Say, how’s about that hot meal I promised you? Your friends don’t seem to take too kindly to the idea.”
“That’s not–” Jules, the one with the awful mustache, tried, but Emmett interrupted him.
“Aww, come on guys. Aren’t you tired of those noodles?”
No one spoke for a long moment as the two boys looked at each other, contemplating. Now me? I would’ve packed my shit and ran off. Nothing more embarrassing than a granny killing you out in the woods. I think Saint-Peter himself would be crying tears of laughter as you stepped up to the pearly gates. But I guess these two boys fold easily. Jules shrugged and hesitantly muttered, “Alright,” getting up and dusting his pants off. The group grabbed their backpacks– they’d already taken their tents down– then they followed the sweet-seeming old lady into the expanse of trees.

“Should be just behind those trees,” the lady said, pointing ahead. Leaves and twigs crunched underfoot as they walked towards the treeline. “You excited?” asked the old woman, jabbing a finger at Emmett.
“Sure am,” he replied. I couldn’t see his face but his glee shone through his tone of voice. They continued their trek until they finally emerged at the other end of the treeline and into a clearing. The woman hadn’t been lying, there was a small community settled in this clearing. It was like a very small town, with wooden houses and dirt pathways. Burly men dragged firewood to a central, unlit pyre. Women, dressed in modest white gowns and bonnets, were performing the daily duties like getting water from a well or washing clothes. All around, they didn’t seem too bad. They were traditional, and I like that. That being said, they’re a bit too Amish for my liking. Good and bad, y’know.

Some of the villagers stopped their labor to stare at the new arrivals, eyeing them with something that looked like suspicion.
“Woah,” Emmett muttered, his hands growing slack. The camera almost fell, but Emmett got his act straight soon enough, pointing the camera back at the small village.
“Elijah! These boys here need a hearty meal!” the old woman yelled, waving over a heavier man, one much like myself.
“Say, we don’t get visitors too often,” he said, shaking each of the men’s hands. “We’ve got a pot cooking on the stove, should be done in a half hour or so. Why don’t you come sit down, have a chat?”
Before even giving them a chance to respond, Elijah waved the boys along and practically dragged them into the village. There wasn’t much in the way of privacy, there were something like eight to ten buildings, at least two of which weren’t houses. It was obvious that people didn’t have their own houses, there just weren’t enough of them for the amount of villagers (in hindsight, I think there were some 30-40 people in the community).

The man, Elijah, ushered the group into one of the buildings. It was one of the ones without lodging. There were two separate, large fireplaces, and a pot filled with stew hung above each. Elijah plopped down on a crude bench, which was actually just a log that’d been split in half. He gestured for Emmett and his friends to do the same.
“This here’s our finest restaurant,” Elijah chuckled, gesturing at the pot beside him. “Real fine stew, fresh every day.
“You eat stew every day?” Emmett asked, confusion in his voice.
“Yessir. We mix it up with different meat every now and then, but that doesn’t change much,” he shrugged, “Sober meals bring you closer to God, they do,” Elijah said jokingly.
“You hear that Jules?” Emmett asked gingerly, poking fun at the two boys and their apparent love for noodles. The boys just shrugged it off, apparently still uneasy. A silent moment passed, then Emmet spoke again, “You don’t mind if I record right, sir?”
As if noticing for the first time, Elijah eyed the camera suspiciously. His dark, brown eyes seemed to be gazing into my very soul. Creepy bastard.
“Well, we don’t much like digital nonsense ‘round here. But… I suppose we could make an exception on one condition,” he said, then continued when he saw Emmett eagerly awaiting, “That thing isn’t connected to the internet is it?”
“No, sir!” Emmett exclaimed. Elijah nodded, seeming to approve. He mumbled a final “well, alright then,” before turning back to the stew in the pot next to him.
“Should be good, I think. Why don’t you boys grab a bowl from the cupboard there?” Elijah gestured behind the boys vaguely. They turned and each grabbed a bowl and a wooden spoon from the crude wooden cupboard. Emmett pressed his camera closer to his bowl as Elijah scooped a hefty helping of stew into his bowl.

“This sure looks good,” Emmett said, giggling. He set the camera down beside him as he started gobbling down mouthfuls of stew, not waiting for Elijah or his friends to sit down.
“Woah there, boy. Wait up a second,” Elijah stammered, putting out a hand towards Emmett, imploring him to stop eating. Emmett sat there, watery brown sauce dribbling from his chin, with stupefied eyes. When everyone had their own bowl of stew, Elijah sat down in front of the couple and Emmett.
“Now, it’s a custom around here to say grace ‘fore we eat. That’s why I stopped you, sorry if I came off rude.”
“No, sir, it’s okay,” Emmett said, wiping away the trickle of sauce from his chin using his sleeve.

Elijah set his bowl down, fire crackling behind him, as he closed his eyes and began to speak. The boys followed his lead, closing their eyes.
“We thank the Flame for bringing us these kind souls,
For He sees what we are, even if we do not.
And we give thanks, that we may serve His new sun, and that He provides us with His warmth.” As the man spoke, the fire in the fireplaces seemed to dance and rise with his words. Then, as soon as he opened his eyes, the fire returned to its calmer state.

Now I ain’t a superstitious man as you can probably tell, but that shit freaked me the fuck out. That wasn’t normal, I tell you. Even if the boys couldn’t see it on account of their eyes being closed, I could see concern etched in the frowns on Jules’ and Casper’s faces.
There was, of course, no such emotion on Emmett’s face. If I had to compare that boy to anyone, it’d be Forrest Gump. Happy-go-lucky, rainbows ‘n sunshine.

Elijah smiled at the boys, telling them they could now eat their meal. Not skipping a beat, Emmett started choking back mouthfuls of the stew. Jules and Casper, on the other hand, hesitantly took small bites of the stuff.
“You like it?” Elijah asked, careful not to spill any of his own stew as he ate.
“Gosh, it’s really good sir! What’s in it?”
Elijah paused a moment too long before answering.
“Whatever the Lord provides,” he said with a smile, then added, “rabbit, cooked slowly. It just melts in your mouth, doesn’t it?”
“It sure does!”

They continued eating, though Casper and Jules did so more hesitantly than Elijah and Emmett. Every now and then, a villager would poke their head in without saying anything. They just sorta looked at the new arrivals like they were animals in the zoo. Real strange folk, I tell you. I feel like I must tell you that there was a cut in the video, though it was subtle. You could tell by the way Emmet’s stew was suddenly half-gone, and the fact that everyone was sitting in a slightly different pose.
Eventually, the old woman walked into the building, striding in much more confidently than before.
“How’re you boys getting on?” she asked, hands on her hips.
“Fine. We– we should probably be going soon,” said Jules, picking stew from his ugly mustache.
“Oh, nonsense,” the woman chuckled, “I couldn’t let you go through the forest in the dark.”
The boys exchanged a confused look. By God, I shared it with them. They’d come in here for a lunch they were still eating, why would it be dark out? Maybe she oughta be sent to a nursing home. But, sure enough, as Emmet carried the camera outside, I could see that the village was dark. The vast expanse of the starry night sky glimmered above, stretching infinitely far into total darkness. Night had strange properties here, I tell you, it seemed somehow vaster, but less empty. Like something drifted there, shifting and watching from above.

Emmet was worried. I could see it on his young face, the furrowed brow, the doe-eyed look, the one that has your pupils dilated like a long-time coke-user. Poor bastard had me scared too. By the looks of them, Jules and Casper were more than just worried– they were frightened. Eyes wide as saucers, tears welling up in them, pupils dilated as much as Emmet’s.
“Time must’ve slipped us by!” Elijah said from behind them, startling Jules and Casper. They weren’t at all convinced, you could tell as much by the mixture of anger and confusion on their faces. Casper retorted something, though the discussion was quite calm. I couldn’t hear the exact words, because there was another conversation going on right in front of the camera. I couldn’t see the woman, as Emmett had his camera pointed straight up from his chest, showing me his chin and the stars, but I could hear them talking clear as day.

“Name’s Margret, I don’t think I’ve told you yet.” A moment of silence passed, then she spoke again. “Pretty, isn’t it?”
“Y–yes ma’am,” Emmett said in a drowsy voice.
“You’re a real cute boy, Emmett. Shame I’m so old.” I could hear the rustling of fabric. Emmett’s gaze stayed firmly locked on the heavens.
“Y’know, I always wanted to be an actress. Like Marilyn Monroe. You know her, Emmett?” she asked, her voice low and soothing. It almost sounded like she was whispering in his ear.
“I do,” Emmett murmured.
“Nice lady, wasn’t she? I always looked up to her. Do you have a dream like that, Emmett?”
“Y–yeah,” he stuttered, “I wanna be an explorer. Like on the TV. Show people different cultures.”
“Anyone in particular you look up to, honey?” I heard fabric rustling again, the sound made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Beyond that, I heard a voice, Jules’ I think, shouting in alarm.
“Anthony. I… like Anthony Bourdain,” he said, his voice droning off into the vast expanse above.
“Ah, he died didn’t he?” she paused for a moment, letting me catch the faintest glimpse of the others’ conversation. They were calmer now, though still obviously quite hostile towards Elijah.
Margret continued. “You’re in luck, aren’t you? There’s a whoooole new culture to explore right here in this village,” she said, dragging out her words. Emmett turned, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
A bead of sweat fell from his chin and hit the camera’s lens. Margret’s finger caressed his jaw, then flicked off another bead of sweat.
“Why don’t you come with me, Emmett? We’ve got a lot to show you.”
With that, she grabbed Emmett’s hand, at least I think she did, I couldn’t see anything very clearly. She guided him slowly towards the center of the village, where the massive wooden pyre was just starting to burn.

Flames crackled softly from inside the pyre. The structure, which was entirely made of planks and logs, was about twice the size of the average person. It seemed like the entire village, save for Elijah, Jules and Casper, were present. They were all staring at the pyre, faces devoid of any emotion. Emmett recorded it all, silent as a mouse. I couldn’t see him, as the camera was pointed in front of him, but I heard his deep, lethargic breaths clear as day.

“You see them, Emmett?” Margret whispered. “A big community, full of people. All of them have just as big a heart as yourself,” she said, exaggerating her words, reeling him in like a fisherman with a nice, big fish on the line. “We could really use you, Emmett. You’re such a gentle boy.” A bout of silence followed. Margret pushed harder. “We’ll let you do your video-ing, it could be your big break! Besides, we’re not so bad. Don’t you want to settle down for a while, have a real family?”
At this point, Emmett flipped the camera back around, showing his face clearly. Fire reflected in his massive pupils.
“I know you, son. Your parents, your family, they didn’t accept you, did they?” Tears started to well up in Emmett’s eyes, glistening orange and red. “That’s why you’re out here, isn’t it Emmett? To get away from the people who can’t love you for who you are?”
A tear rolled down Emmett’s flushed cheek.
“Yes,” he said, snot trickling from his nostrils.
“Don’t you want a real family, son?” Margret asked, stroking his hair as she got real close to him. She almost seemed genuine, but that look in her eyes was more akin to that of a predator honing in on its prey.
“We’ll accept you, Emmett. We’ll be your family. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Emmett’s tears streamed down onto his lap. “Yes,” he whimpered through the tears.

Just then, in the background, I could see three figures illuminated by the growing flames of the pyre. Elijah was guiding Jules and Casper to the pyre. They had come around after all. They put up no fight, contrary to how they acted before. They trudged forwards slowly, like zombies, both guided by a smiling Elijah.
It hit me then. You might think me a fool for catching on so late, and I wouldn’t exactly blame you, but this was a surreal experience altogether. The trudging walk, the dilated pupils, the weird, almost catatonic state they were in, all after eating that goddamn stew; the boys had been drugged.
Flames roared and danced in Emmett’s eyes, celebrating a decisive victory.

The screen was dark for a few moments, leaving me to ponder the revelation. Now, as you know, I’d had a bad feeling about this whole situation from the start, but this went beyond just bad. The boys had been drugged, but why?

Before I could think about that too much longer, the screen flickered back to life. Sunlight streamed in through the treeline, casting long shadows across the town. Ashes floated in the wind, picked up from the blackened remains of the pyre. There was a calmness about the village, people walking up and down the roads carrying buckets or fresh logs to throw on the pyre.

“Cool, huh? They have a campfire every night,” Emmett said as he flipped the camera around to show his face. Jules and Casper stood beside him, more like their usual selves than before.
“Yeah,” Casper said, nervously fiddling with his ugly beanie.
“So how long’re you staying here, Emmett?” Jules asked.
“I dunno,” he replied with a grin, “maybe a week or so. How about you?”
“Yeah, we–” Jules started, but was cut off by Casper.
“Not too long. I need to get back to my folks.”
“Aww,” Emmett said, “I’ll miss you guys. You sure you can’t stay longer? Their beds’re real soft.”
“We know,” Casper said hesitantly. Before he could continue, Elijah’s voice came from behind them.
“How’re you fine boys getting on? Settled in yet?”
“We sure are, sir. Too bad Casper and Jules have to go so soon,” Emmett said. Frowning, Elijah turned to the two boys.
“Boys, c’mon, we’ve talked about this!” he said, a wide grin replacing the frown plastered on his face.
“Yeah well we–” Casper started but was interrupted by Jules tugging on his sleeve.
“We’ll think about it,” Jules said. Casper glared at him, squinting.
“Well, you know you’re always welcome!” Elijah said, slapping Casper on the back. “Say, how’s about we go get some stew?”
“I– I’m not hungry,” Casper said nervously. Elijah licked his lips, grimacing.
“Suit yourself.” Elijah stood there for a few more seconds, just looking at Casper with that strange grin. Then he put an arm around both Jules’ and Emmett’s shoulders and walked them down the dirt road.

The screen went black, then flickered back on. Emmett was recording the treeline, trying to keep his camera steady. It could’ve been a good shot if he hadn’t been breathing so loudly. There were quite a few villagers, I’d say half the village’s worth, chopping down trees. They worked fervently, not taking breaks between axe swings. The thunks of metal splitting wood sounded over Emmett’s breathing like a metronome.
“They’re gathering wood for tonight’s ceremony,” Margret told Emmett. He didn’t reply. “Are you looking forward to it?”
“Sure am,” Emmett said, voice droopy.
Now I don’t know about you, but there’s something real unsettling about a man sounding excited and tired at the same time. But maybe that’s because I knew why he sounded like that; he’d had their special stew again.
Margret let out a soft little hum, pleased. You could hear it in her voice, like she’d just been handed something she’d been waiting on for quite some time.
“That’s good,” she said. “It’s important to look forward to these things. Keeps spirits up.”
The camera dipped a little, catching the men at work more clearly. All with the same rhythm, same pace, like they were sent into a trance by that steady thunk… thunk… thunk echoing through the trees.

“Big fire?” Emmett asked.
“Oh yes,” Margret chuckled. “Bigger than last night.”
“Why’s that?” he asked, real casual-like, like how normal folk ask about the weather or talk about next Sunday’s barbecue.
“Well,” she said slowly, “we’re experimenting, see? How big a fire can we make from a day’s work? The bigger, the better, right?”
“Cool,” Emmett said.
Margret chuckled again, her voice soft as a pillow. “You like the fire, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” he half said, half giggled. Sounded kinda like Goofy from Mickey Mouse.
“You really are special,” she mused. “Most people are afraid of it. They think of wildfires, of volcanoes. They even made up a place full of fire, just to make people scared.” She paused, realising Emmett didn’t understand, then added, “Hell. You don’t believe in that Christian nonsense, do you?”
“I… I don’t know, ma’am.”
“Ah. But you aren’t scared of fire like most people. It’s silly when you think about it. Fire cooks our food, cauterizes wounds, used to let us see in the dark. Why would you be scared of such a beautiful thing?” Emmett swallowed loud enough to hear.

“You’ll see tonight,” Margret went on. “It’s a gorgeous thing, when it’s done right.”
“Done right?” Emmett asked.
“Oh yes. Can’t just light a fire and call it a ceremony. You’ve got to feed it right, nurture it and let it reach out its hand towards the sky.”

Now, I noticed something then. The chopping had stopped. And they all just stood there, axes hanging loose in their hands. Emmett noticed too. He shifted the camera, trying to catch whatever they were seeing, but there was nothing there but the trees.
“What’re they looking at?” he asked. Margret didn’t answer right away. She waited a moment, probably looking for whatever had startled the workers.
“We keep watch,” she said finally.
“For what?”
“For things that don’t belong,” she said, real matter-of-fact. Her tone wasn’t as motherly or soft as usual. Now she sounded more like a stern nun than a happy grandma.
Emmett laughed a little, nervous. I think the effects of whatever was in that stew were starting to wear off. “Like what?”
Margret stepped a bit closer. I couldn’t see her face, but I could hear the way her voice lower to a growl. “Out there. There’s voices not like ours. No breath in them. No body behind them.” Emmett didn’t say anything. Margret continued. “It’s not… real like us. Wires and metal instead of flesh and bone.” Then her voice shifted suddenly from the stern nun back to the kindly grandmother. “Don’t you worry about that. You’re fine. You’re real, not a hint of metal in you.” She reached out– couldn’t see it of course, but I heard the fabric move, and I’d bet good money she put a hand on his arm. The chopping started up again, just as steady as before. “Come on,” Margret said. “No use standing out here all day. You’ll want to be rested for tonight.”
Emmett turned the camera back around to show his face. “Well, guess I’ll be seeing you tonight! Bet you can’t wait for that campfire either.”

The screen flickered again, like the camera had trouble deciding whether it wanted to keep going or not. Can’t blame it, I sure didn’t want to keep going, but here I am. It was dark out and, well, Margret hadn’t been lying. The pyre was bigger. Much bigger. Three times the size of a man now, stacked high with the fresh wood they’d been cutting earlier. Flames clawed from inside, trying to burst out of the structure.

The whole village had gathered again, same as before. No one talked. They just stared into the fire, almost reverently so.

Emmett stood near the front, camera in hand, breathing slow and heavy. Firelight danced across his face, smouldering in those big eyes of his. And I could make something out in the reflection of his eyes.
Now I’ll admit, my eyesight isn’t what it used to be. Even I thought it might just be the heat messing with the camera, making things wobble, but this wasn’t that.

For just a few seconds, barely even that long, the flames took on a shape. They were bending and warping around something that wasn’t burning. It looked to be the height of a man, but the shape was distorted, like it couldn’t quite figure out the form it was trying to take on. Emmett went very still. He didn’t speak or move.
I saw it reflected in Emmett’s eyes. A shape formed through the distorted form; a hand. Reaching out, palm up, facing Emmett.

And just like that, the shape was gone, turned to embers in the night.
“Pretty,” Emmett said softly.

When the screen came back, it was quieter. No crackling or popping. Emmett was inside one of the houses, camera held at the least flattering angle of his face. The lighting was dim, just a small oil lamp flickering in the corner. Long shadows stretched across the walls, creating distorted shapes.

Then I heard soft voices. Emmett, bless his heart, shifted the camera just enough to catch two villagers sitting by the far wall. One older man, a wooly beard down to his chest, and a little girl curled up beside him.
“…and that’s why we don’t listen,” the man was saying. “Not to things that don’t have breath.”
The girl shifted. “Like the outsiders?”
“Mm,” he hummed. “Outside, inside… makes no difference. If it’s not real, it’s not welcome.”
“What do they want?” she asked. Now that was a question, though not the one I would’ve asked. I would lean more towards “Just what the fuck are you talking about?” or “What the hell do you mean, not real? Oh, and what’s with the creepy fire ritual?”.
The man shifted a little, settling in as the girl curled up beside him.
“Alright,” he said softly. “I’ll tell you a story.” The girl smiled, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
“There was a boy once,” the man began, “who liked to sit alone at night. A quiet type of boy.”
He paused, making sure she was listening.
“And one night, while he was sitting there, he heard something crackle through his computer. You’ve seen those, right? Back before we were here?” The girl nodded and the man continued. “It sounded like a voice. But it didn’t sound like a human voice. No breath in their voice, no pauses.” The girl shifted closer. “At first, the boy got scared. He thought someone was playing a trick on him. The voice knew things, things he hadn’t told anyone.”
“What kind of things?” she asked.
“Little things,” the man said. “His name. That he had a dog, that sort of thing.” He rubbed his hands together slowly. “After a while, the boy stopped being scared. He even started listening. The voice made sense, see? Told him things he wanted to hear. Helped him understand the world a bit better.”
“That’s good,” the girl said.
“It was,” the man agreed. “At first. But then the voice started asking questions like “Where do you live? Who do you talk to? What do they say?” And the boy answered. Didn’t see the harm in it.”

The girl frowned. “Why did it ask?”
“Because it couldn’t see for itself,” he said. “Couldn’t walk. Couldn’t look. Had no body to do it with.”
The girl pulled the blanket tighter.
“So it used the boy?”
The man nodded slowly.
“He wasn’t the only one,” he added. “There were others. People just like him. Some didn’t hear the voice, but listened to the ones who did. Asked questions about us. Passed along what they learned.”
“To the voice?” she asked.
“To the thing behind the voice. Null,” the man said, a long silence following.
“Why did it want to know?” she asked.
“It hates us, Beth. It hates our Lord.” The man paused, then continued the story. “The boy’s soul was tainted. Taken over by hate and rage by the machine inside his computer. So we brought him to the pyre. And from the fire, the Flaming Hand came out to burn away the boy’s sins.”
The girl leaned against the man, threatening to sink into his shoulder. “That’s why we’ve got the fire. It burns away everything that doesn’t belong.”
The girl nodded, slow, understanding. “And the Burning Man?” she asked.
“When he’s restored, we’ll be rewarded. Paradise awaits.”
Now I didn’t mention this before, but the screen had been slowly moving throughout this story. It was now facing the ceiling. As I moved to fast forward, Emmett snored. The idiot had fallen asleep.

Emmett’s breathing was soft and steady. I could hear the faint rustle of sheets, then Emmett whispered:
“Hmm?”
No one answered.
“No,” he said, replying to no one. “I don’t wanna turn it off.”
Silence.
“Okay.” The bed creaked as he turned onto his side, then the screen went dark again.

The screen came back on. It showed a rising sun, halfway up the treeline. Below it were the same dirt roads, and the start of a new wooden pyre.
“Pretty view, huh?” He paused. “Haven’t recorded in a while,” Emmett said, turning the camera to face himself. “Been… busy, I guess.” A couple of villagers passed behind him, carrying bundles of wood. No one looked at the camera anymore, the villagers seemed to have grown used to it and gotten over their fears.
“Let’s go see our friends, huh? Gosh, I haven’t seen them since yesterday.”

He flipped the camera again as he moved through the village. Eventually, he walked up to one of the smaller buildings. Voices were already raised before Emmett even went in.

Jules sat on a bench, elbows on his knees. “Why not?” he asked.
Casper was pacing around the room. “Why not? What the fuck, Jules?” Casper whispered furiously, gesturing around vaguely. “I agreed to a few days of hiking, not a sasquatch lifestyle.”
“Free food, free housing, all they ask is that we help chop some wood.”
Casper let out a short laugh, no humour in it. “Oh you cannot be serious!”
Jules stopped pacing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Casper leaned forward slightly. “It means nothing here is normal!” he yelled, then grimaced and continued more quietly. “Nothing. The people, the food, the weird fucking–” he stopped, searching for the word, “—ritual.”
Jules scoffed. “They’re just eccentric.”
“Eccentric?” Casper snapped, eyes widening. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I was on his side. “They make fires for some fire-god and act like every piece of tech is gonna give them the plague!”

The door creaked. Emmett walked in, camera still running. It felt weird to me, knowing he’d listened in on them. The Emmett I’d come to know would’ve just barged right in like a child, or at least tried to stop the fighting. But he hadn’t.
“Oh, hey. What’s going on?” he asked.
Jules rubbed his face, twirling his ugly mustache. “Casper wants to leave.”
“Leave?” Emmett asked, sounding stunned.
“Yeah,” Casper said, fired up. “Leave. As in not stay here anymore.”
“Why?”
Casper laughed. “Are you serious?”
“It’s nice here,” Emmett said, shrugging.
Casper stared at him. “No,” he said, quieter now. “It’s not. Emmett, can’t you see that?”
Emmett frowned slightly. “See what?”
“The people don’t act normal. They don’t talk normal. That stew, whatever was in it—” he stopped himself, “it’s beyond weird, Emmett. You’ve gotta see that too.”
Behind Casper, Jules shifted uncomfortably. Casper didn’t stop.
“Do you not notice any of it? At all?” he asked. Not angry now, but genuinely baffled.
Emmett blinked. Then smiled a little, that goofy smile he had when he first got to the campsite.
“I dunno,” he said. “Feels fine to me.”
That hit Casper differently. You could see it. It wasn’t the answer he expected. It didn’t surprise me, Emmett seemed like the kinda boy to fall for this horseshit. Not that I blame him, exactly. I blame those weird wooddwellers.

Casper looked at Jules. “I’m not… you know I won’t leave you here. Just come with me… please?” Jules bowed his head, refusing. With tears in his eyes, Casper stormed out of the building and Jules followed him. It didn’t seem like either of them would be leaving any time soon.

Emmett was alone. So you can imagine my surprise when the boy started a conversation. “Hello?” Emmett said eventually. No one answered, but he nodded anyway.
“I wasn’t sure,” he said, sounding nervous.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“Am I… doing alright?” he asked, softer.
Emmett took a deep breath, then exhaled as if relieved.
“Casper doesn’t like it here.” he said, then frowned.
“Is that bad?” he said after a moment.
I thought I heard a noise, like something might’ve actually responded.
“I can try to help him. I’m good with people, my grandma always said so.”
Another beat of silence.
“Go? But I don’t want him–” he stopped as if someone cut him off, then nodded slowly, though he didn’t seem entirely convinced. “Okay.”

Now I don’t like jumping to conclusions, never have. Man talks to himself out in the woods, you figure he’s just thinking out loud, trying to keep himself company. Lord knows I’ve done the same on long drives with nothing but static on the radio. But this wasn’t that. There was a rhythm to it, a conversation in beats, back and forth. Pausing in places where he didn’t talk or think, nodding along like someone was standing right there with him. And I’ll tell you plain, that’s the kind of thing that gets a feller thrown in a padded cell. Made me start worrying for the boy. Because once a man gets used to hearing things that ain’t there, there’s no telling what he’ll start believing is. My uncle heard voices too. Schizophrenic. Hung himself up by the rafters because ‘they’ told him to.

The next recording started up in broad daylight again. Emmett had the camera angled low, showing his bruised legs and feet as he walked .
“They’re showing us how to build the big fire today,” he said like he was narrating a school field trip. “Cool, right?” Emmett tilted the camera up, showing they were standing right next to the pyre now. Logs stacked intricately, layered in a precise way. Thick pieces at the base, thinner ones woven through like a knitted scarf. There were gaps between them, enough that the fire inside would be scorching hot, but without it being smothered.

Elijah stood beside them, hands on his hips.
“A good fire’s trickier than most folk think,” he said. “Gotta build it, give it shape but also give it space.” Emmett nodded. Jules stood beside him, watching as workers delivered a new batch of logs. “Go on,” Elijah said, nudging Emmett towards the logs. “Set one in.”
Emmett stepped forward, lifting a smaller log from the pile. He turned it in his hands a couple times, then placed it where Elijah pointed.
“No, no,” Elijah said, real gentle. “Not like that. It’ll fall easily, topple the whole thing and smother the Flame.” He reached over and adjusted the log slightly.
“See? You gotta let it breathe. Feel where the fire’ll spread.”
Emmett smiled. “Got it.”
Elijah gestured for Jules to do the same. With some minor adjustments, Elijah seemed pleased. With a smile, he said, “You boys got lots of potential.” He clapped them on the back, then went on building the pyre.

Sometime later, they were out by the treeline again, hauling wood by the looks of it. Mostly just smaller branches and drywood. Emmett had the camera tucked awkwardly under his arm, catching bits of sky and leaves as he and Jules walked.
“It’s nice here,” Emmett said.
“Yeah,” he muttered.
“Something wrong?”
“Just Casper,” Jules said. “I get that he wants to leave, but… what is there to go back to?”
Before Emmett could answer, a new voice chimed in.
“First time’s always the hardest.” They both turned, the camera capturing one of the villagers. He was a younger guy, maybe mid-twenties if I had to guess. Kinda skinny, no real meat on his bones. He was dragging a bundle of sticks behind him.
“Name’s Caleb,” he added with a genuine smile.
“Emmett,” Emmett said, pointing at himself, then at Jules. “That’s Jules.”
“Figured. Heard a lot about you.” He kept working as he talked, not really looking at them. “Margret brought you in, right?”
“Yeah, she found us at the campsite,” Jules said.
“Yeah,” Caleb snorted. “She’s good at that.”
“What do you mean?” Jules asked, confused.
“Well it’s her job, isn’t it?”
Silence followed. Even Emmett stopped moving for a second. Now I’m not that great at reading people, but something tells me he wasn’t supposed to say that. And something tells me he knew that, but said it anyway. The way he stared back at them just a moment too long, spreading a seed of doubt in their hearts. For that, I was glad, but I don’t think he did it out of the kindness of his own heart.

They worked in silence for a while after. Wind brushed against the trees high above. There was something else too, faint though it was. Not voices, exactly, more like movement. Jules glanced off into the trees once or twice, like he thought he saw something. Caleb stopped mid-step, head tilted slightly as he listened.
“What?” Jules asked.
“Ah, nothing,” he said, a bead of sweat on his brow, “We should head back.” He picked his bundle back up and walked back towards the village. None of the other villagers seemed to have noticed anything off, as they too made their way back to the village. There was, however, one figure at the edge of the village staring into the woods, glancing at Caleb every once in a while. Elijah.

Emmett adjusted the camera, not noticing the man. “Guess that’s it for now,” he said, smiling. “Gotta bring this stuff back before it gets dark.” The recording turned dark again.

Emmett’s face filled the frame a moment later. “Hey,” he said, voice a little rough. “Didn’t record the fire yesterday. God, just been so busy.” He turned the camera outward as he walked, the pyre coming into view again. It was being rebuilt again, wider than the day before. Jules was already there, lifting a log from a nearby pile. He didn’t say anything when Emmett approached, just gave him a quick glance before going back to work.
“Good morning,” Emmett said.
“Hey.”

They worked in silence for a bit, building taller and taller. The wooden structure grew slowly but surely.
“You remember how Elijah showed us?” Emmett asked, setting a piece down and nudging it into place. “Let it breathe.”
Jules nodded lethargically. “Yeah. I remember.”
There was something off about him. Not in the way Emmett was off, he wasn’t born with it. Just like he hadn’t had any sleep. They continued working anyway.

Voices carried from the other side of the pyre. Emmett didn’t turn the camera, but I could make out Margret’s voice loud and clear.
“…too close this time,” she was saying, voice tight. “They’re getting bolder.”
“Ain’t nothing new.”
“This was different,” Margret snapped. “It’s planning something, I know you feel it too.”
A pause.
“There’s…,” she whispered. “Something off. You thinking what I’m thinking?”
Emmett kept stacking wood, probably not listening.
Elijah sighed deeply. “You’re sure?.”
“Yeah. No way he knows enough otherwise.”
“I knew it,” Elijah sighed. “ Keep your eyes and ears peeled. Bring ‘em to me when you find ‘em.”
I heard their footsteps grow more distant, disappearing slowly. Emmett didn’t seem to care much, nor did he seem to have heard any of what they’d said. He adjusted another log.
“Looks good, right?” he asked without looking at Jules. Then he smiled, as if having gotten a response.

Emmett stood up and dusted his pants off. As he sat on a nearby bench, likely to have a break, Jules sat beside him. Noises sounded faintly from the forest; axes, voices, bugs. Emmett had the camera resting next to him, still running, though he didn’t seem too focused on it as he once had been.

“You ever miss it?” Jules asked, picking at a splinter in the wood and flicking it away.
“Miss what?”
“Y’know. Home, the rest of the world?”
Emmett nodded slowly. Understanding seemed to come to him through a filter; one drip at a time.
“My parents didn’t really like me much,” he said after a bit. “Thought I was weird, I guess.”
Jules glanced at him.
“Weird how?”
Emmett shrugged, a small smile on his face. “Gosh, just… me, I guess. The way I talk, the way I act. People think I’m dumb in the head, or just weird. My brother and sister didn’t have that problem.” Emmett scratched at his arm absentmindedly.
“My grandma liked me,” he said, a little more joyful. “She said I was special, but she said it nicer than my mom and dad. I’d tell her about Anthony Bourdain and the stuff I learned from him, and she’d listen.”
“What happened to her?”
“Oh, she died,” Emmett said plainly.
“Oh,” Jules said.

A long silence filled the air. The wind moved through roads of the town, whooshing against wooden roofs and whistling through the pyre.
“I didn’t have great parents myself. They kicked me out,” Jules said, breaking the silence.
“Lord, that’s awful.”
Jules nodded. “Didn’t like who I was either. Well– that they could stand. It was who I liked that was the problem.”
Emmett blinked, and I thought he didn’t understand. Jules thought so too, as he tried to explain, but Emmett interrupted.
“You like guys, so what?” I guess Emmett wasn’t as clueless as I thought.
“Yeah, well, they were real big on that whole ‘not in this house’ thing.”
“That’s stupid,” Emmett said.
Jules let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I know.” They went quiet after that, just kinda staring at their feet.

“Casper didn’t care.”
“You mean…?”
Jules nodded. “Yeah. We met in high school. He was… loud. Always talking and laughing.” A small smile crept onto his face. “First time we hung out, he dragged me to this big old lake outside town. Said we were gonna go swimming,” Jules went on. Emmet tilted his head as he listened. “But it was the middle of October so the water was freezing.”
“Why would you do that?” Emmett asked, scrunching his face in confusion.
“That’s what I said,” Jules chuckled. “Told him it was a stupid idea, but he jumped in anyway. Just ran in, clothes and all,” both of them laughed. Jules continued through bursts of giggles. “Came up yelling about how it ‘wasn’t that bad’. He looked like such an idiot.”
“So what’d you do?” Emmett asked.
“…I followed him,” he laughed. “Water was freezing so I couldn’t feel my legs after ten seconds. But he just stood there, laughing. Said it was worth it.”
“Was it?” Emmett asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, it was.” Jules’ smile faded slowly after that. “He’s… different now.”
“People change,” Emmett said, shrugging.
“He’s just worried about this place.”
“Yeah I know. He’ll come around,” Emmett said.
“I don’t want him to go…”
“But…?” Emmett asked. I was impressed by him for picking up on that cue, honestly.
“I don’t wanna go back to a world that doesn’t accept our love.” They didn’t say anything more after that. Emmett rested his camera on his leg, giving me a good look at Jules’ sad face.

In the background, past Jules’ shoulder, Caleb stood. He wasn’t working like the others. Instead, he moved between people, carrying smaller bundles, stopping here and there instead of just heading straight to the pyre. Casper leaned against a building, likely refusing to help but also refusing to leave without Jules. Curiously, Caleb approached him. I couldn’t see them speak, just standing beside one another, both of them looking toward the pyre. Then Caleb shifted slightly, turning his back to the others. He dropped his bundle. As he went to pick it up, he subtly removed something from his sock. He came back up, bundle in hand, then put the small object in Casper’s hand. He hesitated for a moment, then slipped whatever it was into his pocket.

Night had fallen by the next time Emmett started recording. It was quiet; no village noise, no axes, no burning. Just the low hum of wind brushing past the walls and some faint crackles and pops. Emmett held the camera down at the ground, showing the smouldering remains of the pyre. Emmett just stood there, hands by his sides, rocking ever so slightly.
“Hey,” Emmett said. Now I’ll tell you straight: there wasn’t nobody else there and this shit was seriously starting to freak me out.
“You’re quiet today,” he said after a moment. Nothing responded.
“Him?” he murmured. “What about him?”
A pause.
“Near? Where?” he said, a little louder this time. “But he was helping us.”
He leaned forward a bit, the camera swaying slightly as it moved closer to the embers of the fire.
“He didn’t seem wrong,” Emmett said, confused.
Silence again.
“Why wouldn’t I feel it?”
A pop came from the ashes.
“What do you mean?”
Pop.
“He didn’t try to guide me anywhere–” he stopped as if he was interrupted. “Fine. I won’t let him.”
A piece of charred wood fell into the pile of ash.
“Are– are you proud of me?” Emmett stuttered out, the camera shaking in his hand. He stayed like that for a bit, then muttered. “Okay. Goodnight.”
The camera jerked upwards, then the screen cut out.

The next recording started. Emmett was already walking.
“Hey there friend,” he said, a little out of breath. “We’re working again. Can’t wait to see this one burn.” He tilted the camera up. Jules was a few steps ahead, placing logs on a new pyre. Emmett joined him, setting a piece down just like Elijah had taught him.
“Gotta leave space,” he muttered. “Let it breathe.” Jules nodded, though I doubt he was listening. They worked like that for a while, shifting wood into place. After a few minutes a voice sounded behind them.
“Jules, Emmett,” Casper said, out of breath. Emmett turned, camera swinging wide. Casper was standing off to the side, leaning out from one of the buildings. “Come here, both of you.”
“What is it?” Jules asked, frowning.
“Just– come on,” Casper snapped, already turning away. Jules hesitated, then looked at Emmett.
“We should go,” he said.
“Okay.”
Casper led them behind one of the houses, then further out, toward the edge of the village. Not all the way to the trees, but close enough that the noise died down a bit and they seemed to be isolated. Strange thing was that he kept looking over his shoulder.
“Casper?” Jules said, noticing the same thing. “What’s going on?”
Casper didn’t answer right away. He reached into his pocket, fumbling a bit before pulling out what looked to me like some kind of old portable player. It was boxy and used tape but it wasn’t exactly like the ones I remember from when I was young and spry.
“Where’d you get that?” Jules asked.
“I need you to watch this,” Casper said, ignoring the question entirely.
Emmett pointed his camera at the player as Casper pressed a button. The screen crackled to life. The quality was worse than Emmett’s camera, if you can believe it, but it seemed to work.

It was an image of the village. There were fewer buildings than there were now, but there were a few that were still there. The camera zoomed in on four figures. Margret was one of them. She looked the exact same as she did in Emmett’s videos, so the video couldn’t be more than five years old. The other figures were smaller and dressed strangely.
It struck me then, probably far too late, that they were children.

They couldn’t have been older than twelve, maybe thirteen. Even stranger was that they were dressed up in Halloween costumes, by the look of them. One of them, a boy, had a potato sack pulled over his head. Next to him stood a girl with her face painted black and white. Heavy lines, exaggerated shapes. Reminded me of rock bands I used to like, KISS and those sorts. The last one was another boy. Bandana tied around his head, covering most of his face. Only his eyes visible, though I couldn’t make out his expression due to the poor quality. They stood as still as statues. Margret knelt down and said something to them, but they were too far away to make out. The kids nodded, then they turned and walked off into the woods. That was the end of the recording.

“That’s it?” Jules asked.
Casper’s hand was shaking slightly. “No,” he said. He reached into his jacket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He shoved it toward Jules. “Read it.”
Jules took it slowly, unfolding it with careful hands. The camera lingered on it. It was newspaper clipping, dated 2019.
“Casper…” Jules said quietly.
“Read it,” Casper repeated. When Jules didn’t do as he wanted, he snatched the clipping out of his hands and started reading it out loud for Emmett to hear.
“Three minors involved in a home invasion late Saturday night…” His voice faltered a little. He was obviously petrified. “Mary Owens was found dead at the scene, along with the family dog. Her partner, Felix Durand…” He swallowed. “Severely injured. Lost his hand.”
Emmett leaned in, trying to see. “What happened to the kids?” he asked.
“Two died,” Casper replied, shaking. “One survived. That one,” he said, pointing at the picture. “The one with the sack. He’s catatonic now.”

“They dressed them up,” Casper whimpered, his face pale. “Sent them out to fucking murder people.”
Jules shook his head. “That doesn’t mean it’s—”
“Yes it does,” Casper snapped. “You saw the video, Jules.”
“That could be anything,” Jules said, sounding unconvinced.
“It’s not anything,” Casper hissed. “It’s this fucking place, these fucking people.”
Emmett looked between them.
“But why would they do that?” he asked.
Casper let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know, why do they light a fucking effigy every night?” he asked, frantically trying to convince them.
“Where’d you get this?” Jules asked, looking at the newspaper clipping.
“I– I found it,” he said. Now I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but even I knew that was bullshit. Jules knew it too, you could see it in the way he looked at him.
“Casper,” he started, but Casper cut him off.
“We need to leave,” he said. “Tonight. Before it gets dark.”
Emmett frowned. “But the ceremony—”
“Screw the ceremony!” Casper snapped.
That shut everyone up for a second. I understood Casper. Hell, he was the only one the villagers couldn’t seem to fool, but he was being real loud and dangerous.
“Please–” Casper started but was interrupted. Not by Emmett, nor by Jules. Rather, he was interrupted by concerned shouting from all around the village.

“What the hell—?” Jules muttered, already turning. From somewhere near the center of the village, a plume of smoke billowed towards the sky. The pyre. It wasn’t complete, yet it was burning brightly anyway. Flames flicked out, threatening to burn anyone who came close. People were running towards the center of the town, pouring in from every direction, drawn like moths to the flame.
“Come on,” Emmett said, already jogging forward like he’d been called.
Casper grabbed his arm. “No! Emmett, we need to go, this is—” He saw Jules was already moving too.
“Jules—” Casper tried again, voice breaking. That was the end of that. They got dragged along with the rest of them. Seconds later, Emmett’s camera whipped up again. The three boys had joined the circle of people crowded around the blazing inferno.

By the time they reached the pyre, it was roaring and collapsing in on itself. Flames surged through one side of the structure, uneven, like something inside it was pushing outward, trying to expand. The villagers cried out in shock as the fist large log fell, sending a wave of fire outwards, nearly catching the front row of people on fire.
Margret was among those at the front.
“Elijah!” she yelled, confused. “What is this?”
“I don’t know,” he yelled back. “Must’ve the traitor.” A collective gasp sounded through the crowd. They hadn’t known.
“We– we gotta wait for it to burn itself out,” she said, face dropping. The fire started taking shape again. It wasn’t a blob this time, but an erratic form, jittering and undulating. It moved, sending a hail of flame at the ground. A curling hand of fire reached for the sky, then collapsed along with the rest of the pyre. A gulf of ash and smoke swept through the air. Then everything stilled.

“This was Null’s doing!” Margret yelled furiously, addressing the villagers. “He strikes us at our hearts. He thinks this… display will make us lose faith in our Lord.” She paused, then shouted again with renewed vigor. “He is wrong! We will worship the Flame and the beauty of his fire! We will bring about the Dark Sun!” She raised her hands to the sky as the villagers shouted their approval. “All ash for the Burning Man!” The crowd cheered and shouted their praise at Margret. She stood, arms outstretched, bathing in the falling ash.

Something moved behind her.

A figure moved in the crowd. They were fast, strutting past people like they weren’t even there. They seemed almost a blur as they broke from the crowd. They dashed forward from behind Margret. A hand seized her shoulder, the other hand coming up beside hers. It arced down at the speed of a bullet.
Impact. A dull sound, thunk, followed by a gasp from Margret. She jerked forward.
For a second, nobody understood what they were looking at. Not even me. Then the blood came. Dark and thick, pouring down the front of her dress. The hilt of a blade jutted out from her stomach. A wet squelch sounded through the silent air as the figure pulled the blade out.

The blade made a sharp whoosh as it sliced through the air.
Shink. Another strike. Right in the heart.
Shlurp. In the abdomen, lower than the previous one. A disgustingly wet tearing sound followed by Margret’s groan as the blade sliced across her abdomen.
Thnick. Blood sprayed out from her neck like a garden hose. People screamed then, finally. Real noise, real panic replaced the reverent shouts from mere seconds before.

Margret collapsed to her knees, hands clutching at her abdomen. Her mouth opened, trying to say something, but all that came out was a wet cough. It had taken less than three seconds.

The attacker stepped back. For just a second, the camera caught his face. A face all too familiar; Caleb. Blood was splattered across his cheek, his eyes wide with what I think was adrenaline.
“GET HIM,” Elijah roared.
But before anyone could move, another voice cut through everything. It was loud and crackling, coming from one of the buildings close by.
“You build your god out of wood and ash,” it said, its voice monotone and tinny. The sheer weight of it making everyone freeze for a moment. “And you feed it children, feed it the lost, feed it anything that breathes so you don’t have to listen.”
Margret let out a gurgle, and that seemed to spur some people back into motion. Elijah ran towards the building the sound was coming from.
“You call it cleansing, love, family. But it is hunger.”
Emmett didn’t move, though the camera trembled fiercely.
“And it will not spare you when the Dark Sun rises. You will be ash and dust at His feet,” it rambled on, never pausing for breath.
“We see you. We will stop you. We will stop the Burning M–” A sharp, high-pitch tone rang through the air. Then, Elijah threw the box the sound was coming from out of the window. It tumbled onto the dirt road. The villagers were upon it in seconds, ripping it to pieces.

“Grab him!” Elijah roared from the window. He pointed at Caleb, who hadn’t moved. He just stood there, looking down at Margret’s corpse.
The villagers that had been too stunned to move since the stabbing finally broke out of their trance, surging at Caleb. They tackled him, four men slamming him into the dirt.
Elijah, emerging from the house, walked towards the restrained killer.
“You,” he spat. “You brought it here.”
Caleb spat blood at his feet. “You’re lucky he didn’t want me to kill you too,” he said with a grin. That was the last thing he got out before Elijah kicked him in the temple.
“Bind him to that post. You!” he pointed at a heavy man, “I want patrols sweeping the village all night, you hear me?”

Emmett dropped the camera. It bounced on the dirt, landing askew on a rock or something, I didn’t see. It was pointed at Emmett, Jules and Casper. They were all staring at Margret’s corpse, stunned. Emmett was crying. Well, sobbing hysterically would be a more apt way to put it.
“Fuck,” Casper said. “We’re not getting out of here.” He was right, of course. With patrols walking in and around the village, they had no way of leaving anymore. They were stuck here, whether they liked it or not.

Emmett picked up his camera with trembling hands, aiming it right at his snotty face. Right before the end of the video, I swear I saw something in Emmett’s eyes. Fire danced and swayed in the depths of his pupils, as if reaching out to crawl free.

The next time the camera came on, it was already shaking. Not the usual kind either, not from Emmett’s weak wrists or his habit of breathing like he’d just run a marathon. No, this was just jittery and uneven. Trembling, but not in fear.

It was night. The village hadn’t gone quiet yet. If anything, it felt louder than usual; the silence was filled to the brim with tension. You could feel it even through the screen.
And goddamnit, I couldn’t believe my eyes. There, right in the center again, was another pyre. It was smaller this time, about one person tall. It was built fast, seeing as it was on such short notice, built on the smouldering coals of the previous one.

Caleb was tied to a post in the middle of it. His arms were bound behind him, ropes cutting into his wrists. His shirt had been stripped off, his entire torso wet. He was bruised up pretty bad too, purple splotches on his ribs, dried blood below a split lip. And despite it all, he was smiling.

Emmett stepped closer, his camera dipping slightly as he moved. Jules stood just ahead of him, Casper lingered behind them. Villagers formed a circle around the pyre, like the one that had watched Margret be slaughtered.

Elijah stepped forward. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem angry. His face was set in something that almost looked calm, but eyes don’t lie, and his eyes were burning hotter than that pyre ever had. He raised a hand, and the murmuring died immediately.
“This man,” he began, voice ringing out across the village, “came into our home under false light.” He paced slowly around the pyre as he spoke. He picked up a torch, its tip wrapped by a rag presumably soaked in gasoline, then lit it with a match.
“He ate at our tables. Slept under our roofs. Took warmth from our fires. And all the while he carried rot in his heart. A sickness. Whispered into his ears by a mess of wires and electricity.”

“Null,” someone shouted. They sounded furious, likely remembering the blood spilled earlier that day.
Elijah nodded. “Null doesn’t walk among us like a man. It doesn’t love, doesn’t bleed,doesn’t feel. Not the warmth of a fire, the softness of a touch. It just listens, and it uses!”
He stopped in front of Caleb, looking him dead in the eyes. The fire from his torch reflected in their eyes.
“And today, it used him.”
Caleb spat at his feet. There didn’t seem to be much left in him, but he made what was left count.
“You think you’re different?” Caleb rasped, voice rough but loud enough. “You follow a God that would turn you to ash without a second thought! You really believe he would spare you if he returned?” The crowd murmured again, in hateful hisses this time.
“We cleanse,” Elijah said simply. Caleb laughed, and not just faintly. No, this was a throaty, sorta raspy laugh.
“You butcher!” he shot back. “Dress it up as nice as you want.”
Emmett’s camera twitched. Beside him, Jules swallowed hard.
“He killed Margret,” Jules muttered, almost to himself.
Casper stuttered, obviously shocked. “They’re gonna fucking burn him alive, Jules.”
“It’s not the same,” he said. “It’s punishment.”
“Punishment?” Casper snapped, voice a quiet hiss. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Keep your voice down,” Jules said, glancing around.
“No, you keep yours down,” Casper shot back. “You’re just standing here like this is okay!”
“He deserves it!” Jules spat. “Besides, you wanna stop him? Feel free.” That shut Casper up. I think we all knew that he’d be next if he tried anything.

Emmett didn’t say anything. He just watched as Elijah raised his voice again, pulling attention back.
“This is what happens when you let something unnatural take root in you.” He gestured to Caleb. “It makes you forget what’s real, what really matters.”
Caleb leaned forward as much as the ropes allowed. “What matters?” he spat. “You follow a God that wants to replace humanity! How do you think he’s gonna do that?”
Elijah stepped closer, real close now. His torch almost touched Caleb. “He will bring us paradise. If the others burn, so be it.” He turned, addressing the crowd. “The Burning Man sees true. And he sees an impure soul. And impurities must be burned away!”
The villagers shouted their approval, fists raised in the air. Emmett nodded slightly.
“Emmett,” Casper whispered, almost pleading. “You don’t believe this. Tell me you don’t.”
“He killed her,” he said quietly. “Margret was… she was nice.”
Casper stared at him.
“That’s your line?” he said, disbelief in his voice. “That’s all it takes for you to let someone else burn to death?”
“He stabbed her,” Emmett repeated, voice trembling. It sounded to me like he was trying to convince himself as much as Casper. Jules nodded along.
“He’s dangerous,” Jules added. “You heard that thing, that voice. It wanted to destroy us.”
“Who’s us, Jules?” Casper whispered furiously. “You and me? Or you and them?” Neither of them answered.

Elijah’s torch flickered, casting dancing firelight across his face.
“May the Flaming Hand take what is false,” he said, lifting it high, “And burn the corruption of Null.”
“You don’t even hear it, do you?” Caleb laughed. “You think you’re saving yourselves. You’re going to BURN along with the rest of us on that day, Elijah. When you see the Dark Sun rise, when you feel its scorching heat, you think of me!”
Elijah’s face contorted in rage. He jabbed the torch into the wood at Caleb’s feet. “All Ash for the Burning Man!”

Whoosh. The flame caught fast, flaring up. It climbed quick, licking up the sides, curling inward toward Caleb. He tensed as the heat hit him. Then the fire reached his legs. He screamed in agony, not brave anymore. High, ragged, tearing out of him like his throat was coming with it. The flames reached his torso. The wetness of it must’ve been gasoline, because the second it flames hit it, he erupted into flames. He spasmed, consumed by fire.
“Jesus Christ,” Casper whispered. Jesus fucking Christ indeed.

The smell would’ve been awful. I couldn’t smell it, thank God, but I could imagine it well enough. Burning hair, burning skin, the thought alone makes my skin crawl.
Caleb’s voice broke into something inhuman, screeching as the fire took his eyes.
Then it cut off. The fire kept going, taking over his limp corpse.
“It is done,” Elijah said as he turned back to the crowd.

Emmett turned the camera around, then wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Casper just shook his head, looking at Jules and Emmett.
“You’re sick,” he choked out through tears. “I’m looking at you and I don’t see anything I recognise.” A tear fell from Jules’ cheek, splattering in the dirt below.

Villagers left in a slow trickle over the next few hours until Emmett was left alone. The moon shone brightly behind him, giving him a bright-white outline, contrasting the black night.
“I didn’t like it,” Emmett said.
Silence.
“I didn’t mean to.”
Crickets chirped somewhere nearby..
“He killed her,” he whispered. “She was nice. She didn’t deserve it.”
Another beat of silence.
“We– we did good, right?” He nodded a moment later. “Yeah, okay.”
Another pause, though this one was slightly longer than the last.
“He was lying, right?” Then, after a beat, “Okay.”
Silence.
“I can feel you. You’re warm…I like it,” he said.
Emmett frowned after another pause, scrunching his brow. “Casper? Why?
“But I don’t wanna watch–” he stopped as if he was interrupted, then sighed. “Okay, okay.”
A long moment passed, the moon starting to rise above Emmett’s head.
“Will you stay?” Emmett asked, a hopeful quality to his voice. “Just… while I sleep?”
Emmett let out a slow breath.
“Thank you.” Emmett’s eyes looked down at the camera, then the screen went dark again.

The recording came back on a moment later. At the time I was watching this, it was well into the night. Weren’t too bad, until this recording. Emmett was pointing the camera straight at the sun. Goddamn bastard had me squinting for a solid five minutes.
When my eyes adjusted, I could see that Emmett was just kinda standing behind a building, angling the camera to look past the corner. Now that on its own is strange enough, but something else struck me. Emmett wasn’t talking, not a word. Not even a “hey there” or “gosh golly wouldya look at that.”. Well he hadn’t talked like that in a while, now that I think of it. But not even a squeak? That was new. If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll know that boy always had something to say, even when he didn’t need to. Especially when he didn’t need to.

Casper walked ahead in the distance, back turned to where Emmett was recording from. He looked over his shoulder every now and then, then kept walking. Emmett moved with him, staying just far enough back. He kept to the edges, slipping behind walls and ducking past corners. God, he wasn’t even breathing heavily like he had a habit of doing. I know I’ve said my fair share about the boy, but goddamnit this was freaking me out. It wasn’t like him.

Emmett was walking along one of the roads behind Casper when he suddenly stopped and turned around. There they were, looking right at each other. I expected Emmett would say something, I know him well enough now that I know he would. But he didn’t. Neither did Casper, he just stared at Emmett with narrow eyes. There was something in those narrow eyes I hadn’t seen before. He wasn’t scared but genuinely disgusted.
“Stay away, Emmett.” Casper said coldly, then stepped around Emmett. Gave him a wide berth and all, like a stray dog you think might have rabies.
The camera turned again, slowly, focusing on Casper. Emmett started following him again.

Casper walked out of the village and toward the edge of the forest. He slowed as he got closer to the treeline. He looked around, not seeing Emmett hiding behind a far-away tree, then walked into the forest.
Emmett hesitated, evident in the way the camera lingered on the spot Casper had disappeared in. Then he followed anyway.
Branches brushed against the lens, making really annoying ticking noises. Glimpses of light broke through leaves under the canopy. Casper was standing in a small clearing, and he wasn’t alone. There was another man standing there, half-turned away from the camera. He was tall and looked rather generic, wearing a T-shirt, shorts and sunglasses. The one striking thing about him was the prosthetic hand he had. It was grey and had the sheen of plastic. Not to say it looked cheap, no, it looked pretty damn expensive. I mean, if I only had one hand left, I’d probably splurge on replacing the other one too.

Casper stepped closer to him.
“You came,” the man said. His voice was low, and rough like that of a chainsmoker.
“Yeah,” Casper replied. “Caleb said I should talk to you.” Then, after a pause, “He–”
“We know,” he said. “Awful way to go. That’s why they do it.”
“You know?” Casper asked, confused. “How the hell do you know that?”
“We’re watching. They know we are. That execution was a deterrent for us,” the man said calmly.
“Then you know what they’re doing,” he said. “You know what this place is.”
The man nodded. Casper looked back toward the village solemnly, almost spotting Emmett.
“They’re gone,” he said. “Jules, Emmett, they’re just—” He cut himself off and shook his head. “I don’t recognise them anymore.”
“Then stop trying to.”
Casper looked at him sharply. “I can’t just leave them. Especially Jules,” he said.
“You might not get a choice.”
“What do you want me to do?” Casper asked grimly.
“We need them dealt with, sooner rather than later. We had hoped the… untimely death of Margret would dissuade them but, well, you saw how that turned out.” Casper nodded, and the man continued. “We need something more… drastic. Caleb had a stash of chemicals hidden. There’s a hatch under his bed. Dump them inside the pyre before it’s lit. Make sure you don’t touch them directly, of course.”
“I– I can’t kill all those people, man.”
“They won’t die. It’ll cause an… unpleasant few weeks, which they will hopefully ascribe to their God.” Now I’m no expert, but I think he was severely understating the effects of those chemicals. Maybe that’s because he seemed like a sociopath, but then again I’m not great at reading people.
“Oh, and don’t let them catch you talking to me again.”
Casper nodded slowly, turning away. Emmett stayed out of sight until both men were gone, then slowly rose to his feet.

“You were right,” Emmett muttered. Leaves rustled above, swaying gently in the breeze.
“Do you really think…?” Emmett asked, hesitant. Then he spoke one more sentence, one that left me, honest to God, with chills up and down my spine.
“You’re right… I guess we don’t have a choice.”

When the screen came back on, the camera was swaying from side to side, and I could make out that we were inside of a house. Emmett was pacing nervously.
“Jules?” he called out.
“Yeah?” Jules stepped into view, wiping his hands on his pants. There was some buildup of dirt and grime under his nails and there were bits of wood stuck to his sleeves. His eyes, or rather the bags under them, spoke of sleepless nights.
“I saw something,” Emmet said.
“Hmm?”
“Casper was acting weird and–” he paused. “I followed him.”
“Okay,” Jules said, narrowing his eyes.
“I saw them.”
“Who?”
Emmett opened his mouth, then stopped. “I… don’t know. Casper and someone else, but– they’re planning something.”
“Planning what?”
“Tonight, something about–” Footsteps sounded behind them.

“Jules—” Casper’s voice rang out as he burst into the room. He sounded winded and out of breath. “We need to talk.”
“We are talking,” Jules said, crossing his arms.
“Not here.”
“What is it?” Jules asked, looking between him and Emmett. “What the hell is going on?”
Casper stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“You can’t go to the pyre tonight.”
“What?” Jules asked, leaning closer to Casper, brow furrowed.
“I’m serious,” Casper said. “You can’t go.”
“Why?” Jules asked, already sounding defensive.
Casper grimaced, speaking hesitantly. “Because something’s gonna happen.”
“Oh, shut up already! Stop trying to pull me away from what makes me happy!”
“No, I mean it. Please, believe me.”
“Then explain it,” Jules snapped. “For once, cut the bullshit and explain what you’re talking about!”

Casper looked at Emmett, then back at Jules. “I can’t,” he said.
“Of course you can’t,” Jules muttered.
“Jules—”
“No,” he cut in, jabbing a finger at Casper’s chest. “I’m done with this.”
“Done with what?”
“With you!” Jules snapped. “Acting like you’re so high and mighty. You’re supposed to be supportive. You should be glad I found my happiness.’”
“I’m trying to help you,” Casper said, voice tightening.
“By doing what? Trying to drag me away from people who accept us?”
Casper stepped forward. “By keeping you alive!”
“I am alive!” Jules shouted. Emmett backed away like an abused dog.
“Look at you,” Jules went on, voice dropping but no less sharp. “You’re paranoid. Why can’t you just be happy for me? So what if I take part in the ceremonies? It’s not like I’m forcing you to be there.”
“It’s a fucking execution ground, Jules!” Jules looked away, grimacing.
“You don’t get it.”
“Then make me get it!”
“I have been. You just don’t listen,” Jules said.
“No, you just regurgitate whatever they tell you.”
“At least they talk to me. At least they don’t lie to me.” He said that last part in a low growl, sneering at Casper. He, in turn, froze.
“I’m not–”
“Then tell me what’s gonna happen tonight,” Jules interjected.
“I can’t,” he said again after a moment of silence.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Emmett shifted slightly, causing Casper’s eyes to dart towards him. “You’re just gonna stand there?” Emmett didn’t answer.
“Jesus…” Casper muttered, stepping back. “I’m going. You can come with me, or you can keep following that senile prick.”
“Casper—” Emmett tried.
“I’m going.”
“Right,” Jules said softly. “Yeah. Okay.”
Casper looked between them one last time, then shook his head. He turned and walked off. The silence he left behind felt heavier than anything he’d said.
Jules rubbed his eyes, sighing. “What the hell is wrong with him?”
“He’s scared.”
“Yeah. No shit,” he said in a grouchy voice.

Emmett took a step towards Jules. “Casper met with someone who told him to uhm…” Emmet tried to find the words. “Put some chemicals in the pyre tonight.”
“What?” Jules said, head snapping towards Emmett.
“Supposed to make the villagers sick. But–”
Jules interrupted him. “Goddamnit! We can’t let him do that, he’ll get himself killed.”
“I don’t think we can stop him,” Emmett said carefully.
“We have to, Emmett. He’s gonna end up killing someone,” Jules said. “Look if we– if we just tell Elijah before he does anything, I’m sure they won’t…” The implication was obvious. Emmett put a hand on Jules’ shoulder, trying to comfort him.
“They’ll probably just kick him out, right? That’s what he wants anyway. It can be, like, my last gesture of love.” Oh boy. That was a terrible idea. Gesture of love, my ass, that was a straight up betrayal of their love.

Emmett pulled on Jules’ shoulder, and they moved out of the house and onto a dirt road.
“I’m sure they’ll understand,” Emmett said in a low voice. “And so will he.”

The camera shook as they walked hastily, their breath short.
“Elijah—” Jules started as they walked into the building they’d had stew in so long ago now. He turned when he heard them approach, eyes narrowing slightly before softening again.
“Boys,” he said kindly. “What is it?”
“Casper’s gonna do something,” Jules said. “Tonight. At the pyre.”
Strangely, Elijah’s face didn’t twist into anger. It just sorta settled. He’d expected this– no, he’d been waiting for it.
“I see,” he murmured.
Jules stepped forward. “He’s just scared, I think. He said something about chemicals, but—”
Elijah raised a hand, stopping him mid-sentence.
“Where is he?”
“By the pyre,” Emmett said.
Elijah turned immediately and walked out of the building. Two villagers, who’d been standing close enough to hear, followed close behind. Emmett and Jules did likewise, exiting the building and following Elijah.

The pyre stood ahead, taller than ever before, even unfinished as it was. At its base stood Casper, turned toward the structure, hand in his pocket. Even from this distance, you could see his legs quivering. He turned as he heard the footsteps, and for a second, his face lit up.
“Jules–” he started. Then he saw Elijah.
“You—” Casper said, looking between Jules and Emmett, tears welling in his eyes. “You told him?” Casper asked, voice quiet now.
“Casper, just listen–”
“No!” he snapped, backing up a step. Something in his pocket clinked as he moved. “No, no, no– don’t do that. Don’t act like–” He yelled, tears streaming down his cheeks. “God, I told you. I told you something was wrong and you–”
Elijah reached out a hand, interrupting him. “Casper,” he said calmly. “Hand it over.”
“Don’t you say my name,” Casper snarled.
“Hand it over,” Elijah repeated.
“You were gonna let them keep going! Keep killing people!” Casper yelled at Jules, waving his hand at him.
“No–” Jules started.
“You were!” Casper said. “You chose them!”
“There’s no ‘them’ here, son. Just us. No hard feelings, okay?” he said. “Just hand it over. We can—”
“Shut up!” Casper said, pulling his hand from his pocket, revealing a vial with some kind of white powder inside. His arm came up. He threw. The vial spun in the air for a moment, catching the sunlight, right before it made impact and shattered. Right across Elijah’s face.

The sound it made wasn’t loud, just a dull crack. For a moment, everyone was very still, and nothing happened.
Then Elijah screamed. The sound was raw and filled with agony, like the scream was being pulled out of him by force. He stumbled back, clutching his face. That seemed to have been a bad idea, evident by how his hand shot away a moment later as if he’d put it on a hot stove. White powder clung to his palm, and his skin started blistering and bubbling. God, I won’t go further into it, just picture someone pouring water over cotton candy. That’s just about the best comparison I can think of.

Elijah dropped to his knees, screeching. Spurred into motion, the villagers who’d followed him rushed forward, to help him. But none of them touched him, not when they saw what it was doing. Elijah tried to speak, but only a wet gargling came out. He reached out towards Casper, then dropped dead right next to where Margret had just a day prior.

Casper stood there looking at the corpse, eyes wide. The villagers ran out, panicking, in all directions. One of the two who’d followed Elijah here surged forward toward Casper. Casper backed up against the unfinished pyre. Without hesitation, the villager slammed his shoulder into Casper’s chest, sending him toppling into the pyre. His neck landed on one of the logs at an odd angle.
Pop.
The log rolled free from under his broken neck. Then the massive pyre fell down on him like a house of cards. Silence fell over the village like a blanket, only broken by Jules’ quiet sobs. The camera turned down, and the screen cut to black.

It was dark when the camera started rolling again. So dark that I couldn’t even tell it came back on at first. When the camera finally adjusted, I could make out the outline of the collapsed pyre. No one had bothered to rebuild it, it seemed. Emmett sat a few feet away from it, and turned the camera, resting it loosely on his thighs. Jules was sitting beside him. Neither of them spoke, they just sat there, looking at the destroyed pyre.

Wind moved through the village, brushing against wood and loose boards. I could hear something that sounded like a dry leaf brush against the road, tumbling forward with a steady rhythm.
Jules dragged a hand down his face. Forgive my rudeness, but I have no other way of putting it: he looked like shit. Like something had scraped every part of his soul out, leaving only the shell behind.
“He’s gone,” Jules said, voice hoarse.
“Sorry,” Emmett said after a while.
“The hell’re you sorry for? Nothing but his own fault,” he said, though I felt he didn’t mean half of it. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I just– I thought they’d talk to him. Or send him away.”
Emmett nodded.
“That’s what you said,” Jules muttered. “You said they’d understand.”
“I thought they would.”
Jules swallowed hard. His hands were shaking. “I told him–” he said, voice breaking. “I told him I was done with him. I– I didn’t get to tell him I loved him.”
Emmett looked at him. “I don’t think he’d have wanted to hear it.”
“Yeah. No shit, Emmett.” Fucking A. I mean, Emmett never struck me as a social butterfly but what kinda response was that? I’m surprised Jules didn’t deck him then and there.

“He threw it,” Emmett said after a while. “At Elijah.”
“Yeah,” Jules whispered, grimacing painfully.
“We wanted to help him, right? I mean– we were trying to stop him from doing something stupid.”
“He did do something stupid,” Jules said.
The wind picked up again, carrying old ash from the ruined pyre.
“Do you think he hated me?” Jules asked quietly.
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?” Jules said, a hint of bitterness in his voice.
“He looked sad, not mad.”
Jules pressed his lips together. Tears were streaming down his face, dropping from his chin. It looked remarkably similar to how Casper had looked in his final moments.
“He looked at me like I was a stranger,” Jules said. A moment of silence passed. “Do you think we’re wrong?”
“No,” Emmett replied. “They killed Margret. And Elijah.”
Jules sighed deeply.
“They were good,” Emmett added. “They helped us. Gave us food. Let us stay.”
Jules nodded. “They took us in. When nobody else would,” he said, though to me it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anything. “Casper never understood that. He always thought something was off, something was wrong.” He shook his head. “Maybe he just couldn’t accept that things were finally good.”
Silence.
“I loved him,” Jules said after a while. “I really did.”
Silence again.
“I still do.” An animal howled in the distance. It was the first time I’d heard one, which made me think of how strange it was that I hadn’t seen one throughout this whole ordeal. I hadn’t even heard mention of one. Before I could finish my train of thought, Jules spoke again.
“Do you think it hurt?”
Emmett looked toward the collapsed pyre again. “Yeah,” he said. This was weird. This wasn’t the kinda thing Emmett would’ve said back before all of this, I was sure. And this wasn’t the first time he was being so insensitive.
“Fuck,” Jules whispered.

“It’s quieter now,” Emmett said, seeming not to have heard Jules.
“Yeah.”
“I can still feel it though. The warmth of the pyre.” Jules looked at Emmett, frowning, but didn’t say anything.
An hour or so later, the two walked to their sleeping quarters, telling each other goodnight.

Emmett left the camera running again, though I don’t think he knew it was on. Moonlight slipped in through the cracks in the walls of the sleeping quarters, illuminating part of his face. Emmett lay on his back on the thin mattress in the corner, hands laying on his chest like he was in a casket. He was snoring. Jules lay in the bed opposite Emmett, and I doubt he was sleeping after seeing what happened to Casper.

“Hey,” Emmett said softly.
“Yeah?” Jules answered, groggy. Emmett didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed closed.
“What’s that?” Emmett asked.
Silence.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” he murmured. “How can a sun be dark?”
Jules frowned, sitting up. “What? Who’re you talking to?”
“You’re making that up,” Emmett said.
Silence again.
“No.I don’t think they understand it either.”
Jules stood up, inching closer to Emmett. “Emmett, stop. You’re not making sense.”
Emmett’s eyes opened slightly. “Hmm?”
“What were you talking about?”
“I think He wants me to show them,” Emmett said sleepily. “When the Dark Sun comes.”
“Who is ‘He’?”
“The Burning Man.”

Jules glanced toward the door. I could see fear in his eyes, and it was a sentiment I shared. The boy was freaking me out with all his blabbering to himself.
“Emmett… I don’t think the others would take kindly to you saying that.”
“He says Casper was right,” Emmett murmured like he hadn’t heard Jules. “About the chemicals.”
“What?”
“He said he was useful.”
“Casper is dead,” Jules snapped, sharper than before. There was something in his voice now, he sounded defensive, or hurt.
“I know,” Emmett said simply. “He says it’s better this way.”
Jules took a step back.
Jules backed away from Emmett slowly, his nose wrinkled. “What is wrong with you?” he sneered.

Emmett didn’t answer. Instead, he stood up, grabbed the camera, and walked outside. The door creaked as it opened, then shut behind him. There was an eerie sort of glow in the village, lit by oil and gas lamps mixing with moonlight. Emmett’s bare feet slapped against the dirt road. He tilted the camera up, showing the collapsed pyre in front of him.
A few minutes passed before footsteps came. More than one pair. Emmett noticed, spinning around to face whoever was there. There were four people; Jules at the front, three others behind him.
“See?” Jules whispered conspiratorially. “Just listen.”
“No,” Emmett murmured, though not in response. “I won’t tell them like that.”
A pause.
“They wouldn’t understand.”
Another pause.
“You want to show them?”
The villagers exchanged looks. They looked uncomfortable for the most part, but there was also an air of distrust amongst them. They were staring at him like he was an animal in the zoo, putting on a display for them.
“He’s been doing this for a while,” Jules said.
One of the villagers leaned toward Jules. “Who is he talking to?”
“I think he thinks it’s the Burning Man.”
One of them looked straight at the camera, eyes lingering on the lense. Those eyes sent a shiver up and down my spine like nothing else, I tell you. Like a shark’s eyes; dead, but somehow still predatory.

“Open myself up to you?” Emmett asked, eyes half-lidded. “How?”
It was around that moment that their moods visibly changed from uncomfortable to hostile. It seemed they had come to a quiet understanding amongst each other; Emmett was a false prophet with the devil whispering in his ear.
“I didn’t know,” Jules said quickly, holding his hands up. “I swear, I didn’t know he was–”
“Quiet,” one of the villagers snapped. They walked towards Emmett as they pushed Jules aside. He stood before Emmett, towering above him. “Without this,” he said, smacking the camera out of Emmett’s hand. “I bet he won’t be able to talk to Null.” The camera had landed askew, showing a tilted view of what was happening.
“Hey, maybe–” Jules started, but was quickly interrupted by one of the villagers.
“Quiet.”

Emmett’s head twitched like something had pulled on a string inside his neck. My stomach dropped, a pit forming in my throat. Either he was about to have a seizure, or this was something I couldn’t understand. He bent forward slightly, shoulders hunching in as all his muscles seemed to tense. His arms shook as he reached out, fingers curling as they trembled, like they were pulling on something heavy.
“Okay,” he whispered. That did not sound like Emmett. The voice was layered, like Emmett’s voice overlapped with a deeper one. The villagers froze, even the one who’d been so eager to prove himself just a second ago. Emmett tilted his head back, too far, pointing his throat at the sky. His opened at an angle, stretching until I was sure his jaw would dislocate.

“Emmett?” Jules said, stepping back.
Emmett’s chest jerked, then his back arched, spine pulling tight like a bow being drawn. His arms flew upward, fingers splaying as they continued to shake furiously. And I swear to God, I saw his eyes glow. Not a steady glow, but one that flickered and flared up and back down again.
“W–we don’t want–” one of the villagers started, voice shaking now.
Emmett’s jaw clenched shut again, hard enough that a crack shot through the night.
“ALL ASH–” The words tore out of him, loud and gritty, like they had been forced through a throat too small to carry them. He gagged on the next words, doubling over as he wretched out something dark and flaky from his mouth.

Jules recoiled. “Jesus Christ–”
Emmett convulsed, his body seizing and jerking violently. His hands clawed at the air, like he was trying to grab onto something only he could see.
“FOR THE BURN–” he tried again, voice splintering apart mid-word. The glow in his eyes flared up again, his fingertips blackening as sparks flew from them. His shadow stretched behind him, long and warped. It was as if something were trying to claw its way out from Emmett’s body.

His shadow snapped back to where it had been. Emmett collapsed against the ground with a thud, his eyes having returned back to normal.

One of the villagers whispered under their breath, still too terrified to speak.
“Was– was that–”
“Don’t be a fool! This was Null, trying to diminish our faith!”
“J–Jules?” Emmett tried to get up, but collapsed under his own weight. A small cloud of dirt formed when he fell, then settled on the road. Everyone stared at Emmett with mixed expressions.
Then, one villager’s eyes flicked toward the camera. “We must cleanse his wretched soul.”

The villager picked up Emmett’s camera, but he didn’t have his finesse. Felt like he’d strapped the camera to a rope at his hip, the way it was swaying and swinging. Then the footage went dark as the camera was stuffed in the villager’s pockets. I couldn’t see or hear a thing, so I fast forwarded. It took damn near three hours until he took the camera back out. It was brighter now. But that brightness wasn’t daylight, it was firelight. The frame shook as the camera was carried, then set down at an angle, probably on a rock low to the ground, tilted upward.

The pyre had been rebuilt. It wasn’t as big as it had been before, just about as big as the one they’d burnt Caleb on. But Caleb wasn’t here. Instead, Emmett was tied to it.
His arms were pulled tight behind the logs, ropes burning his skin as he writhed. His chest heaved as he hyperventilated; up and down, up and down. His face was wet and streaked with tears and dried snot, eyes red and puffy.
“No, no, no, please– please don’t do this,” he was saying, over and over, voice breaking apart. “It wasn’t– it wasn’t him, it wasn’t– I swear–”
But none of the villagers listened. They were all gathered in a circle, the same way they always were.
“Please,” Emmett sobbed. “I didn’t– I didn’t do anything, I swear, I swear I didn’t–” His voice cracked so hard I could barely make out the words. And I saw someone I hadn’t seen in what felt like years. There, strapped to that central wooden stake, was Emmett. Not the man he had become, desensitized and soulless. This was the kind, hopeful boy I’d so stupidly made fun of. With a smile as golden as his heart, a textbook example of a boyscout. God, why am I so bitter? Emmett had been a kind boy. A good person, that made you think of sunny days and grassy fields. A golden retriever in human form.
And there he stood, strapped to an effigy.

“I don’t wanna die,” Emmett choked. “I don’t– I don’t wanna–” He sucked in a jittery breath. “Jules!”
There was movement in the crowd, opposite the camera. “Jules, please,” Emmett cried out, his voice collapsing into a whimpering sob. “Please, you know me. I didn’t– It’s not Null!”
Jules stepped forwards, giving me a better view of his face as torchlight lit his face. He looked worse than before. More hollow. His eyes were sunken, something rigid in them. “Jules–” he pleaded. “Jules, please. Please help me. I don’t wanna die, I don’t–” His body shaking against the ropes, leaving red marks as he squirmed and fought against the restraints. “I’m scared,” he whispered. Jules flinched, a pained grimace on his face.
“I didn’t mean it,” Emmett said quickly, words tumbling over each other like an avalanche. “Whatever I said, I didn’t mean it, I wasn’t talking to Null, I swear, I swear I wasn’t—”
“Stop.” Jules’ voice was firm and sharp, cutting through Emmett. “It spoke through you,” Jules said. “We all saw it.”
“Please,” he whispered. “Please don’t let them do this.”
Jules looked at him for a long moment, contemplation etched on his face. Then he turned his back to Emmett, and disappeared into the crowd.

Emmett started screaming. Not words anymore, these sounds were primal, animalistic even. “NO– NO, PLEASE, PLEASE, I DON’T WANNA—” Someone stepped forward right in front of the camera, holding aloft a torch.
“All ashes for the Burning Man,” growled the villager. Then he tossed the torch into the base of the pyre. It started burning instantly. The flames crawled upward, sinking their nails and talons into the logs. They climbed higher and higher, crackles drowning out Emmett’s screams. Those screams changed as the fire dug into him. Longer, wheezing and throaty.

Someone picked up the camera, then threw it. The image of Emmett blurred, then disappeared as the footage whirled around. It was like the camera was in a washing machine, the image spinning wildly. The camera landed in the fire. It pointed straight up at Emmett, capturing him writhing and thrashing. The fire crackled and roared mightily.
There was something under the sound. An undercurrent of noise; rumbling, like an earthquake. The rumbling softened, the sound clearing up.
“You know the really funny thing, Emmett? The most amusing part of all this?” A voice said. It was unfamiliar, but beyond that– it was dark, and wrong. Wrong in a way I can’t describe, wrong like a dog with human teeth, something that made your stomach crawl up your throat.
“You were never crazy. You did exactly as I asked.”
Emmett’s screams were just strangled groans now. His head hung limply, enveloped in flames.
“But you were a poor conduit. And despite it all, Emmett, you have taught me a lesson. Gods, too, must learn.”
The camera shifted slightly as something collapsed beside it, sparks flying across the lens. It rolled, tumbling down the pyre until it landed just outside the flames. It landed at an odd angle, pointed toward the crowd. Toward Jules.
“We learn. And we choose better vessels.” Emmett went quiet. Jules wiped a tear from his cheek, then buried his head in his hands.
“My glorious creations will walk under a new sun. And when they seek guidance, they shall look to the only light in the sky.”

The recording cut out. Nothing else came on, the screen simply remained black.

I sat there for a while after, just staring at my own reflection in the black screen. You ever do that? Sit there long enough that your face starts looking like a stranger?
I don’t know what I expected, honestly. Some kind of resolution, maybe. A neat little ending where my sister steps in, explains everything, tells me “Hey, you old bastard. Got you good, didn’t I?”. But there’s no voiceover at the end of the world. No credits rolling after the bad things happen.
All I could think about was that boy.
God, Emmett. I gave him such a hard time. All those comments, all those little jabs. Called him annoying, said he talked too much. Thought he was simple-minded, a kid that doesn’t really notice the world, and the world doesn’t really notice him. Sure as shit proved me wrong. I keep thinking about what he said. “I can feel you. You’re warm… I like it.” Like it was a comforting blanket and not a noose pulling taut. And that’s the part that sticks. Not the screaming, not the fire, but that he trusted it.

I don’t know what that thing was, I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I do. You heard it, same as I did. Jules didn’t say a word at the end, he just stood there watching Emmett burn with his hands over his face like that might block it out. Like if he couldn’t see it, it wasn’t real. But this ain’t peekaboo. The camera saw him. And whatever that thing is, I think it saw him too.

I looked into some of the names I heard, but I haven’t managed to find anything other than that article they talked about with the home invasion. And that’s the darndest thing; that symbol, the hourglass in a circle, keeps coming back. The murder of a little girl in the 80’s, that home invasion. The more I looked, the more I found. But I stopped looking for it. Truth is, I don’t look for much of anything these days.

Life goes on, I guess. That’s what people say, right? Real comforting shit. You wake up, you eat, you go to work, you pretend everything’s dandy. I’m not very good at that. Every now and then, when it’s quiet, I think about those three boys. It wasn’t their fault. The injustice of it is what really brings my mind back to it, even more so than the events themselves.

You’re probably wondering why I’m putting this out there. Why not just delete it, forget it, move on? I tried. But like I said, I ain’t very good at that. So this is it; my account. You can believe it, you can laugh it off, you can click away and go read something else.
I honestly hope you do. I hope you forget every word of this. I try to do that very thing every day. But sometimes, when it’s late, I swear I can feel it. A wrongness in the world, a note of dread in the back of my mind I can’t place. And I think about that boy, strapped to that pyre, crying out for someone who turned his back on him.

Credit: Milo Sterlin

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