His hand twitches. Maybe I’m in shock and seeing things. Maybe I’m projecting what I want to be true onto the situation. Or, maybe Clarence is still alive and his hand just moved.
“I have to go outside. I think he’s moving.”
“Ma’am, wait for the—”
“I won’t hang up, but I have to go outside. If he’s alive I have to help him.”
“Don’t—”
I don’t hear the rest. I lay the phone on the ground and open the front door.
Terri:In 2014, a post appeared in r/AskReddit by user WhatsGrapening. The title: “Strange photos found on a camera in lost-and-found box.”
Naomi [gasps]:Oh my God, did someone find his camera?
Terri:For everyone listening, Naomi has literally grabbed my arm, she’s so excited. [muted sound of movement] Here’s the pictures. OP’s dad worked at the Columbus Conference Center. Over the years, he collected items from the lost and found. One of which was a camera—Jamie’s camera. One of the commenters saw the pictures and connected it to this case.
Naomi:Shit, you really dug.
Terri:I really dug. We’ll post these on Instagram, everybody, don’t worry. The first picture taken at the retreat is of a group of a dozen people. Jamie is at the front and he’s holding a sign that reads “ALR 2001!!”
Naomi:What’s that stand for?
Terri:No idea. TheRmight be retreat? The next ten or so are pictures of the area. Trees, flowers, anda bunch of bugs. The eleventh shows a group of five people standing with their arms on each other’s shoulders on a trail. Jamie is the last on the left.
Naomi:He looks happy.
Terri:Yeah. They all do. Okay, so, I want you to zoom in on the trees over Jamie’s shoulder. A few commenters pointed something out. I can see what they’re talking about, but I don’t know if that’s, like, because they suggested it.
Naomi:Okay. [two beats] What… is that?
Lovely Dark & Deep: Missing in the Woods Podcast
CHAPTER 9
Gristle and gore that wasn’t visible from the window becomes immediately apparent as soon as I get close. The thin skin of Clarence’s face and the white hair on the right side of his head are painted with blood. There’s a crevice in his skull. Everything that was once kept safe inside is now spilling out.
It feels like a violation—almost lewd—to be able to see inside a person’s skull. Illustrated, the scene would be in color with his head replaced by a cloud of black scribbles. The blood on his clothes and the grass would be in grayscale. It’s too private, too intimate for color.
Ripley inches forward to smell his shoulder. How many dead bodies does your dog have to interact with before you’re certified as a bad dog parent? If it’s three, I’m fucked.
There’s something happening in the cavern of my head. A swarm of bees has moved in where there used to be a brain. This is a man—a man who was kind to me. Whotried to protect me. Because I chose to come here today, he’s gone. Didn’t he say he had a daughter?
Just as the weight of what happened to this man begins to settle, a car tears down the road. It passes the driveway before I can even think to duck or hide or run toward it to ask for help. A dust cloud lingers in its wake.
The car’s crappy brakes squeal when it comes to a hard stop on the gravel road. There’s a beat, another. And then it reverses just as fast as it drove by.
My instinct is to flee, so that’s what we do.
We’ll go inside, lock up, and put something in the sliding glass doorframe so it can’t be bypassed. I called 911. We’ll hide. It’ll be fine.
Or it would be, if the front door would open. But it doesn’t. Clarence knew he was leaving. He must have locked the knob. I didn’t check before we went outside.
The car is in the driveway now. A few seconds and they’ll see us.
The shed at the side of the house. We run for it. I fling the door open and we duck inside.
Immediately, I trip on something and thud to my knees. It’s dark, but I can still make out the vague shape of a workbench. Shadowed lumps that must be tools hang on the opposite wall. Humid heat wraps a death grip around my throat.
