Recorded April 19, 2017, 12:01 a.m.
The phone swings around. The image is out of focus; the field is a dark blur, streaks of black and gray, grainy and disorienting, refusing to resolve into a clear picture. There is a sound like wind across the microphone, or maybe Kyle’s finger scraping against the phone’s case.
The camera focuses as voices rise in indistinct murmurs of surprise. Between the trees, a narrow track stretches out into the darkness. At the feet of the teenagers, it’s no more than a few scattered stones, a little too large and square to be natural. But they quickly draw together, like a torn cloth being gathered and stitched up. Despite the darkness of the forest, the stones seem to collect moonlight to them.
NICK: Holy shit. It’s real. It’s actually real.
TRINA: Oh my God. What do we do?
The camera jostles. Sara has pushed past Kyle, and walks quickly toward the road, as if she is afraid it will slip away from them into the darkness again. When she reaches a point where she stands on solid stone, she looks back over her shoulder.
SARA: All right. Who’s coming?