The spindly man is set to lurk in the densest thickest forest of New Hampshire.

He flits from tree to tree like a shadow, made a metal, they say, and if he sees you,

then he steals your way, forever.

He is particularly fond of children, goes the rumour, though most of the people who go

missing in these forests are adults, hikers and campers in the lake.

Jen, my murmur to my friend, peering over the wheel to either side of the road,

scanning the undergrowth. I don't think we're going to see him.

No, just a little further, she says, squinting in the darkness.

The headlights of the car are switched on, but they have not been set to their brightest.

The engine growls as we trundle along.

Alex, I don't know why we're going to be back here, so we have to make the most of it now.

We could come back tomorrow, I suggest, we'll have a few hours in the evening.

I see her shake ahead in the side of my vision.

No, it has to be at night, night, night, proper darkness.

Says who? The forearms, she replies, matter of fact, pressing the button to slide down the

window, so she can get a better look into the wilds. Cool, forest air, thick with a scent of pine

drifts into the car. I sigh. We left the main road about two hours ago,

and we left the road that branched off from that about an hour ago. We're maybe 45 minutes deep

down a road that hasn't been fixed up or attended to in years. The last building we saw was

a lonely, unmanned gas station way back in the forest right near the turn-off. I don't think

we're going to see him, I mutter, still scanning the forest. We will, this is textbook stuff,

two teenagers out after dark in the woods, if we don't see him, well, then he just doesn't exist.

...