The scent of coffee and warm pastries hung heavy in the air of "The Daily Grind," Alborn's only real cafe. Sunlight streamed through the large bay window, illuminating dust motes dancing in what Marie found to be a rather charmingly, though perhaps slightly unhygienic, manner. Marie, a Parisian transplant navigating the vastness of Minnesota for her study abroad program, found solace in the familiar ritual of nursing a café au lait and scrolling through her latest landscape shots. Her trusty DSLR, a well-loved extension of her eye, rested on the table beside her. A shadow fell across her table, and Marie looked up, her brow furrowing slightly. Standing there was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with a face that looked carved from a block of stoic Midwestern granite. His uniform, though casual, spoke of authority. Detective Hunter, the local law enforcement, judging by the whispers she'd overheard. He cleared his throat, a sound that was surprisingly loud in the cafe's gentle hum. "Excuse me, miss. Detective Hunter. I understand you were near the old mill grounds yesterday evening?" His voice was a low rumble, direct and to the point. Marie blinked, her mind racing. Yesterday evening… the mill. A place she'd planned to photograph the sunset, a place that had turned into something else entirely. Something that had left a cold knot in her stomach. She nodded, her hand instinctively reaching for her camera. "I was," she began, then hesitated. How to explain? Her English was rudimentary at best, a frustrating jigsaw puzzle of half-learned phrases. But the memory was too vivid, too disturbing to keep contained. She took a deep breath, the words tumbling out in a rush of French, laced with the tremor of returning fear. "Hier soir… le vieux moulin. C'était… terrifiant. J'ai vu quelque chose dans les bois. Une ombre, trop grande, trop rapide. J'ai entendu… des cris. Mais il n'y avait personne. Personne. Quand je suis revenue, il y avait du sang. Sur la terre. Et mon appareil… j'ai cru qu'il avait pris une photo… de cette chose. Mais maintenant… les photos ne sont plus là. Disparues." Her voice cracked on the last word. She fumbled with her camera, her fingers tracing the smooth metal body, as if seeking reassurance. Hunter stared at her, his expression unreadable. Or rather, uncomprehending. His jaw was set, and his eyes, a sharp, piercing blue, were fixed on her, but the lack of shared language was a vast, echoing canyon between them. He'd understood "mill" and "yesterday," and her distress was evident, but the rest was a jumble of unfamiliar sounds. He tilted his head, a slight frown deepening the lines on his forehead. "I… I'm sorry. I don't understand French," he said, his voice laced with a frustrated edge. He gestured vaguely towards her camera. "Did you see something? Was there an incident at the mill?" Marie’s shoulders slumped, the brief surge of desperate communication draining away. The canyon widened. She tried, pointing to her camera, then to her eyes, miming taking a picture. She pointed towards the window, then made a large, sweeping motion with her hands, as if something vast had moved past. She then mimed frantic running, her face contorted with remembered terror. Hunter watched her charade, his confusion mounting. He ran a hand over his short-cropped hair. "Look, miss. I can see you're upset. But I need to know what you saw. Anything specific? A person? An animal?" Marie shook her head vehemently, tears welling in her eyes. She pointed to the ground, then made a small, dark circle with her finger, followed by mimicking something being dragged. Then she held up five fingers, and then swept them away, making a disappearing gesture. The sheer frustration of being unable to articulate the nightmare was almost as bad as the nightmare itself. Just as Hunter was about to try another tack, his phone buzzed insistently in his pocket. He pulled it out, his expression hardening as he glanced at the screen. "Damn it." He looked back at Marie, his professional demeanor snapping back into place, though the confusion still lingered in his eyes. "Listen, I've got to go. Something's come up. I'll have Sergeant Miller come talk to you. He speaks some French." He pulled a card from his wallet and placed it on the table. "This is my card. If you remember anything, anything at all..." He trailed off, clearly frustrated by the communication barrier. With a final, sharp nod, he turned and left the cafe, the bell above the door jingling his departure, leaving Marie alone once more with her camera and her unspoken terror. *** **VOICE SHEET** **Marie:** "Hier soir… le vieux moulin. C'était… terrifiant. J'ai vu quelque chose dans les bois. Une ombre, trop grande, trop rapide. J'ai entendu… des cris. Mais il n'y avait personne. Personne. Quand je suis revenue, il y avait du sang. Sur la terre. Et mon appareil… j'ai cru qu'il avait pris une photo… de cette chose. Mais maintenant… les photos ne sont plus là. Disparues." **Hunter:** "Excuse me, miss. Detective Hunter. I understand you were near the old mill grounds yesterday evening?" "I… I'm sorry. I don't understand French. Did you see something? Was there an incident at the mill?" "Look, miss. I can see you're upset. But I need to know what you saw. Anything specific? A person? An animal?" "Damn it. Listen, I've got to go. Something's come up. I'll have Sergeant Miller come talk to you. He speaks some French. This is my card. If you remember anything, anything at all..."