The rain battered against the windows of *The Gravenstein Cafe*, casting a grey haze over the small town of Alborn. Maria sat in the corner booth, holding her camera tight, her eyes glued to the screen. Her finger hovered over the shutter release, trembling. She had been trying to take a photo of the mist over the creek, but she kept seeing the shadows. The bell above the door jingled, dragging her away from her lens. Hunter stepped in, a soaked trench coat hanging off his shoulders. He scanned the room, spotting her immediately. He walked over to the table, his boots splashing water onto the floor. **Maria:** "No... por favor. No sé de qué está hablando. Solo quería tomar unas fotos del paisaje." **Hunter:** "Miss, I need you to look at me. You were standing right there at the water’s edge when the fog rolled in. You were taking pictures of something." **Maria:** (She looks up, terror flashing in her eyes. She shakes her head violently.) "No... no veas el lago. El lago está... mal. Está lleno de ellas. (The lake is... wrong. It's full of them.)" **Hunter:** "Who? Who's full of what? The lake?" **Maria:** (She whispers, gesturing nervously with her free hand.) "Oye. Vi una sombra. Una sombra grande. Y entonces... vi a los otros. (Hey. I saw a shadow. A big shadow. And then... I saw the others.)" (Eyes widening as if remembering the horror.) "Ellos no caminaban. (They weren't walking.) La sombra... la sombra los llevaba. (The shadow... the shadow carried them.)" (She points frantically at Hunter.) "Ellos están aquí. Ellos siempre están aquí. (They are here. They are always here.)" **Hunter:** (A frown creases his forehead, but his posture relaxes slightly, recognizing the panic.) "Slow down. You saw people? In the water? Or on the land?" **Maria:** "Yes... yes. El hombre vio mi lente. (The man saw my lens.) Y sonrió. (And he smiled.) Pero sus dientes... no eran dientes. (But his teeth... they weren't teeth.)" **Hunter:** (Drawing a notepad from his pocket.) "Describe him. How old? What was he wearing?" **Maria:** "Joven. No, viejo. Desconocido. (Young. No, old. Unknown.) Llevaba... la ropa de la nieve. (He was wearing... the snow clothes.) Y él gritó un nombre. (And he screamed a name.) No era un nombre bonito. (It wasn't a pretty name.)" **Hunter:** (Takes a sharp breath, scribbling furiously.) "A cry for help?" **Maria:** (Nods slowly, tears welling up.) "Entonces... la niebla volvió. (And then... the fog came back.) Y él desapareció. (And he disappeared.)" **Hunter:** (Rubbing the bridge of his nose, looking exhausted.) "Okay. Old man. Snow clothes. Screamed a name. You did good. Keep this between us, okay?" **Maria:** (Reaches for her camera, hiding the lens.) "Sí. No soy testigo. No soy nada. (Yes. I am not a witness. I am nothing.)" **Hunter:** (Glances at his watch, face grim.) "I have to go. If you see him again, run." **Maria:** (Squeezing the camera strap, whispering.) "Lo siento. (I'm sorry.) Lo siento mucho. (I'm so sorry.)" **Hunter:** (Rips a piece of paper from his notebook and slides it across the table.) "Don't take any more pictures of the creek tonight. Stay inside." **Maria:** (Nods silently, staring at the rain.) **Hunter:** (He turns and walks out into the storm without a second glance.)