Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCSDXZGGYA951DJ4S5CDBRT

The crisp autumn air of Alborn, Minnesota, smelled faintly of cinnamon and woodsmoke—the lingering essence of the town's famous annual apple festival. Sitting at a corner table outside *The Rusty Apple Cafe*, thirty-year-old Maria shielded the LCD screen of her camera against the midday glare. Her fingers flew over the dial, reviewing the landscape shots she’d taken earlier that morning at the edge of the woods. Footsteps crunched heavily on the gravel path. Hunter, a thirty-five-year-old detective with the broad shoulders of a former marine and a perpetually furrowed brow, stopped beside her table. He flipped open a small leather notebook, his no-nonsense gaze fixing on the young Spanish exchange student. "Ma'am," Hunter said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Detective Hunter. I'm looking into what happened down by the orchard last night. Around ten o'clock. You were out there with your tripod, weren't you? Did you see anyone leave the old packing shed?" Maria looked up, startled. Her dark eyes were wide, and her hands trembled slightly as she clutched the strap of her camera. The memory of what she had captured through her telephoto lens—something she couldn't quite process—flooded back to her. "¡Dios mío, no lo sé!" Maria blurted out, her voice laced with fear and confusion as she pointed frantically toward the northern woods. "Había una sombra... una figura extraña junto a los árboles, y de repente, ¡desapareció! Escuché un grito, ¡un grito terrible! ¿Qué está pasando aquí? ¡Tengo miedo!" Hunter blinked, staring down at her with a completely blank expression. He slowly lowered his pen, the absolute picture of incomprehension. "Right," Hunter said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay. Not quite sure what you just told me, but... yeah." Maria gestured desperately at the camera's viewfinder, hoping the images would bridge the gap that their words could not. "¡Mire la cámara! ¡Por favor! ¡Hay algo malo aquí en este pueblo!" Hunter sighed, holding up a palm to pause her. "Slow down. Look, I don't speak a word of Spanish, miss. Do you have a friend around? Someone who translates?" Maria shook her head rapidly, biting her lower lip in sheer frustration. "No inglés. Lo siento. No comprendo." Hunter let out a heavy breath, tapping his pen against his notebook. He opened his mouth to try and mime taking a picture, but before he could, his radio buzzed loudly against his belt. Hunter snatched it up, pressing it to his ear. "Hunter. Go ahead." A frantic voice crackled through the static: *"Detective, we got a call. Another one. Over by the old mill."* Hunter’s jaw tightened. He shot one last, helpless look at Maria, who was clutching her camera to her chest like a shield. "Damn it," Hunter muttered. He holstered the radio and gave Maria a sharp nod. "Look, stay put. Don't go wandering into those woods alone, alright?" Without waiting for a response—which he wouldn't have understood anyway—Hunter turned on his heel and strode rapidly down the sidewalk, leaving Maria alone with her fears and her lens. *** ### Voice Sheet Maria: "¡Dios mío, no lo sé! Había una sombra... una figura extraña junto a los árboles, y de repente, ¡desapareció! Escuché un grito, ¡un grito terrible! ¿Qué está pasando aquí? ¡Tengo miedo!" Hunter: "Ma'am. Detective Hunter. I'm looking into what happened down by the orchard last night. Around ten o'clock. You were out there with your tripod, weren't you? Did you see anyone leave the old packing shed?" Maria: "¡Mire la cámara! ¡Por favor! ¡Hay algo malo aquí en este pueblo!" Hunter: "Right. Okay. Not quite sure what you just told me, but... yeah." Maria: "No inglés. Lo siento. No comprendo." Hunter: "Slow down. Look, I don't speak a word of Spanish, miss. Do you have a friend around? Someone who translates?" Maria: "..." *(Clutches her camera tighter, staring at him with wide, troubled eyes as the radio buzzes)* Hunter: "Damn it. Look, stay put. Don't go wandering into those woods alone, alright?"