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FOREWORD :



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This is an epistolary horror story, in the tradition of Stephen King's Carrie or Bram Stoker's Dracula. It's like the literary equivalent of a found-footage movie, I suppose.



I'd understand if few readers felt it was a worth-while endeavour to wade through such an unusual mode of story-telling just to get their metaphorical rocks off; but, for those of you who are looking for a more elaborate and involved sort of story, I hope this serves as an unexpected breath of fresh air.



Oh, and I should mention... Errors are likely numerous in the story below -- both large and small, both grammatical and logistical. Apologies in advance, dear reader. I hope this doesn't dissuade you from letting us share this tale together. In the future, I shall seek out an editor to remedy these annoyances.



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Chapter One : On the Record



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What follows is a partial transcript, taken from an interview conducted with Mrs. Summers. It was recorded during the production of a reality television-show, called The Day I Nearly Died. Regrettably, the episode in question was finished just prior to the show's cancelation. Subsequently, it never aired.



The final edit of the episode is available online, however -- for those diligent and tech-savy enough to find it. It's not terribly remarkable and certainly does not convey the whole truth of Betty Summers's harrowing story. Nothing noteworthy to this investigation made it into that final edit of the episode [#3.4: "A Disappearance at Bear Lake"], except for the sole mention of Mrs. Summers "seeing a strange hunter walking amongst the trees one night".



Despite many attempts, portions of the original preliminary interview with Mrs. Summers were not obtained by the author. Other sections of her account were redacted by the producers of The Day I Nearly Died and will likely never see the light on day. For now, this is what I've got...



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Transcribed an audio-cassette, labeled: " Prep. Mrs. Summers #1 [Side A] ". It was provided to the author by the The Day I Nearly Died's editor in chief, Jerry T. Crumb:



Static. Two garbled voices.



A long stretch of silence, followed by a loud click.



Mrs. Summers : "--are you asking, exactly? Why can't you talk straight with me?"



Interviewer : "Yes, ma'am... Well, before I turn this tape-recorder on, I wanted to give you the chance to clear up a few things for me -- and for the producers, of course."



A cough.



Interviewer : "This will be completely off the record, I promise; strictly between us.



Another cough.



Interviewer : "It's just... Lawyers, am I right? We've gotta make sure we have all our bases covered, it's as simple as that. You understand, of course?"



Mrs. Summers : "Mhmm... Can I smoke?"



Interviewer : "Well, ma--"



Mrs. Summers : "--Please, don't call me ma'am."



Pause.



Interviewer : "Sorry, Mrs. Summers. I want you to feel comfortable. I'm not here to interrogate you. I'm here to help you tell your story exactly the way it happened."



Mrs. Summers : "I see."



A muffled noise, followed by the sound of a lighter being used.



Mrs. Summers : "So, what was your question? Without beating around the bush this time."



Interviewer : "Well... We talked to your husband recently and--"



Mrs. Summers : "--Why? He has nothing to do with what happened to me and my daughter!"



Interviewer : "Of course not, of course not. But see, Betty..."



Something is heard being placed on the table; a heavy folder, perhaps.



Interviewer : "His account of your mental and physical state the day you were rescued varied drastically from the one we had on record; I mean to say, the account you and your daughter gave to all those news-shows, back when you were the fluff piece of the year. For staters, your weight--"



Mrs. Summers : "--Fucking... Pardon me?"



Interviewer : "Calm down, Mrs. Summers. I didn't mean it that way. It's just... Rick clams you somehow managed to put on a few pounds while out there in the woods, quote: 'starving to death'."



Mrs. Summers : "My ex-husband was more in shock to find we'd been rescued than anyone else. I wouldn't take anything he told you about that day too seriously."



Mrs. Summers can be heard extinguishing her cigarette into her cup of coffee.



Mrs. Summers : "It must have been a real blur for him, don't you think?"



Interviewer : "Understood."



A long silence.



Interviewer : "Did you meet someone in the woods, Mrs. Summers?"



Mrs. Summers : "What do y--"



More static, garbled-up voices. Nearly a minute of elapsed time passes, without anything remotely audible being heard. It is this author's opinion that these distortions are anything but random. This is yet to be verified, of course.



Mrs. Summers : "--if I went to the woods to meet someone? Do you know how silly that sounds?"



Interviewer : "No, no. Sorry. I'm not suggesting that. Not at all."



Pause.



Interviewer : "I do, in fact, believe you when you say you went out there to teach your daughter to--"



Rustling paper.



Interviewer : "--in your words: 'teach her to become her own woman'. I'm not questioning your intentions, Mrs. Summers. I think they were very noble. Admirable, even. Maybe you just got in over your head and you thought you had no other, y'know, option. That's what I think..."



Mrs. Summers is heard lighting another cigarette.



Mrs. Summers : "Can't say I know what that's meant to mean. Sounds dramatic, though; whatever you and the writers are cooking-up about me. I'm sure it'll work wonderfully for your show. I'd just prefer you left out all those... unmentionable parts. I could sue, you know that? I could sue for something like that."



Interviewer is mumbling something. The word "contract" can be barely heard.



Mrs. Summers : "You think I'm kidding?"



Interviewer : "Just... Listen. It's been speculated -- not by me, but it's being speculated -- that you and your daughter might have ran into someone out there in the woods, while trying to find safety. A fellow hiker or a poacher, maybe. Hell, could have even been some folks living off-the-grid, growing pot. We're thinking -- the producers, I mean -- they're thinking maybe you two weren't alone for all of those weeks. We're thinking, maybe, you weren't really lost at all -- not after they found you."



Pause.



Interviewer : "Most people are thinking it's a kidnapping, but that doesn't add up in my eyes. For one, you'd have come forward. I mean, you'd be safe now, you'd be able to go to the police. So no, I don't think that was the case. Too sensationalistic, anyway. Sounds like something a bunch of reporters would come up with while filling in the blanks."



Mrs. Summers : "Tabloid rumours. Why are you telling me this? You don't think I'm aware?"



Interviewer : "Oh, and there was this one blog the researchers on our team stumbled across. Funny, really. Claimed you and your daughter were intended to be sacrifices for some hippy-dippy, Voodoo cult. Someone in the comments got real angry about it, telling everyone you were actually part of the cult. Real crazy stuff."



Pause.



Interviewer : "Me? Honestly, I think maybe you saw something. Something criminal, I mean. Bargained for your life someh--"



A screeching distortion is heard. Both voices are inaudible for some time.



When the two voices return, Mrs. Summers can be heard screaming at the Interviewer:



Mrs. Summers : "--don't think two women could manage that, huh? What, too fragile? You think there must have been some brave knight in shining armour to save ou--"



Click.



...And that's it. The remainder of " Prep. Mrs. Summers #1 [Side A] " consists entirely of that same screeching noise.



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Below, you can read the first news report of Betty and Rachel's rescue:



| The Rich County Herald



| March Eleventh, 2011



Family-members of a Washington mother and daughter lost in the backcountry surrounding Bear Lake have plenty of reasons to rejoice this week, after the search for the missing hikers ended happily.



Three weeks ago, school-teacher Betty Summers and her daughter, Rachel Summers, set out on what was supposed to be a scenic camping trip. Their goal was simply to spend their time bonding with one-another. What began as a leisurely trip quickly escalated when the pair failed to return to their hotel at the end of the day. Instead of spending their time bonding, Betty and Rachel Summers spent their every moment fighting for survival.



Finding no sign of the hikers three weeks after they went missing, officials called off the search. Family and friends prepared to say their final goodbyes by heading into the mountains to the location where the hikers disappeared.



That same day, in what some are calling a miraculous turn of events, Betty and Rachel emerged from the woods, following the sound of the grieving family saying their final words.



"We were literally preparing to say our goodbyes and getting ourselves ready for what we thought we knew would come next ... when we heard that [they've] just walked out of the woods and are OK," said Betty's husband, Rick Summers. "Describing the emotions I felt in those two minutes would be impossible."



Without proper equipment or hiking supplies, Betty and Rachel became hopelessly lost in a heavily forested area. They managed to build themselves a lean-to shelter, thanks to Mrs. Summers's prior experience serving in the military. They stayed close to a drainage basin, which provided life-saving water. Regardless, their survival is considered a miracle.



"It's amazing," said Carl Vonte of Bear Lake County Search and Rescue told KHB. "Unprecedented, even. Nearly three weeks in the bush and they're alive and well and able to walk. It's absolutely amazing. I've never heard of anything like it."



Though they remained in the same general area through-out the three weeks, rescuers say the dense forested landscape would have made it nearly impossible to spot the hikers from the air.



Unprepared for the time spent in the wild, Betty admitted that she lost almost 20 pounds through the ordeal, returning with nothing but a Tic-Tac in her pocket, which she refused to eat.



Park officials are warning anyone embarking on outdoor excursions in the Bear Lake backcountry to take necessary precautions and survival gear. Miracles rarely happen twice.



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That's the story on the record: a one-of-a-kind tale of harrowing survival. You can see why it drew so much media attention at the time, even if few remember it now.



In Chapter Two, I'm coming to show you a collection of unpublished documents, relating to the disappearance of Betty Summers and her daughter. In totality, I think they will begin to unearth the untold story -- the one The Day I Nearly Died was too afraid to tell you...



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CHAPTER TWO : Off the Record



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The following is a series of diary fragments, retrieved from the fireplace by Rick Summers, prior to his divorce proceedings with Betty Summers. This is where the 'off the record' story starts.



It's evident from looking at the torn pages that some attempt was made by Mrs. Summers to dispose of her diary pages in the fireplace, but she was clearly unsuccessful. Accounts given by the cleaning lady suggest Mrs. Summers had began consuming multiple bottles of red wine a night at the time, which could explain her seeming incompetence at this relatively simple task.



No dates are present on any of the fragments, making it difficult to determine their chronological order. I've made the most educated guess I possibly could.



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Diary Fragment, One of Eight :



--dreamt about him again last night. A lways that fireplac During the day, I try my hardest to not remember what happened to us. in that cab i But it's an impossible task.



Rick has started asking questions. He dropped a plate last night and I screamed out loud. It was the sound that got me, it was just like a whip being cracked. I thought I'd turn around and there he'd be, standing right behind me. H olding the whi



I don't know what to do. I wish My daughter seems to be doing a better job of forgetting than I am.



God bless her.



I wish I knew how she did it...



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Diary Fragment, Two of Eight :



--est results came back clean this morning. I'm assuming it is safe enough to extend those results to Rachel, too.



Small merc--



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Diary Fragment, Three of Eight :



I know I should tell Rick what really happened to us out there in the woods, and sooner rather than later, but I can't bring myself to do it.



I just can't.



It doesn't bother me any longer, thinking that Rick might see me differently after I confess. He almost certainly will. But things between us have already changed irrevocably and there isn't any going back. I knew that the day we were "rescued".



I'm not afraid of that any longer. But I still can't bare the idea of him seeing Rachel that wa--



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Diary Fragment, Four of Eight :



--because he kept asking me about the marks on my back k and then I



W HAT IS WR ON G WITH ME!?! ?!



fuc k fuck fu ck



I threw a vase at his head. The one Rick's mother gave us on our wedding.



He left and hasn't called.



F UCK FUCK F U CK



It's been twelve hours and I still haven't found it in me to pick up the pho--



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Diary Fragment, Five of Eight :



--was the same dream. It's always the exact same dream.



I'm on the rug, laying beside the fireplace, fighting the ropes cutting into the flesh of my arms and legs. I'm naked, but I'm not shivering. Because I can feel the warmth from the fireplace on every inch of my exposed skin. In any other circumstance, it would be a wonderful feeling. Fucking romantic, even.



But it's not. Not at all.



I'm watching him climb on-top of Rachel, hopeless to intervene. I'm trying to scream at him to stop, but all I can get past the gag is a series of grunts. The worst part is, Rachel doesn't seem to want to fight back for herself. The worst part is, I think she welcomed every second of it.



The heat from the fireplace suddenly feels hotter, like's it's roasting my skin; but really, the flame has begun to slowly dwindle into hot embers. I try to look away from the man on top of Rachel, away from the fire, but all I can see is this mounted deer's head, right there above me.



I don't remember there being any taxidermy or hunting trophies in the cabin, certainly none hanging there above the fireplace. But in my dream, I saw it. It was right there, hanging directly above me.



The deer's black eyes just stare down at me, penetrating me me with their emptiness; penetrating me the way the man was about to penetrate Rachel. And the longer I stared back into those black, lifeless beads, the more it dawned on me.



I listened to Rachel's attempts to stifle her groans, trying to disguise them as discomfort for my ears. And I just kept craning my neck too stare upward, into those empty black beads...



The realization hit me, just the moment I heard Rachel's groans accelerate towards an orgasm. This is exactly what were to him, to this strange and terrible man: trophies, hunted for sport and mounted for decorati--



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Diary Fragment, Six of Eight :



-- am I even doing? I'm a wrec k.



It's been weeks .



MONTHS



And I still haven't washed the panties I was wearing on the day I was rescued. I hid them in my jewelry box, next to the pearls I was given on my wedding night.



Now that Rick isn't home very often, I wear them to bed every other night. It wakes me feel comfortable, but I'm too scared to touch myself while wearing them. I don't want him to win.



But I'd be lying to myself if I said it wasn't comforting to me in some perverse way. Like a child's blanke--



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These are Rachel's most recent Tweets, as of the rough time of her and her mother's disappearance:



| -- Feb.19 -- 6:43 AM -------------------------------------------------------



|



| "#HBD to me. im fucking freezing .. this is bullshit."



|



| ------------------------------------------Retweets x 0 ---- ♥︎'s x 7 ---------



|



| -- Feb.19 -- 6:54 AM --------------------------------------------------------



|



| "nazi mother forcing me to wake up on my birthday and march.



| #beautifulbearlake #gayasfuck"



|



| ------------------------------------------Retweets x 0 ---- ♥︎'s x 2 ---------



|



| -- Feb.19 -- 7:38 AM --------------------------------------------------------



|



| "oh wow.,. nature. cool... #beautifulbearlake #justshotme"



|



| ------------------------------------------Retweets x 0 ---- ♥︎'s x 6 ---------



|



| -- Feb.19 -- 9:09 AM --------------------------------------------------------



|



| "my s. s. mother CONFISCATED my cigarettes.....



| #beautifulbearake #suckadick"



|



| ------------------------------------------Retweets x 0 ---- ♥︎'s x4 ---------



|



| -- Feb.19 -- 9:12 AM --------------------------------------------------------



|



| "jeez, we turned a corner and look at that. more nature.



| #beautifulbearlake #ihatemtlife"



|



| ------------------------------------------Retweets x 0 ---- ♥︎'s x 1 ---------



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Diary Fragment, Seven of Eight :



--ound it online, but it wasn't easy. I ended up searching nearly every sex store that shipped in North America.



They're exactly like the ones he used on me.



I found them on a store dedicated to historical replicas of Medieval torture-devices and other... unsavoury things like that.

