A flyer lies disregarded, barely ruffling on the ground in a wide-open space right near a high rising wooden pole where another flyer just about remains upon this pole it was long since attached too. Both are similar but clearly not the same despite the faded print, worn by the elements over time. Missing persons, children perhaps, whose stories ... whose ultimate destiny may never be revealed to the world.

Does the world even care? Or can something like lore become more important than the actual deaths of the subject of its own lore? For it is well known to many that once a nightfall begins to arrive, especially around here, there are many unexplainable things which simply have a tendency to go bump ... in the night, so to speak. There are things which simply ... happen, after dark. And there seems to be a content of sort to allow it to continue.

There will be no investigation, whether they be procedural, political, or paranormal. Perhaps it's fear, perhaps it's disbelief, or perhaps it is something else which allows for things to continue without alteration.

Do you like scary stories? ...

... What's your favourite scary story?

A twelve-year-old boy leisurely rides his bicycle through an open space unconcerned by the falling darkness with which the twilight hour so happens to bring. Home is his destination, and he has plenty of time to get there before it gets worryingly late, or so he believes. He has been told before not to dally, but he doesn't believe the stories he has been told in the past. He believes it is all a ruse to get him come straight home.

The moon is full and bright, just hanging up ahead like an oversized ping pong ball caught in an impossible position by a pause in time itself. Being so enthralled by this sight, he hops off his bike and allows it to fall to the ground as he catches his balance taking a couple steps forwards then stops to stand, just looking, taking in what he sees.

A stiff cool breeze soon brings him out of his trance, and he takes this a potential hurry up, perhaps he shouldn't be so lackadaisical about getting home. He is dressed only for a warm bright day and not for the temperatures the nights tend to bring once darkness has descended.

He makes a move towards his bike so he can continue on home, but something distracts him from getting onto it. In fact, it is more a someone than a something, a voice, a female voice calls out ... 'help ... someone help me ... please ...'

The voice, it definitely belongs to someone who is older than twelve, but he cannot be sure as he cannot see its owner. He should go, he feels it, though those stories, they can't be true. There are buildings about forty feet or so away, some with laneways in between. As he glances across the street, he sees there are at least three of these laneways, each as dark as the next.

He briefly considers as to if any of these laneways have any kind of sensitive lighting that whereby the lights are triggered by proximity into coming on, though if this were so, and if someone were in a spot of bother down one of these laneways, then wouldn't said lighting be on already?

'Hello ... anyone there ...?' the voice calls out.

There is a certain distress in the voice. And pain, there is pain too, at least so it would seem.

'Eh ... hello ...' he speaks, possibly not loud enough to be heard by anyone near, but then again, there is no one in sight so the place is eerily quiet, and a voice has a tendency to carry, and almost echo, especially while facing those buildings, with which he has taken a few steps towards.

'Young man, please help me ...'

'Where are you? He asks with a nervous tremor, his voice certainly louder now than before.

'Down here ...' the voice speaks, sounding a little less strained and a little less desperate, and likely coming from the center lane.

It is now colder too than what it had been only a moment ago, perhaps this could be put down to the ominous moment he finds himself within. Fear may have him feel a chill yet to arrive. The voice too, has him think of a movie he had seen once before, a movie he kinda now wishes he had not seen at all.

'Down here? ...'

'Em ... I can go get some help if you need it ...'

'Please ... there is no time ...'

He takes a step or two towards where he believes the voice is coming from, trying to convince himself that things which occur in scary movies don't happen in real life, when in truth, fact can be much more frightening than fiction and proof of such is about to reveal itself. A mist has begun to rise. From where did it come? Who knows, and come it has, with a speed which surely cannot be possible that perhaps the movies have come to him.

Back out on the road which stretches out towards his left and silhouetted by the moon as if a spotlight is in effect, there is a man, a very large man, someone who had not been there only a moment or so ago. The evident mist behind him makes him look all the more frightening. Oh no, this is not scary at all ... the hell it's not.

For a moment or two, he finds himself frozen to the spot, not sure as to if he should cry or in turn, become the one who needs to call out for help. He manages to turn to his right though the brightness of the moon a moment ago has affected the ability of his eyes to adjust and the direction with which he looks ... appears far too dark to make anything out with which he can use to his advantage.

This man down towards the left, he is bit of a distance away and it is possible that he may be someone who can help the current situation, though this appears to be highly unlikely. He begins to walk towards the boy and the boy is not willing to stick around to find out the man's true intentions.

'Little boy ...' the disembodied voice is not itself more ominous than it had been before.

The boy runs towards his bike, but the man is closing in, so much so that the boy decides to abandon the bike, favouring making a run for it. He can always return to the bike at another moment ... if such can be possible.

His heart is pounding so hard and fast that it feels as if that in itself is powering his run. Such is how his mind works, it feels as if it gives him a invincible power up much like as if he is a character in a video game. And with that, he considers why he should, and how he may, make a run around after initially leaving his bike behind ...

Surely, he can do a double back and retrieve it, and all will be well, his escape will then be complete. But life is not a video game. There are no invincibility power-ups. He runs off, zigs then zags, then round until he reaches his bike, and he manages to get onto it only to have his world go dark.

Less than a week from this point, a newly created flyer is attached to a pole covering the previously faded flyer now lost to time. It's just another day in paradise ... except it isn't a paradise ... though life goes on just as if it is ... another story has been added to the lore of the town ... this just the way it has always been ... down here.