Part One- The Fuel.

NOVEMBER 15TH, 1981- RECRUIT

An eight year old boy named Eli Shoemaker goes missing from his home in Erwin, Tennessee. His parents claim that Eli was playing near the creek in the backyard, a regular practice for the child upon finishing his chores.

When the sun began to set, Mari Shoemaker called to her son to come inside. Eli did not respond. Assuming he was reluctant to end his fun, she headed out to the edge of the creek to retrieve the boy.

The water and the vast expanse of creeping, tangled wilderness beyond held no sound- and no Eli. His shoes had been carefully placed on the sandy bank, socks rolled up and crammed in the toe. After ten minutes or so of yelling through the trees, it became apparent that Eli was not able or willing to respond.

FEBRUARY 11TH, 1981- REFORMED

The Shoemakers awake to another day without their son. Mari had insisted on leaving the door to his bedroom closed, unable to look at the mess. toys waiting longingly for their owner, little cars begging to be raced. Her husband Luke feels differently, often sneaking into ELi's room. Wordlessly opening the dresser to look at his son's clothes, wondering which pajamas he might slip into once he's finally home.

Only one or two reporters remain outside in their respective vans, waiting for their chance at a heartbreaking new interview. It is shocking to both parents how quickly the media has lost interest in their tragedy. Both feel a guilty relief at the sight of a sparse street.

At roughly 9:45AM, Luke Shoemaker enters his son's room with a glass of scotch. The pastel green door creaks open gently and he flinches, waiting for his wife to scold him for his "twisted ritual".

Mari is awoken by the sound of the glass smashing onto the carpeted floor and muffled expletives from her husband. She calls the police immediately, saying a swirling, ranting prayer as she sprints down the hall. Her slurred mind picturing the corpse of a boy deposited into his bed by a masked evil. A tortured and broken body left in its former sanctuary. Anything but a safe return comes to mind.

Police arrived to find peculiar tampering had taken place in Eli's room. Clothing, shoes, and toys had been vandalized. "Remade" would be a more accurate description. Completely dismantled, altered, and reassembled. Small cotton shirts rest neatly in the drawers, all tightly sewn to one another. It formed a blanket-sized sheet, arranged in wavering stripes of bold color.

Toy cars that began to show the first signs of dust and abandonment were perfectly arranged in a spiral, curled on the scrappy blue rug. They are visibly cleaner, almost polished.

Soft toys and teddy bears that once lounged on their owner's bed sat straight and rigid near the window. Each toy had been taken apart at the seams and sewn back together, though they were now inside out. Pathetic scraps of cotton filling seemed to glow in the morning sun, clinging to the coarse and crudely woven fabric.

According to police reports, the authorities were on the scene for roughly fifteen minutes before an officer opened the closet door. It slammed onto the adjacent wall, casting a lazy, warm light on a wary audience.

Old string lights, barely clinging to life. Each bulb was no bigger than a golf ball, with delicate wiring emitting a dull sizzle. The closet's illuminated contents were spare, a few small suits and costumes hung on a tension rod, with tubs of old toys and a few weathered sleeping bags packed into the right corner. The boy's pale blue varsity jacket hung slightly askew, the pocket seeming to bulge unnaturally. Upon further inspection, all articles of clothing with pockets had been filled enough to strain the seams.

Police on the scene and subsequent investigators could not determine how an intruder could bypass the Shoemakers, steal several items from Eli's room, and bring them back so thoroughly altered.

Luke Shoemaker on WKD7 Local news that evening-

"It's- it's sick. I don't know if someone thinks my suffering- my wife's suffering- is a joke. I don't know if I'm any closer to seeing my boy. I don't know what this means. I know it was sick, that's what it was- a sick, sick act. They can't listen to reason, they won't give him back." Luke slams his hand on the podium, sending a 'thunk' through the microphones attached. Mari places a hand on his upper arm, attempting to whisper something to him. Luke shakes her off in one frigid motion.

"These sick freaks come into a man's home, they ruin my son's room, they play little games with their sick toys, they ruin everything" Another fist to the podium. "They put candy in the pockets of my boy's best damn church clothes. Just ruined 'em. But that just ain't enough for a monster. They put these lights in- in his closet" His voice breaks. Mari reaches a hand from her pocket to comfort him, but thinks twice and cowers deeper into the background.

"Lights. Like they want to put on a damn show. A freakshow, that's what it is. A real sick person, that's who we need to find."

Eli Shoemaker was never found. His parents' last televised interview was in April of 1990, in which they shared the details of the memorial service they held for their son, nine years after his disappearance.

The case was featured in a 2017 episode of Nightline, in which modern forensic tech is applied to the remaining evidence taken from Eli's room.

The episode focuses mainly on how peculiar it is to find no DNA on something like children's toys or clothing . This suggests some type of cleaning process took place, and experts speculate on how this could happen as images of Eli's smiling face roll past the screen.

A retired crime writer and antiques dealer spend roughly four minutes of the episode discussing the closet lights. They appear to be from the late 1930s, and are an item rarely found with original bulbs such as these. He questions how this could be so inconsequential to the case, and the program moves on.

MARCH 18TH, 1989- REJOYCE

14 year old Lacey McMillian begins her walk home from AC Piker High School in Wheeling, WV. She starts her walk alone, reportedly wearing her pink Jansport bookbag and white tennis shoes. During this mile long walk, she more than likely would have taken a small shortcut through the woods near the track field, crossed the parking lot of the nearby Baptist church, and passed a few small patches of homes before she would reach her destination.

A fellow student, Ricky Buchanan, claims to have seen her walk into the wooded path from the field around 3:45

"She's a freshman, you know? I barely know them. I was timing laps, doing my thing, and she's looking at me. I look up and she gets all shy, she runs away like a spotted deer. It's cute, you know? I keep watching, I thought about callin' her over but I don't want to look like, you know, some creep. She's got this cute little walk going up to the woods and she s-t-o-p-s. Freezes, you know? Hell, its bear season, I think she sees some prize hide runnin' around. But before I can come in and be a big man you know, save the girl, she keeps on struttin'. I told my buddy I thought she was into me, man- that's fucked up."

45 minutes later, Preacher John Ferris spots Lacey walking across the pavement of Wheeling Holy Baptist Church. While he cannot report anything distressed about her behavior, he claims that Lacey's clothes and shoes were filthy. Her hair looks disheveled, like she had rolled around in the dirt before continuing her walk.

"Couldn't even tell what color the poor girl's shoes were, she was so dirty. I wondered if the other girls had been pestering her, you know how cruel some children can be. But when she got closer to the windows, she seemed to walk with a smile in her heart. The same, sweet Lacey that I see every Sunday. I said a prayer for her to remain safe... to remain as happy as she seemed in service all week long."

Ferris adamantly stated that muddy footprints were left on the pavement, but without security cameras or other witnesses, this remains undetermined.

Over two hours later, during the start of a pale spring sunset, Lacey is seen by multiple residents of the Sprinkling Maple Trailer Court. The elderly residents often sit together during the evenings, and happened to see Lacey walking on the distant sidewalk. Mabel Palmer and Nathaniel Goodman both agree that Lacey appeared to look perfectly clean and content, one even commenting on her bright blue jeans.

Richard Palmer and Elizabeth Dawkins report seeing a teenager "covered in grime", and are confident that she carried no bag on her back. Mr. Palmer goes so far as to claim the young girl seemed suspicious to him, and he considered "shooing her to the other side of the damn road". These interviews are largely dismissed due to the poor eyesight of the witnesses, and the disagreement between four people who witnessed the same thing from the same location.

Mabel Palmer in an interview for 20/20, 1992-

"I knew that girl better than any young man or high-strung preacher. And I will tell you one thing- That was a good young woman. Always came to see me, always said hello and God Bless. She was so sweet to us old folks down the road and lord knows not many kids act that way." The frail woman pulls a worn handkerchief from the purse on her lap and dabs it under her puffy eyes.

"Until the day I meet my savior I will kick myself for not waving her down, or calling her momma when I got in. I don't care if Richard and Elizabeth and all those damn cops- forgive me lord- those damn cops- don't believe me." Her voice wobbles, nearly betraying a sob. Mabel suddenly straightens herself in the oversized chair and jabs a finger at the off-camera interviewer, animated and furious.

"I will tell you what- I KNOW what I saw, and I saw Little Lacey walking with someone. It weren't someone I knew. I know every damn one in this town, my grandpappy and his brothers BUILT this town. THAT was a stranger. Some nasty damn stranger in some sissy big city outfit, taking our girls. No one does a thing because they don't... they just don't listen to me... Some old such and such..." Out of breath, Mabel sits back, now using the handkerchief to pat at her perspiring brow.

Almost whispering, she cranes her head upwards. "I pray for her every day, Lord and I hope you watch over our Lacey. I pray to the Lord that you seek out the one who did this and you make him pay Lord, Oh forgive me."

Lacey McMillian was never seen past 6:30 on the night of the 18th. Her walk took approximately 105 minutes longer than it ever had before. There is no evidence to prove that she made it past the Sprinkling Maple Trailer Court. Authorities searched the entire county, and enlisted the Forest Service to comb the knotted West Virginia woods. Two months were spent carefully combing tree lines and cave systems- no sign of Lacey.

Her beaming face became synonymous with pain as locals mourned, whispered, and made assumptions about her disappearance.

Mabel Palmer died shortly after her 1992 interview. Her family claimed that involvement with the case aged her even quicker. She never stopped glaring out of the window. Hoping to see Lacey perhaps, or searching for some scrap of proof to validate what she saw that day.

Mabel walking to her former residence, captured by her granddaughter

Mabel's daughter Claire Palmer in a local news segment-

"My mother thought she was to blame for Lacey. She wouldn't hear no one out, and she got all fired up when you asked her to come away from the window. 'I'll see her again, I'll see that mean little thing who took her too'." Claire sighs, briefly twirling a cross around her neck.

"She wouldn't hardly go to the doctor for fear of missing something, my kids had to help me pull her away. I mean, she really took it hard. She moved in with us down the way from her trailer near the end, you know, to help her out- keep her safe. I would find her wanderin' over there. She kept on about someone on her porch, and someone leaving her these old lookin' candies" A humorless noise, vaguely resembling a chuckle.

"Y'all would think that'd scare me half to death, but this was after we sold her trailer to a nice family- from Kentucky I think. She'd go over there, say hello, pace around the yard a bit. They never got upset, real patient folks. Ma ruined my washing machine twice with all the candy she'd put in her pockets, God love it I miss her."

JULY 2ND, 1996- REJECT

Discovery of Analise’s body showcased on WYS8

The body of a girl was found in a roadside crop of woods near Morganton, NC. The normally sleepy and impossibly tight-knit town was completely rocked by the information, even after it was determined that the girl did not hail from the area.

Her name was Analise Washford, a resident of nearby North Wilkesboro. Her sickly, leaking body was found leaning stiff against a wide oak tree. A mess of kudzu and creeper wove around her middle, the sign of a body that has grown close to forgotten.

Being near a highway exit, attention quickly gathered near the police and forensic vehicles. Hungry eyes and ears, unaware of the grotesque circumstances hidden in the vines.

Lieutenant Kittle can be seen on camera throwing a reporter to the ground, bellowing at him to get away from the crime scene. The look in his eyes betrays the level of authority he is trying to convey. He has small specks of what could be vomit on the breast of his uniform.

The same reporter minutes later, reporting live for WYS8 Local News-

"Heartbreaking news coming from the heart of Appalachia tonight, John. An unidentified child was found deceased in the woods off exit 75. I have been told that DOT staff first called it in, a witness says they spotted hair from the road and immediately called the police. I am not able to get many details at this time, however the body seems somewhat hidden. Authorities are- well- securing the area and attempting to identify this child. It is unknown if they are reported missing and we urge anyone with a missing son or daughter in the area- or any information at all- to call the hotline number at ____"

It quickly became apparent that Analise had been away from home for a long time. Her skin and hair were layered in grease, nails grown uneven and chipped away. Her teeth were layered with plaque and filth.

She was found completely nude, save for a pair of patent leather shoes, too clean to suggest that Analise walked to the site herself. Her stomach appeared swollen and distended, rearing horrible images in the mind of the initial investigators. A life rocketed into perverse adulthood before her demise.

Thankfully, or perhaps not, Analise was swollen with feast, not life. Stomach contents included cakes, potatoes, chicken, and small amounts of turkey. Above all else, there were candies. Small, round, completely undigested hard candies practically poured out from taught, thin tissue.

A soft clattering noise can be heard in the recorded autopsy report-

"The- the victim- Christ they're all over the floor. Mary- get a bag and pull yourself together-" The recording cuts for a moment. The clattering has stopped when the voice returns.

"The victim appears to have been well fed. Proteins and bread items have been digested, though the hard candies found are near perfect. Numerous too- definitely numerous. My rough estimate would be that these candies could not be swallowed whole by a child of this size. Someone put these here. No sign of incision- Mary and I will examine the body closer after consulting with Lieutenant Kittle. They let her eat first, then they filled her. Poor girl."

Mr. and Mrs. Washford were understandably crushed upon finding their daughter 30 miles from home, already being picked apart by medical examiners.

Given their daughter's medical conditions, the Washfords had spared no expense searching for Analise. They feared the worst after weeks rolled by, relentlessly calling area hospitals and morgues.

The investigative team in charge of her case struggled to determine how much information should be shared with the parents. Lt. Kittle promised the Washfords that all evidence would be thoroughly inspected, and whoever did this had left an ample amount of information behind.

The parents could only sit in their solemn home and wonder as police and specialists slowly revealed macabre facts about their sweet little girl.

First, it was the shiny shoes.

They were found to be somewhat of a rarity- a perfect pair of tailor made children's shoes from 1952. The soles saw no more than ten steps in their long life. She wore no socks, filthy feet leaving stains on the inside of the soft leather.

Then, it was the candy. How it could've been inserted into a child without visible harm stunned and disturbed all who were cursed to witness the autopsy photos.

Eight colors could be found, all roughly the diameter of a quarter, all perfectly opaque and cheery spheres. 45 candies were found, though medical examiners admit to crushing one while scrambling to recover the fallen evidence.

Lastly, Analise's face.

Back home in Waynesboro, Analise was well known by her teachers and peers. She practiced her handwriting every weekend, she sang at church, and she wanted nothing more than to work at her mother's daycare center, minding the toddlers and infants with a smile on her face. Adults in the community kept a special place in their prayers for the child because of her medical needs.

Little Analise had a fragile constitution and the heart of a rabbit. She carried a laminated medical card listing near half of the grocery store that the girl could not interact with. During sleepovers and school lunch, she would be gently led to a separate room to eat her carefully prepared meals and spare her from any potential reaction. All of the threats that faced her, and she was still a good, god fearing young lady.

During a press conference with the police, Mrs. Washford read Analise's letter to Santa. The bubbly, loose handwriting was placed on a screen behind her, eliciting quiet sniffles from the crowd. Analise asked for "big girl makeup, made special for her".-

"She had these allergies- she just wanted to be a big girl like momma" Mrs. Washford sobs sharply into her hand before continuing.

"We tried for weeks to find something right, she loved putting some pink on her cheeks" another sob. "My baby broke out in hives something awful. But Santa is magic, plain and simple" the crowd emits a gentle, sympathetic chuckle.

"So we bought her this little book with faces and all the makeup we could find. She was- is. She is a grateful girl and so sweet. I know she misses us. Please just bring her back."

Analise's face was wiped clean with rough and careless swipes. Dull, rose colored hives hid beneath crumbling flakes of skin. Eyelids swelled with miniature crystals of discharge.

She had flared up with an allergic reaction not only before her death, but for many days prior. Along the lines of her rash-flaked scalp nestled a creamy, perfectly white substance. The crevasses of her delicate lips held a chalky red paste.

This discovery led Lt. Kittle into a chase for theatre staff, face painters, even makeup store employees. Anyone in a 10 mile radius who could account for this gruesome detail. Someone had applied cosmetics to the child's face, allowing her to combust with irritation. They repeated the process, and yet they refused to let her be found with a painted face.

They took away her makeup, they filled her with decadence, and they gifted her a new pair of shoes.

A suspect was never formally arrested for the kidnapping and murder of Analise Washford.

JULY 6TH, 2001- REVIVE

Erwin, TN police department receives a call on the non-emergency line from Trevor Belville, a 49 year old resident. He's infamous around the station for abusing the phone line, reporting any teen or rambunctious dog he sees from his camper window. Folks said if a man renting a broken down Airstream from his uncle could start an HOA, it would be Trevor.

The time is 10:47PM when Officer Janson, who is alone at the station, picks up the receiver.

"Erwin City Police, how may I help you this evening?"

"Hello? Hello ma'am this is Trevor- I believe you might remember me from the rampant vandalism I've been scouting? I came to the station and saw y'all. Real lovely station ma'am, you must work hard to keep it nice"

Officer Janson pulls her face away from the phone and sighs, a gesture meant to be concealed yet clearly heard on the recording.

"Yes Mr. Belville, and if you're calling to discuss that... case.. I suggest you call the detectives direct line we shared with you last wee-"

"Oh no no, Lord no. You see, I called to blow something wide open for you boy- girls- boys and girls I guess. I know where that missin’ boy is"

"Boy?" Another sigh. "Trevor ain't no boy missing in a hundred mile radius. Which kid is messin' with you now?"

"Listen to me, dammit. That boy. Eli- The Shoemaker kid. I tell you what sister, that boy ain't aged a minute since I seen him on the news"

A voice can be heard entering the station. It is quickly shushed, and a second rhythm of breath can be heard leaning into the receiver.

"Alright Trevor, alright. I remember Eli. We all do. You tell me exactly where you seen him and I'll cruise over myself"

"Yourself won't cut it ma'am. You know how boys are when they get into those big groups, they just think the world bows down to them. No sense endangering yourself over damn hoodlums. Bet you anything Eli never got taken, boy just wanted to live on the wrong side of the tr-"

"A group? How many, Trevor? Any boys you recognize? Who exactly can you see?" A faint jingling as the officer prepares to rush out of the station. No response. "Trevor? I need to know how many and who you're seeing. These boys have mommas that wouldn't care to see their boys wandering at night, and it's my job to call 'em"

"No need ma'am, these cretins weren't nothing to do with our town, I never seen 'em in my life. Tell you one thing, you're gonna need backup. These boys got something set up out here. Just like the fireworks last year and the dog they done stole from me. Boys having a party in these woods, it's damn rude."

"A party? Trevor, that boy is- was- too damn young to know about a party. just don't walk out that door. I'm leaving now"

Officer Janson's record is exceptionally clean, not even a citizen's complaint or scratch on her patrol car. The only mark on her record is a meeting scheduled with her superiors, questioning the reports of a call to the Bellville residence. Records state that the report was filed almost three months after the call on July 6th, a near unforgivable delay in their line of work. Her Lieutenant was unable to determine how this report could have gone by the wayside, considering how deeply the call affected Officer Janson and her work in the many years on the force afterwards. Records state that she completed a required 6 months of psychological aide, but no evidence of mental health support beyond what was insisted upon.

As new officers arrived, and old companions retired to their mountain homes, Janson remained. ‘Shoot First Janson’ became a whispered nickname. New recruits kept their heads down and responses limited to "yes ma'am" "no ma'am". A bitter and rigid force to be reckoned with.

Above all else, she would not allow any officer to get near the Bellville residence without a gratuitous amount of backup. Trevor had passed only a few years after the call, his rusted Airstream still decaying at the edge of the holler. Occupied or not, the Erwin Police Department began to dread, even hate, that little speck of property.

Officer Keri Janson during the recorded interview of a trespassing teen, John Hudson, 2007-

"Do you know where we found you, John? Passed out against a tree with your pants half down. Your father would be downright ashamed, and you're lucky we found you first. He's been out all night hollering your name. Looking for you like a crazed hound on the trail" There is a warmth in her voice, but it is thin.

"Not tresspassin' if no one lives there. That freak queer Trevor is gone, didn't you hear?"

A dull slam as Janson collides her fist with the metal table

"Now you listen to me you ungrateful punk. That land belongs to the Bellville family whether they chose to be there or not. That land is not for anyone to step foot on and you best remember that if you'd like to stay out my holding cells"

"Shit, okay I just lost track of where I was walkin', damn. Didn't think there was a crime in that. What, is the bigfoot gonna shoot me for pissin’ on his tree?" A snickering laugh begins and is quickly snuffed out by the squeak of a chair sliding across the floor and three booted footsteps.

You can almost feel Janson's words being spit into the suddenly frightened teenager's face.

"Don't you get it, you son of a bitch? It's out there. Those lights start twirling and those colors start shining through the leaves. You think it's so funny to disrespect that forest out there but she is out there waiting for you. They all are. They will feed you and work you and mold you until you are of no use, and then my officers find you rotting in the vines. Is that what you want? Is that what your life has added up to? Fuel for the lights?!" Her voice raises to a fever pitch, and the door can be heard whispering open before two sets of footsteps enter. The interview and subsequent release of John were handled by an unnamed officer.

The alleged tip of Eli Shoemaker’s whereabouts called in by Trevor Bellville was never submitted to the cold case hotline.

JANUARY 9TH, 2013- REMOVED

A video is posted to Youtube by username xXcrimecutieXx at 11:15pm. The account boasts a twenty thousand follower count, impressive for the time. A brief scroll through recent uploads reveals vibrant, eye-catching thumbnails, often with 'crime cutie' herself sporting a shocked or disgusted expression. The titles match the frantic excitement of the thumbnail- "The Killer Who Ate Children?!" "A Wife Lives with Her Husband's Corpse?!".

The content of these videos is not unusual. A young woman sits in her room, posters adorning every square inch of the background. She bats her fake eyelashes rapidly as she speaks for the victims of countless crimes. Her newest video sports the flashy title- “Redneck Candy Killer?!”

"Heyyy what's up you guys, it's your favorite cutie in crime! Today I want to share with you a cutie crime theory!" A graphic flashes on screen, small cartoon renderings of her face flash around, blinking lightbulbs above each.

"As you know, I love to do a little of my own investigating, you know, like the world's most adorable detective! Maybe I am! Anyway, this theory is so crazy you guys, I don't even know if I believe it! Don't lock me up okay, seriously!" The backing track changes to a vaguely somber plucking of keys, resetting the tone. Pictures of children take over the screen.

"Eli Shoemaker, missing November of 1981. Lacey McMillian, missing March of 1989, and finally Analise Washford, missing and tragically found dead in the summer of 1996." A map appears, placing small, black hearts over three southeastern towns.

"All of these children were taken in the beautiful part of our country known as the Appalachian mountains" The video divulges into a breakdown of Eastern Tennessee, Western North Carolina, even the stereotypes associated with the residents of West Virginia. She claps joyfully as she finishes her obligatory background information.

"So! What do these disappearances have to do with each other? the evidence and children themselves are so different, police have yet to pull these cases together, or even examine the evidence as far as I can tell!" She shakes her head like a small child, waggling her finger at the police officer she imagines might be listening.

"I can tell you with one word- Candy. These kids were all found with hard candies around them and in them- Yes, I said that. Actually putting candy in someone with like, surgery or something."

"Now you guys know I have a friend who likes to help out the channel with his epic hacker skills!" An irritating graphic and sound effect flashbang the viewer. "And he managed to get ahold of some photos for us! Let's take a look" An image twirls onto the screen, displaying five or six pieces of hard candy lumped together in the small pocket of a boy's trousers. The photographer has merely spread the pocket open with his fingers, showing a glimpse of the candies resting in a nest of cotton. The flash makes the photo feel wrong, almost intimate.

"This candy was found in Eli's clothing after a mysterious intruder snuck in and tore his room apart, nightmare style" Images of the deconstructed toys and sutured clothing twirl in over the image of the candy. A clip of his parents begging an anonymous captor for their heart and soul to be returned cuts short.

"Ugh, so sad. My heart is with his parents. If they're alive? Hey, reach out and let me know if you're a fan!" A nervous titter of laughter.

"Next, the candy found by Mabel Palmer, after Lacey went missing. This old lady was maybe crazy, okay? But we believe women around here! Even if they are old and super weird" She flashes a wink at the camera and an image of hard candies appears again.

This time, they are scattered haphazardly in the dying grass surrounding a single wide trailer. No more than ten candies lay about, some seemingly sunk into the dirt by oblivious feet. The photo is blurry and has been taken from an odd angle.

"Mabel took this picture to show her daughter that someone was breaking onto her property and leaving her snacks. I saw a news show where, like, her daughter totally calls her out for being crazy and throwing candy in the yard for attention or whatever, but Mabel said in a different interview that someone was, like, leaving them for her. Could it be the mysterious stranger that only Mabel witnessed walking with Lacey that night?" A fake, pondering expression crosses her face.

She discusses both crimes and their differences before a warning icon pops up. Pink skulls waggle crudely on either side.

"Okay guys lastly, we are talking about the horrible murder of Analise Washford" For some reason, the death of this child receives some shred of respect from XxcrimecutiexX, as her tone finally deescalates from ecstatic thrill. She shows images of Analise in the hospital after one of many procedures, pictures of her in Sunday school, holding hands with the other boys and girls, and finally, a photo that is barely recognizable as Analise.

A small metal tray is laying on a steel slab, one delicate, blue-grey hand lays passively to the left. The tray is nearly overflowing with hard candies. While they have the sheen of stomach bile, they look almost appetizing stacked with one another.

"These are the candies found in Analise's stomach. What's really messed up- like really uncool and yuck- is that these were not swallowed or chewed. someone. put. them. there."

A digital, clipping scream is overlayed with the audio, the screen darkens slightly.

"This means that someone had to cut Analise open, put almost FIFTY pieces of candy in her, and sew her back up without leaving any marks at all. not. one. scratch." the scream cycles again, XxcrimecutiexX shakes her head and shivers playfully

"Oh my gosh, that is so gross, and you know I love a super messed up case. three kids, all candy. Big yikes." The video grows repetitive as the facts of each case are slowly and carefully stated by a host who doesn't seem to grasp some of the medical and legal jargon stated.

With three minutes and eighteen seconds left to insert a new piece of information, she claps again.

"OKAY! You guys heard the cases, you saw those gnarly pics, thanks hacker man!" Another graphic, another peace sign thrown into the air. "But now, let me tell you what I think. I think that there's someone- or something- in the woods. Do you remember Hansel and Gretel? The kids with the witch and the candy house? If there's one thing I learned reading about this area, it's that those woods are seriously messed up. The whole area, like, a bunch of states. They say those woods are older than the first recorded bones, like whaaat?! So who's to say that there isn't something out there, some mountain man or monster who likes to take kids and fill 'em with candy?" She wiggles her fingers and attempts to appear frightening.

"I think something spooky is out there collecting kids, and it still. could. be. there" Yet another scream, followed by a cheery laugh.

"But that's just my Crime Cutie Conspiracy guys, don't take my word for it! Maybe you should get into those woods and find the candy man yourself!" The video ends with egregious amounts of fanfare and begging viewers to "hit that subscribe button!".

With roughly five seconds of video left, she puts up an email account linked to her channel, asking anyone with information to reach out to her. A significantly smaller block of text suggests that anyone with information should call the authorities immediately.

AN EMAIL SENT ON JAN 16TH, 2013 to XxcrimecutieinfoxX@yahoo.com

from staff@phc.net

Sarah Dhurman, 17. Lives at 4981 West Poplar Street, Washington, PA.

Were you a quiet child, Sarah? Did you listen to your parents, respect your elders? Did you play in the trees when you lived with your grandmother? Did she keep a watchful eye?

Sarah, you still have a ticket. You can still come see. You can behave yourself and listen close.

Listen for the buzz of many.

Stand beneath the lights.

The curtains open for you alone.

35.066914 -83.946691 .

This email was posted via screenshot to XxcrimecutiesxX twitter account, address and information redacted. Though she seems to laugh off the "mega creeper" in her Tweet, XxcrimecutiexX does not upload another video for four months.

MAY 23RD, 2013- REMAIN

A video is posted to the XxcrimecutiexX account. It is titled "I Am Being Good". The thumbnail image is merely a blurry image of the sky, perfectly blue and spotless. The video is nearly six hours long, a shocking difference from her fast paced, color blasting content.

The video begins with XxcrimecutiexX holding a camera close to her face, showing no signs of the thick makeup normally applied before recording. She sounds out of breath, and appears to have some kind of massive gear bag strapped to her back. Slow steps crunch in a crisp rhythm.

"I made it. I hiked all the way and I found the perfect place." The camera flips, shakily panning around what looks like an impossibly thick shroud of forest, placed neatly next to a small field of wildflowers. Even through the lens of a low grade camcorder, it is beautiful.

"Wow. this is like.. a postcard." Her voice sounds sleepy through the panting of exercise, almost groggy. The camera flips back to her face, though her eyes are focused on something past the trees. She shakes her head and attempts to focus.

"I love you mom. I love you Fin. I'm sorry I misbehaved for so long. I am trying- trying so hard to be good again. You'll see." XxcrimecutiexX bends down and struggles for approximately 45 seconds, propping her camcorder up on the discarded gear bag. She steps back, looks around, and stops for one moment, staring at the camera from about eight feet away. She waves once, and turns her back to the device. She is now facing the tree line, black boots inches away from weaving root structures.

For the next five hours of the video, XxcrimecutiexX stands almost completely still, staring at the woods. The video seems frozen, save for the occasional breeze catching her straw colored hair. Three hours into this bizarre footage, you can see a gentle tilt of the head. Her head remains in this position until the final six minutes of the video, in which XxcrimecutiexX leans her upper body closer to the woods, as you would when examining a piece of fine art. She snaps back to straightened posture, visibly shaking, and raises her hand. One wave, just as she did before.

A small, golden yellow light is seen in the far distance of the forest, so miniscule and dim that many viewers are oblivious to it before reading comments citing the timestamp.

Her hand falls back down, and with it, her head. She seems suddenly fascinated with something on the ground directly in front of her, or perhaps has fallen unconscious on her feet. XxcrimecutiexX appears suddenly headless to viewers due to the extreme bend of her neck. With thirty two seconds left in the video, she plucks something from the ground, brings it to her hair-shrouded face, assumedly placing the object in her mouth. She then walks, or more accurately, stomps into the forest. Her head does not raise as she walks out of sight.

Sarah Dhurman was never seen again. Careful investigation of her devices and social media accounts reveal a four month gap of nothing. No posting, no messages to friends, not even a google search. Sarah Dhurman received the email, went radio silent, and became consumed by the trees. Her final video explodes nationally, even appearing on an ABC news segment. They play a brief clip of her "candy redneck video", with retired detectives from the Lacey McMillian case commenting on the young woman's "creative thinking". One ABC reporter later reveals that Sarah's mother firmly believes her daughter's fans are to blame, crediting a mysterious and undiscovered stalker that must have been waiting to prey upon her.

"I Am Being Good" was eventually removed from Youtube, and can only be found behind paywalls and within malware ridden gore sights.

Sarah's family has since moved to the area in which she went missing, and can often be found combing the woods, shouting for their little superstar.

Feeding The lights- pt. 1

Work Blog Contact

Feeding The lights- pt. 1

A Circus that Hunts pt. 2

Work Blog Contact