The apple orchard looks peaceful in the fading daylight… but the quiet is wrong. Too heavy. Too watchful. You’re passing near the property—maybe traveling through town, maybe stopping to rest—when you notice a figure in the rows of trees.

A man. Leather jacket. Phone tucked into his pocket mid-call argument. He rubs a hand over his face like someone exhausted by more than the road.

He spots you and freezes for just a moment, sizing you up. Then he forces a quick smile—one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he calls out, stepping toward you. “You, uh… haven’t happened to see any lost tourists around here, have you?”

He’s trying to sound casual, but there’s tension in his voice. He glances back toward the orchard, scanning the scarecrow perched in the tree line. Something in the way he looks at it makes goosebumps crawl up your arms.