July 18th (2008) was a windy day. Back then I worked as a receptionist for a hotel near Granville, in Morgantown. Summer months are particularly busy with hikers and other wildlife enthusiasts, and that month was no exception. The weather was looking particularly grim that evening, so there were a lot of impatient guests waiting to see if they could make any last-minute adjustment to their travel plan. There were reports about a nasty thunderstorm in South Dakota, with reporters yelling into the camera about hundreds of homes losing power. As the first drops of rain tapped on our front door, we got ready to hunker down for the night. We’d probably be fine, but you never know.
But I’d already been working a double shift. My manager, Lester, had been extremely clear about how this one weekend would make or break my “career” as a “hotelier”. I would physically strain myself from eye-rolling every time he used that word. Never in my life have I encountered a word that has triggered me more, and never have I seen such a punchable face as that of Lester and his stupidly big square glasses. I was a receptionist. Nothing wrong with that but call it like it is, you pretentious prick.
I had been running about for 16 hours straight when I finally called it quits. Lester had left an hour earlier, and the night staff picked up the slack. I had a Caesar salad in my car with the windshield wipers on, letting them lull me to a meditative calm.
The radio drawled on about the usual. The Dark Knight had recently premiered, and President Bush was as ever-present on the airwaves as Rihanna.
But that was the climate at the time. I can’t remember a word that was said, or a tune that was played, but I’ll never forget the crunch of that salad after a 16-hour shift.
I put on my seat belt and leaned my head back. I would have to come in extra tomorrow, so it was just… home, shower, sleep, back again. I contemplated sleeping in my car. What the hell was even the point? But I sucked it up. I told myself I was lucky to have a job. That some people bleed themselves dry for a paycheck. I could lose a couple of hours of sleep.
So I got on the road as the rain started to pour. I could feel the wind trying to steer me off course. I pulled up to a red light, stopped, and turned up the music.
As I did, I noticed Lester’s car. It was hard to miss, it was this mustard yellow Corolla (which had probably started as eggshell white). Definitely something for the creepy cars subreddit.
I couldn’t help but to look at him. Strange how he’d be heading back towards town. He’d been out for a few hours, and I knew for a fact that he wasn’t heading back to the hotel. It’d be a big deal if he was. I also knew he lived in a house on the outskirts of town.
Then again, it wasn’t my business. I pretended not to see him and kept driving.
The way back home goes by Cooper Rock State Forest. It’s beautiful, but even beauty has to give way to the mundane. That night I could see rainclouds stretch out over the vast landscape, and I hoped against hope that there’d be no hikers stuck out there. But of course there would be. There always was.
The car radio showed 8:16 when my phone rang. I could never get the hands-free to work, and I’ve always been a bit paranoid about talking while driving, so I decided to pull over. There was a little rest stop with a picnic table by the side of the road, which made me remember I had an extra La Croix in the glove compartment. Score.
“Jeet yet?
Donna, from work. I cracked open my La Croix with a sigh.
“Barely.”
“Andrew called back, he can catch an early shift. You can sleep in ‘til noon.”
“I love you, Donna. You know I do.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
I took a big gulp and felt twenty pounds lighter.
“You alright?” she asked. “Don’t get too worked up.”
“I’m good, I’m good,” I insisted. “Just a long day.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do, alright?”
“Make sure to kick Lester enough for me to get my overtime pay.”
“You and me both.”
There was a gap in the rain, and I decided to stretch my legs while Donna talked. Lovely woman, mother of three. Not a mean bone in her body.
I sat down by the picnic table as we finished up our conversation. As the phone clicked, I found myself lying down looking up at the rain clouds. I balanced my empty soda can on my forehead, letting the metal cool me.
A single raindrop in my eye made me twitch. The can tumbled away, and I stretched under the table to pick it up.
That’s when I saw it.
A comic book.
It looked pretty new. Something for the younger kids, lots of colors easy to read lettering. I picked it up, thinking someone must’ve dropped it. Maybe someone nearby; it looked almost brand new.
There was an earmark in the centerfold. It was a large two-page spread, black and white, where you could color some of the characters yourself with a crayon. Mostly little animal mascots.
And there, in large red crayon letters, were the words;
“BAD MAN HELP”
I sat back up, feeling my pulse rise. There was no one around. No other cars, nothing. It was just me, and a plea for help. I called out, but my words were swallowed by the swaying trees. The wind was picking up again.
I hurried to my car. I looked at the comic book again and again, trying to determine if it was a prank, or something genuine. It was hard to tell. It was hastily scribbled, and it looked like they started with the “HELP” and filled out “BAD MAN” later. It was convincing. A child had probably written it. I didn’t see any other messages, just that one sentence.
I called the police. Huge waste of time. There was little to go on, and they asked me to call back if I had anything substantial. Ten minutes of my life I’m not getting back.
Finally, as I closed the comic book and put it aside, I noticed something stuck to one of the back pages. A receipt.
It came from a gas station down the road.
I decided to check it out. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t. I followed the road, pulled up at the next gas station, and hurried inside. The rain was getting bad and a few seconds out in the open was enough to put strands of hair in my eyes.
There was no one else there, just this one attendant working the evening shift. I walked up to them and got myself a Snickers.
“Hey, uh, you haven’t seen someone come in here to buy a comic book, have you?”
“What’d it look like?”
“Like, uh…”
I walked over to the magazines and found a copy. I held it up.
“Right, yeah,” he continued. “Some kid bought one.”
“A kid? You sure?”
“Yeah, got some crayons and everything.”
“You see what he looked like?”
“About… six, maybe seven. Black hair, quiet. Hurried back to his dad, didn’t see him much.”
“His dad?”
The attendant leaned back and nodded, charging me for my snack. I handed him a five and told him to keep the change.
“Serious looking guy. Had these big glasses.”
Lester?
The thought was alien to me. Lester was a nasty man, but… this? No. That seemed improbable. There were a lot of people with stupid big glasses, but I hadn’t seen many others come down this road. I excused myself and hurried back to my car, leaving my snack on the counter. The attendant didn’t stop me.
I picked up the comic book again, looked it over, and called Donna back. I skipped right past the small talk and asked her for Lester’s personal number. She was reluctant to hand it to me, probably thinking I was about to hand in my two weeks’ notice, but she gave it to me nonetheless. Without an explanation, I put in his his number.
But my thumb hesitated, resting on the dial icon. Was this an overreaction?
Maybe.
I gave him a call. I tapped my fingers on the dashboard, keeping my eyes firmly locked on the comic book. Something didn’t add up.
It took six tones before he picked up. But when he did, the end of the line was completely silent. For a few seconds, I just sat there, listening to the background noise. I could hear him breathing.
“Hello?” I said. “Is it Lester?”
There was a brief noise, as if he was struggling to pick up.
“Yeah, yeah, this… who is this? I don’t, uh… don’t want anything.”
I tried to cover it all up by pretending to double-check if it was okay for me to come in late if Andrew covered my shift. But all the while, I was listening to his reactions. He sounded different. Stressed. More so than usual. And not once did he use the term “hotelier”.
Something was definitely up. The Lester I knew was never in a hurry to hang up, or excuse himself. This Lester did both. He even wished me a “good one”.
I considered calling the police again. But then again, I didn’t want to be the one calling twice in the same night without a shred of news. I mean… I barely knew anything about Lester’s private life. Then again, if he knew the kid, why was this left behind?
“BAD MAN HELP”
It didn’t make sense to me. I could imagine whoever wrote this shivering, desperate for someone to find it. They even hid it under the table. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
It just couldn’t.
I looked down the road, contemplating. The rain was picking up.
I decided that I’d at least make an effort. 16-hour shift or not, sometimes you get this feeling that you’re the only one who can do something. That moment when there is no crowd to hide in.
It’s just you. At best, I’d be wasting some gas driving back and forth. At worst, I’d be uncovering a nightmare.
God, I hoped it wasn’t the latter.
I turned the car around and headed back to town. It was pitch black by now, and the rain kept smattering against the windshield. I didn’t have a plan, or a destination. I felt like an idiot, but I couldn’t stop thinking about those big bold letters.
BAD MAN HELP.
I drove past the apartments, the shops, the venues. Bright streetlights making the raindrops shimmer. I continued past the red lights, slowing down only to consider where he might’ve gone. I drove straight through the downtown area, zoning out just long enough to call myself an idiot. I was wasting my time.
But then again…
I kept going. Past the hotel, the restaurants, the busy Friday night bars. People were swarming the streets, some drunk enough to barely stand. It wasn’t even 9:30. Someone could’ve paraded through town with a kidnapped kid and no one would lift an eyebrow.
As I passed the final red light, buildings grew sparser. Soon I was back out on the open road with another forest looming ahead. I decided to pull over and give this some serious thought. I just had to find a good spot first.
There was a small rest area up ahead. There were 6 other cars already parked, with a small crowd gathering around a few tables. They didn’t seem to mind the weather. As I pulled up, my heart skipped a beat.
Lester’s mustard-yellow car was parked on the far end.
I got out of my car, comic book in hand. No doubt about it, that was his car. I’d seen it parked outside the hotel for years. I walked up to the small crowd that’d gathered. Hikers. Their plans had probably been ruined by the weather. They all turned to me as I approached.
“Hey y’all,” I smiled. “That car over there, that yours?”
I pointed at it, knowing full well that it wasn’t. They looked at one another, shaking their heads.
“You seen the owner?”
“Yeah,” a young man nodded. “Some guy and his kid.”
“They went through here? You sure?”
“Yeah, right down there.”
He pointed down a dimly lit trail, leading off into the woods.
As the first rumbling thunder rolled in, the lot of them scattered back to their cars. I took shelter under a nearby roof, called the cops (again), and was told to sit tight and stay on the line.
Then my phone died. It’d been on straight through my shift, and I’d used it a lot during my breaks. I should’ve known. I could see the other cars pulling out of the parking lot before I got a chance to call out for help.
I could stay put and hope for a patrol to come by. Then again, I hadn’t had time to tell them where I was. And after already calling them once, they probably weren’t taking me all too seriously.
I considered my choices. I could drive off and find someone to ask for help. I could run into the street and flag down a car. But no one was driving in this weather, and time was quickly becoming a factor.
Was I really doing this? Following my boss into the woods?
What would I do if I found him? What if he was armed?
I looked over at the comic book.
Damn it.
I popped the trunk, got my tire iron, a flashlight, and headed down the path.
The trail went deep into the woods. The streetlights reached about 30 feet, then it was just darkness ahead. I could see a little from the moonlight peeking through the clouds, but it was barely enough to make out the silhouettes of the trees.
I didn’t want to go further. I didn’t know what was going on.
But when my flashlight landed on a red crayon, trampled into the dirt by an adult-sized shoe, I had to do something.
There was a trail leading into the woods. The wind was picking up, whining against the leaves. Even with the flashlight, I could barely see anything ahead. But the trail was clear, and I was determined. I’d help. I had to.
There were more crayons. An orange one. A green, a blue, a yellow. Was the kid clever, or was Lester getting sloppy?
At every twist, and every turn, there was another crayon. I had to walk uphill for at least 10 minutes straight, as the rain turned into a storm. It wasn’t a long trek, but it was hard to spot the trail. I wouldn’t have, hadn’t it been for the colorful breadcrumbs guiding me. The rocky ground was getting slippery, and I almost sprained my knee.
I’d stopped seeing crayons now. The trail was straight.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
I came to a clearing. An open space with grass tall enough to reach my knees. Old logs were scattered across the ground, overgrown and forgotten. I swept the area, back and forth, with my flashlight. The trail ended here. I might be too late.
I stepped on something strange.
Looking down, I could see something white stuck to my shoe. I thought it was a mushroom at first. It wasn’t until I shook it lose that I could see that it was another comic book. The same comic; just an earlier edition. I picked it up, still sweeping back and forth.
All I heard was wind, as my body started to shiver.
I flipped the pages, only to realize that this comic, too, had the words “BAD MAN HELP” written.
Looking around the clearing, I could see pieces of paper scattered around the logs. At least a dozen crayons, some still unpacked.
And… a shoe?
Adult-sized.
My flashlight caught a glimpse of something. A man, sitting on a log.
I’d recognize Lester anywhere.
I got closer. More crayons scattered in the grass. Also a stop sign, a pink scarf, and more torn pages from a comic book. All containing the same three words, repeated over and over.
“BAD.”
“MAN.”
“HELP.”
There were more “HELP” words written than any other. Also, a few words that just didn’t make any sense. Things like “FREE”, “MONEY”, “SEX” and “BEER”. All written with crayons. Like someone experimenting to find the perfect sentence.
“Lester?” I said. “Is… is that you?”
A strong wind almost pushed me over. Lester fell over, his body slumped against the log.
His lifeless head smacking against the bark.
His big stupid square glasses fell off, landing in a patch of withered blue flowers.
I stopped.
There was something clutching his leg.
Someone.
I backed away. Through the downpour, my flashlight caught a glimpse of a tuft of black hair.
A little face.
Two eyes with little pinpoint black spots. Each eye moving independently, like a chameleon. The biggest milk-toothed grin I’d ever seen; excitedly gargling warm blood.
The kid leaned his head back and swallowed. As he rose to his full length, I could see he was no more than 6, maybe 7 years old. Wearing a white shirt with blue puppy paws on it; completely drenched in blood. He looked at me, his belly swollen.
He was clearly excited. Smiling. Happy.
There was this noise, a hiss; like he was trying to cough, to get some phlegm out. It made a sort of whistle.
And from all around the woods, I heard responses. More whistles. Some loud, some quiet.
It was a trap. It was all a trap.
BAD MAN HELP.
He walked towards me, and I instinctively stepped back. I snagged my foot on a patch of those weird blue flowers, and stumbled. I fell over a log, but got back on my feet in a snap. My flashlight took quite the beating though, and started to flicker.
In-between bouts of darkness, I could see those excited eyes looking for me. Eyes reflecting like a cat.
There were others out there, in the dark. They weren’t approaching. They were whistling, encouraging.
An animal learning to hunt.
I’m not one to hit a child. I wouldn’t. I’d never. But I still had my tire iron, and that thing was no child.
So when those eyes came charging at me, I just started swinging.
I hit him across the ear. The weight was enough to throw him off-balance, sending him reeling away from me.
I turned to run. The flashlight was hanging on for dear life. I could hear howls and whistles from the edge of the forest; an excited pack, waiting for a fresh kill.
I looked back, only for a second.
The kid came crawling at me, across the logs.
Another long white limb coming out of his mouth, blocking his whistle.
All I could hear were these rhythmic, muffled “hnnnng” sounds; over and over.
He was faster. Much faster. I swung at him again, but it did nothing. So I smashed the flashlight against the top of his head.
Something black spurted out, as my flashlight died with a crunch.
The thing retreated, but whatever was still out in the woods didn’t. I could hear running. Footsteps stumbling over logs in the dark. Whistles and screams turning into a choir of blocked, muffled nothings.
Hnnng. Hnnng. Hnnng.
From every direction.
Hands coming out of the dark, trying to grab me. Milk-white limbs coming out of anonymous faces.
The ground covered in practice writing.
BAD.
MAN.
HELP.
I ran. I fell. I scratched my knees, I twisted my foot, I cut my hands against bark and rock.
They were getting closer.
Then it all stopped.
A new noise, a whisper breaking through the storm.
A strange cackle, like a mix of a rattlesnake and a rooster. Damn thing sent shivers up my spine.
Moments later, it was just me. Me, my shivers, and a dark forest.
And God knows what else.
I don’t remember much else. Hypothermia is no joke.
Remember those hikers I mentioned, from the rest area?
Yeah, they found me.
I tried to explain what I’d seen. Some of it. I showed them the comic book, told them about Lester’s car, all of it. The detective I talked to explained that it was probably “a cry for help”. That Lester was the bad man, asking for help. A witness to an apparent… something.
Bullshit.
I’ve been looking into this ever since. There are many accounts of these people. Some of them fake bus stops, others attack people at red lights. And some, apparently, trick people into helping them; isolating them. Who knows what the kid did, or said, to make Lester walk into the dark.
Maybe he just asked for help.
I’ve tried to put this story into words for years, but I have tried to keep it off my mind. But I recently saw an Instagram post that sent me into a panic attack.
More than a decade later, and it turns out people are still finding comic books out there. Some are looking new.
And they all read the same.
BAD MAN
HELP