I know Mandy better than anyone else.
I’ve (17F), known my best friend Mandy (17F) since we were in middle school. We first bonded over our interests in creepypastas and SCPs and the like, and we’ve been basically inseparable since the 7th grade.
Two weeks ago, Mandy went missing. At first, they chalked it up to a case of senioritis, which wasn’t too unlikely for her because we only have a month left until graduation and she has all her credits anyway. When she missed her shift at the coffee shop no-call no-show, and never returned home that night, well.
Mandy never got along too well with her parents. She spends most of her time with her boyfriend and the few friends she has, and between that and work she was never home much to begin with. Mrs. Dwyer texted me before jumping to any conclusions.
She assumed that Mandy had gone to my place for the night. Maybe something happened, maybe she got dumped or she was fighting with her dad again and she didn’t want to stay at her place. When I told her I hadn’t heard from her either, she was officially a missing person that night.
After a few days, officials had come to the grim conclusion that she had gotten lost hiking and succumbed to the elements. They found her car at her favorite trail, about 25 miles out where she frequented when she needed space to clear her head. Mr. Dwyer organized a search party and a local charity group as well as some close friends spent the day out there looking for her. We found her backpack and two empty water bottles around 6 miles into the trail in a secluded part of the woods. The next two days were spent looking for her body, to no avail. Her parents had pretty much given up hope, and they closed the investigation for a while. Then they got the letter.
Adressed to the parents of Amanda Dwyer, the letter was left on their doorstep on day 4 of her disappearance. No one was seen dropping it off, and there was no postage, so it had to be left there in person. The door cam came quickly.. I’ll spare you the details because I don’t want to reveal too much personal information here, but basically, the letter said that Mandy had wandered into some kind of hunting zone and she was fair game. “The Hunter” claimed that if she had paid more attention to signs and local folklore she would have known not to go to that part of the trail. Fuck, they even bothered to send them a letter to let them know. And the worst part? Mandy was alive and “well”.
Mr. and Mrs. Dwyer got little to no information after that. The case was obviously re-opened, but there was no ransom, no location, no death threats or anything otherwise. They sent out four more search parties where they found her backpack but found nothing other than footprints and sunburns.
Mandy and I started to get into true crime around Freshman year, but she fell way deeper in it than I ever did. She never really had any hobbies other than working, so she found herself spending her free time doing research and listening to podcasts. Her entire personality revolves around the sick and twisted things that have happened to other people. Ask her about any case you’ve ever heard of and I guarantee she knows it better than you. We always joked that karma would one day bite her in the butt, and that she’d get a little too close to something she probably shouldn’t.
On day 7 of her disappearance, they got another letter. The Hunter assured the family that she was still alive and well, this time with a polaroid attached. Mrs. Dwyer couldn’t bare to look at the picture when she got the letter, and Mr. Dwyer hadn’t left the bar for a few days so she called me and had me take a look at it. She knows that I’m into some of the same stuff as Mandy and was hopeful I might be able to gain a little more information from it. She was right.
Mandy was backed into the corner of a dark, warehouse looking room. Her face was pale and sunken in and her eyes showed that she had gotten very little sleep in the past week, as well as one eye blackened. Her hair was in the same high ponytail as usual, except matted and half fallen out. Her arms were bound behind her back to one of the steel beams that looked to be the framework of some industrial building and her shoes and socks were removed to reveal, bruised, swollen feet. I can only imagine her hands looked the same. Beside her was a black bucket, and on the ground two puddles, one dark and one clear. I was unable to tell what they were exactly because the picture was in black and white and the room was very dimly lit. The polaroid itself was quite dirty, and “Mandy D. 17” was sharpied on the bottom. The cops took it faster than I could process what I saw, and they came to the same conclusion as me.
Mandy had picked up backpacking about a year ago when her last boyfriend left her for a Freshman he met at a party. She’s always had a hyperactive imagination and during that period she had so much in her head, the only the thing that worked to give her some peace was running. She started running trails, but as time went on she spent less time relying on the pain of aching lungs and instead enjoying her surroundings and basking in nature. Her folks hated that she went alone, and urged her to invite a friend, but settled on a taser. I always loved when she would come home after a bad day and have a new light in her eyes as she told me all about the new discovery she was sure she had made in the woods. Somewhere along the way, that love for the unknown that we had bonded over never left.
A couple miles from where Mandy’s backpack was found, there sits an abandoned power facility for all the nearby forest infrastructure. They sent cops in less than two hours after the letter was found, even brought in guys from upstate. What they found however, was not Mandy. I obviously wasn’t there, but what I heard from the statement they made and from Mrs. Dwyer was nothing short of horrific. The dark puddle in the photo was blood, and the clear liquid was never identified. The bucket contained several different bodily fluids, all DNA matched to Mandy. On one side of the room, a metal prep table with a long wooden cutting board, adorned with medical and cooking grade knives and surgical instruments, some visibly used. Haircutting shears lie on the ground in a pile of long, blonde curls, estimated to be more than half of the volume of Mandy’s hair. Nail clippings from both hands and feet, a broken bottle of nail polish, and used surgical gloves. The pole that Mandy was tied to in the photo stand barren, with the ropes and chains used to tie her still wrapped around it. The rope was worn thin in some patches indicating that she struggled hard to break free, but it never broke. And lastly, another letter. This one I’ll show to you guys.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dwyer,
I’ve decided that Mandy will be suitable for me. Any attempts to come looking for her will be stopped immediately. I will continue to send you updates as she takes her next steps. If you’re reading this you must have found my hiding spot. What a shame. She will need to be punished for your wrongdoings. You will hear from me again in a week.
The Hunter
On Mandy’s 14th birthday, we went all out with her party. We only have a couple of mutual friends that are even remotely interested in that sort of thing, but with the addition of her cousin we had a party of 6 with the most elaborate murder mystery party ever. And I’m not talking Clue either, I mean full on Dahmer or Zodiac levels of intricate crimes and puzzles. We spent weeks planning that shit. It was honestly pretty grim for a 14 year olds party, especially since her cousin Mikey was only 11, but Mandy had always had that edge to her. I never even saw her blink at the kind of pictures that made me puke.
So when I read the third letter, I really didn’t know what to think. I know she’s strong. She’s stronger than anyone I know, and if anyone can handle this, hell, if anyone can figure out a way to get out of this, it’s her.
Four days later, the package arrived.
Left on no other than the doorstep of Mr. and Mrs. Dwyer, who’s door cam had been conveniently deactivated that night, a small bubble mailer. Inside, two things.
A note, reading,
“Good Girls don’t bite”.
And inside, A molar.
That was three days ago now. They matched the tooth to some of Mandy’s old dental records from when she had to get braces in 8th grade. The next letter arrived today. It was short and sweet, and you can tell the Hunter was growing less and less patient and more destructive with every clue. A clipping of a map, about a 20 mile radius of the last holding location, with an area of woods circled in blood.
In 10th grade, Mandy got suspended for a week because of a note she put in the locker of a girl that called her “Mandy Dyk*r”. She always had a way with words. A Jack the Ripper style letter with the quote “Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now.” Luckily she didn’t press charges.
One hundred and sixty people gathered on the trail today to search for her. Thirty-two groups, each accompanied by a SWAT member or an FBI agent, split up to cover 400 square miles of forest. Many were unhopeful to find her alive, but I never gave up hope.
One hundred and sixty people and still I was the one to find her. A lone shack in the woods. It couldn’t have been more obvious. They had to follow all sorts of protocols that I didn’t understand, and called in back-up and dogs and all sorts of guns. Nobody was sure what we would find as they busted open that door.
As the light shone through the treetops, down into the little cabin where she lay, I saw the beams hit her face. I saw those sunken in eyes, the swollen lips, her face so bloody and bruised you weren’t sure if it was her or not. I saw her beautiful hair, that everyone was always jealous of, cut barely longer than her ears. I saw her eyes open and I saw the fear in her eyes as she expected to meet her captor. I saw it melt into nothing. Not joy, not hope. I saw her lifeless stare as her father carried her out of the dark, empty shed. I saw her legs, mangled so badly she couldn’t stand on her own. I saw her beautiful blue eyes look grey, as tears streamed down her expressionless face, completely silent. I saw her eyes meet mine.
I worried for a moment that I might have taken it too far. We always said her 14th could never be topped, but her 18th birthday will be one she will never forget, that’s for sure. But most of all, I worry that the agent in my group noticed the drop of blood on my shoe before I did. Deep down she will be thankful that she will go down as one of the most famous survivors in history, she just needs time. I know Mandy better than anyone else.