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Magicam Blogger Missing: Sage Island’s Wilderness Claims Another Group of Curious Hikers
The unexplained, the untamed, and an adventure gone wrong.
Sage Island’s wildlands claim yet another group of intrepid hikers, the third time in as many months. Mapes Brooker, a diligent weekly blogger and minor Magicam celebrity, started this hike with three friends in pursuit of proof of the existence of famous cryptids, such as the Watcher of the Briar Thicket. Little did we know that Sage Island’s wilderness is exceptionally fond of its secrets…
Sleep-deprived, high on caffeine, and just a little bit miserable from a wet sock in the morning, Yuu trudges through their little lodging in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.
Correction: it’s not exactly bumfuck nowhere. It’s (professionally known as) Northwest Sage Island National Park. But it might as well be with how large and remote the place is.
Towering, looming trees, mountainous ranges, a massive lake, and an abundance of rare wildlife and flora. As expected of a protected wilderness area.
And as expected of a large, untouched area of wildlands, it has a reputation for killing off unsuspecting visitors on its grounds. Everyone who’s heard of the national park has heard at least one story of death or disaster in its scenic wilderness.
Is it a murderer? Some whisper, attributing all the brutal crimes and terrible stories to some unnamed person. A serial killer? Some madman?
Careless hikers, others say, shaking their heads. The wilderness is a dangerous place; they had it coming, crazy people. I’d rather stay at home.
Then there’s the superstitious, who theorize that whatever happened in that wilderness isn’t the fault of man. No, it’s something else entirely.
Cryptids. Creatures of myth brought to life by fervent belief and horror stories meant to scare children to bed.
Yuu thinks that last bit is a bunch of crap, but hey, at least the theories are fun to read. After being a wilderness ranger for a few years, you become unfazed by weird sounds and distorted scenery. Most of it is just the human brain fucking around, anyway.
Moving around the rangers’ lodging, Yuu wriggles their toes in damp socks before peeling off the sensory offense. Their laptop is open and on the kitchen counter, a blog displayed on the screen. Yuu tosses their socks into dirty laundry and resumes scrolling.
The Expedition:
Mapes and friends embarked on one of many treacherous hiking trails passing through the dense wilds north of Sage Island, led by a capable forest ranger and acquaintance of Mapes’s. After a painstaking amount of time, the group managed to get the required permits to allow them the right to photograph the wildlife. Suitably equipped with hiking gear, the influencers set out for the trail, buoyed by their excitement. Leaving one last Magicam post to update his avid readers, Mapes went completely offline.
The Disappearance:
The trip, as explained in Mapes’s last blog post, was supposed to be a six-hour hike going respectably deep into the wilderness. Each person in Mapes’s gang had a phone, and Mapes himself held a Polaroid camera and spirit box in hopes of capturing supernatural activity. You can call him old-fashioned, but hey, he was prepared in case his phone did not work. It is safe to assume that the group happily hiked for at least six hours before tragedy struck.
Alarms were raised when Mapes and friends did not check in three hours past the scheduled time. Their ranger had provided consistent and quick reports throughout their hiking journey, when suddenly he too, went MIA just an hour before they were supposed to reach the end. Relatives reached out to authorities at 8:55 pm-
Yuu skips through the rest of the blog, yawning slightly. Any more reading and they might succumb to brain fog, and that’s not good for starting a job in a new area.
Right. Northwest Sage Island National Park. The park Yuu was transferred to, and the one filled with enough spooky stories to write an anthology. The one that never keeps a ranger for more than three months before leaving, or worse, disappearing.
Welp, it’s Yuu’s job. Work is work, spooky stories or not, and frankly, it might just be an elaborate shitshow to attract attention for profit. Capitalism at its finest.
Yuu (gently) slaps their laptop shut, drains the last cold dregs of coffee from their mug, and ambles off to prepare for a day’s work of clearing trails, checking rocks, and making sure no disrespectful travelers throw trash in the woods.
~~~~~~~~
Cryptids are the last thing on their mind as they trudge through the leaf-strewn path, clutching their jacket close against the chilly breeze. A trail inspection is due, so Yuu focuses on breathing deep, tasting the clear air tinted with hints of vegetation, rot, and petrichor that only wild areas possess.
With each breath they take, Yuu eases into the walk, caffeinated brain melting into peace. Their eyes rove dutifully over the path, checking for animal tracks, overgrown foliage, or any signs of damage or obstruction. So far so good. At least Yuu’s predecessor had the decency to leave the trail well-maintained before transferring.
The deeper Yuu goes, the wilder the forest gets. Poison ivy, thorny brambles, and sharp floral hazards are strewn along the trail, suspiciously thick, almost as if the plants are a warning. Halfway through the route, the plants become too bothersome for hikers.
Isn’t this one of the shorter trails? Why’s it so overgrown?
Yuu pulls out a pair of hand pruners. As much as they love their machete, there isn’t a need to resort to hacking and whacking yet.
As Yuu works, the trees seem to press in, clawing at the gorgeously blue sky in dark, spiky silhouettes. It’s quite lovely. A nice bit of solace from the outside world and urbanisation. That’s what tempted them to be a ranger, anyway, so Yuu finds the view good compensation for the backbreaking work of weeding.
There is not a human soul other than themselves for miles, so when Yuu brushes something decidedly not plant-like, their first thought is fuck, who do I call?
And because Yuu is silly, it’s followed up with Not the Ghostbusters, for sure.
Upon further observation, the not plant-like thing is paper-like, crumpled, plasticky, and speared through a tough tangle of thorns.
Oh, Yuu thinks, frown appearing on their otherwise stoic face. Some asshole left their trash. The park isn’t your bin, dumbass.
Hacking through the bush, Yuu grabs the piece of paper and yanks it off carefully. Their gloves catch on some thorns that are suddenly much closer to them than a moment before, but Yuu’s attention (and ire) is too focused on the paper to care.
The ire turns to dread when Yuu brushes dirt off the wrinkled Polaroid.
Mapes himself held a Polaroid camera…You can call him old-fashioned, but hey, he was prepared in case his phone did not work.
The Polaroid’s image is ruined, having been battered by the elements and pierced through with thorns. But Yuu can make out a… is that a guillotine? It’s too blurry to be sure.
Without their notice, vines slowly creep up Yuu’s boots, equipped with deadly barbs. A smell of roses permeates the air, sickeningly sweet, definitely unnatural. The weight of a gaze, possibly many, is pinned on Yuu’s shoulders. The thorny tendrils tense, clingling around Yuu’s knees, ready to pull-
“What the fuck, is this the Fleur City Revolution?”
The scent of roses dies, the tendrils come loose, and Yuu unceremoniously kicks everything off of their legs.
“Damn, I got so caught up I walked into the brush- maybe them fuckers were right when they said this place is mad disorienting.”
Walking back onto the path, Yuu stares at the Polaroid again.
“Someone definitely pulled this shit out of a history book and put it here as a prank,” they mutter, turning the battered photo over in their hands. “Even the cryptid theorists can’t think up a guillotine monster. That title’s gone to Pyramid Head, and bro’s not even built like an actual guillotine.”
And with that statement, Yuu returns to weeding, mentally mapping out the most professionally acceptable ways to call litterers scumbags.
~~~~~~~~~
A hasty trek back and a written report later, Yuu lays supine on their couch, kicking their legs up in the air. It’s dark out, with only the last vestiges of a deep blue sky to be seen between the tops of trees.
Yuu munches on chips gifted by some friends. It’s tasty.
The Polaroid had been taken away for inspection, and Yuu really couldn’t give less of a shit, but now they can’t see Pyramid Head without thinking of revolutions.
Grabbing their laptop, Yuu throws on a two-hour long playthrough of Silent Hill to watch. Their friends call them freaky for their ability to watch horror without so much as a twitch, but horror as a media genre is entertainment, and entertainment caters to a consumer’s taste. Yuu just so happens to fit that taste, if you even get the logic.
It’s dark out, and if Yuu pays close attention, brambles are creeping up their cabin. But Yuu doesn’t, and kicks their legs over the couch’s arms to get more comfy.
-Relatives reached out to authorities at 8:55 pm. The manhunt was large and widespread, but no one’s seen heads nor trails of our intrepid hikers and pillar of cryptid theories. Just where have they gone? Are they lost? Vanished? Murdered, as some people speculate? Or perhaps… it’s not man’s fault at all.
To the average person and experts alike, don’t ever go into Sage Island’s wilderness. You’ll be a fly in a web, a rat in a cat’s claws. It’s the Bermuda Triangle on land. You’re on their turf, and they don’t like it.
If you do ever find yourself there, never overstep your welcome. Tread carefully and sleep lightly.
With the video still playing, Yuu sleeps soundly, curled into the couch, back turned to the window. Moonlight falls on their sleeping figure, snoring softly.
A shadow looms, cradling the moon in its twin horns, green fire flickering at the sight of vulnerability.
Like the old folks say, the wild likes its secrets. It doesn’t like anything else.
Be wary, lest you become part of its secrets too.