My name is Samuel Singer, and I think I've seen something I shouldn't have.
That's not exactly unusual-- as a reporter, I'm often actively seeking out events and situations that people have tried to keep buried. An element of secrecy, of forbidden knowledge, is precisely what makes a good story.
Usually.
But I've learned something, these past few days. I've learned that I'm not nearly as brave as I once thought that I was. I learned that there are darker corners of the world around me than I could have ever possibly imagined. And I learned that sometimes, even when confronted with such a dark corner, the last thing you should do is turn on a light.
Now, let me take you back to last Tuesday.
Firstly, it was raining, which was a problem. Though it’s all too common in Habitsville, I've learned to hate the rain. I find it too on-the-nose in horror films, and too cliché in romantic ones. In town, it would settle a smell of smog and cigarettes over the paved streets that couldn’t be escaped, not even by going inside. But last Tuesday, at least, I wasn’t in Habitsville.
I was driving with my coworker Heather to Rhodes’ Creek, a few towns over. Despite its closeness to Habitsville, I had never visited. Even when I was younger, I remember my parents taking the long way around when we needed to get across the state. I understood that. If I had kids, I probably wouldn’t want to bring them in the area either.
You see, Rhodes’ Creek has a bit of a reputation.
In 1980, three children went missing. Two boys and one girl, all around ten and eleven years old, vanished one night. It was summer, and the days were long, so parents figured they were out playing in the vacant streets, as children do. They surely just lost track of time. At least, that’s what the town thought.
Though the 80’s might have been a time of more relaxed curfews and comfortability with leaving doors unlocked, panic still ensued when children went missing. Especially if they’re gone for three days.
Three days. That was how long the children had been gone when the first arrest was made. Or, should I say arrests, plural. A couple, Henry and Rosemary McAfee, were brought in for questioning, then charged the very same day. It seemed that there were multiple eye witness accounts placing the missing trio around their home, and one watchful neighbor reported that they had seen the children enter the house, and never come out.
The arrests had shocked the town, and I could see why. The McAfee’s had seemed like normal, nice people, up until that point. They had moved there only a few years prior, had lived in a good part of town, and had a large, well-kept property, although they tended to keep to themselves. They were an attractive couple, and all of the photo’s I’d seen of them seemed to lack that cringe-worthy, out-of-date feeling to them. They didn’t have the big hair, overdone eyeshadow, or huge mustaches that were typical of the decade. They were clean-cut, good-looking—classic, is how I might describe them.
The appearance and good-standing of the couple wasn’t the only thing that sent a chill through the community. The third boy that had gone missing had been Tommy McAfee, Henry and Rosemary’s only child.
The rumors ran rampant throughout Rhode’s Creek. Some still thought the children had just gotten lost, but many had begun to think that the McAfee’s were really responsible. They had murdered the children and disposed of their bodies, even that of their own son. Some considered the possibility that they had used Tommy to lure the other two to them, and then killed all three.
Some still, thought that the children were still hidden within the house.
So a search warrant was procured, and the couple that had once been so private prepared to have their home rifled through by police, as the town murmured amongst themselves. But then, just before the search took place, something happened.
All three children came back.
They seemed tired, and perhaps a bit disoriented, but were otherwise unharmed. All three gave testimonies stating that they had merely gotten lost in an unfamiliar area in the nearby woods, and had trouble finding their way back. A wave of relief, and to some extent, disappointment, swept through the town as the children returned to their families. The McAfee’s were released, and regained their son.
Over the next few years, the other two children and their families moved away. Though I’ve made several attempts, I can’t seem to find current addresses or contact information for either of them.
Tommy McAfee, on the other hand, stayed.
Tommy came back into the public light a few weeks ago, when the local newspaper announced that his parents had both died in a car accident, leaving Tommy the sole inheritor of the property.
This was when I reached out to him.
He didn’t respond, not that I really thought he would. There hadn’t been peep out of him or his family since the events of 1980, and I doubted he wanted a reporter coming in and stirring things up. But it was nearing the anniversary of his own disappearance as a child, and so I figured it was now or never. I wanted to know what really happened, those three days in the summer of 1980.
I don’t believe that three children, who had lived in Rhodes Creek all of their albeit short lives, could suddenly get lost in their own hometown. There were woods in the area, but from my research, they aren’t thick. And that one witness was stuck in my mind, the one who claimed the children actually went into the McAfee home and didn’t come out. And neither Henry, nor Rosemary testified to seeing the three children that night, claiming that they hadn’t even seen their son since he had left for the park in the early afternoon.
And then there was the children’s testimonies themselves. Through methods I’d rather not divulge, I’ve been able to look at the actual transcripts from the original police report. Here’s what they said.
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[Name Redacted] (The Girl):
​
We had been out playing. We stayed out later than we were meant to. Tommy said he knew a shortcut back into town through the woods, but we got lost part of the way through. We kept walking through the night. We drank water from the creek. One day we saw the road, and we walked home.
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[Name Redacted] (The Boy):
​
We stayed out later than we were meant to. We had been out playing. Tommy said he knew a shortcut through the woods, back into town. We got lost part of the way through. We drank water from the creek. We kept walking through the night. One day we saw the road, and we walked home.
​
Tommy:
We had been out playing, and we stayed out later than we were meant to. I said I knew a shortcut through the woods, back into town. Part of the way through, we got lost. We drank water from the creek. We kept walking through the night. One day we saw the road, and we walked home.
​
Separate accounts, given by different people, and none being able to sit in on the testimony of the others. And yet, they are virtually identical in content, structure, and diction.
Something wasn’t right.
Heather had been interested, because she’s like me. She’s fascinated with mysterious happenings, even those that happened three decades ago. But she’s far more outgoing than I am, so it was her that proposed we drop in on Tommy McAfee, unannounced, on this rainy July day. And I, because I can’t shake this feeling that I haven’t gotten the full story, said yes.
Something else happened in those three days, something that has been buried for thirty years. And if there’s one thing I can’t escape, it’s my desire to dig.
You know the saying, "curiosity killed the cat"? Whenever someone recites that to me, I always like to answer with the rest of the phrase: “but satisfaction brought it back.” It helps me justify my need to stick my nose in places it doesn’t belong. That the end always justifies the means.
But this..
This was a mistake.
Heather and I pay Tommy McAfee an unexpected visit in Rhodes' Creek.
Next time.
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