“And what exactly is our… real goal?” Greg felt sweat bead up between his hands and the camera grips. Ham wouldn’t - couldn’t - hurt me. Would he? He suddenly found himself sizing up the spook show host with newly distrustful eyes. He hasn’t got any reason to, right? I mean, sure, this can’t be what he pictured for himself when he was in veterinary school, but, c’mon, he’s… successful, right? In a way? He’s famous, or at least known. He drives a nice luxury car. It’s used, sure, but it’s got low mileage on it, just like brand-new, really. He’s got to be happy about that. God, please, let him be happy about that. Not Ham, he’d never just… snap. Right?
Ham had turned away, and was trudging again through the underbrush. This time there was no false searching bravado in his gait, just a kind of broken determination. For an instant, Greg considered going the other way. It would be easy to just abandon the old man in the woods, just turn out the weak camera light and creep away into the dark. But, no. Come on! He looks like a kid who’s lost his puppy. He’s up to something, no doubt, but nothing sinister. Greg moved quickly to catch up to Ham, and nearly bumped into him in the gloom. Ham had stopped, and was staring down at something he had pulled the plant growth away from: a sign.
“I’m sorry, Greg,” Ham’s tone went from broken to desperate, “It’s nothing too bad I’ve got you doing, really not. You know me; I’d never do anything that crazy. But this…” He held up the sign for the cameraman.
DO NOT ENTER
TRESPASSING BEYOND THIS SIGN IS A FEDERAL OFFENSE
WARNING: TOXIC CHEMICAL EXPOSURE DANGER
DO NOT ENTER
“What?! What does this mean?! Where have you brought me?!” Greg had to admit, most of the shock and outrage was feigned. He was just relieved Ham’s big secret wasn’t a nice quiet rape-and-murder torture shack in the middle of these God-forsaken woods. Still, federal offense, y’know? It was the principle of the thing.
“I know. You should be mad at me. I deceived you,” Ham fairly spat the word out, which genuinely shocked Greg. Again, this is the man who took a handful of river pebbles he had just pulled out of a stream off camera, held them before Greg’s lens of truth and God, and declared that they were pixie turds, and absolute proof that the faefolk existed. How does he distinguish between one kind of lie and the other? Does he not know that it’s all lies?
“We’re on government property. This land once held a series of chemical plants, pumping out munitions for the war effort. A lot of it is still around, and it is dangerous, but we just have to be careful!” Ham was almost in tears.
Greg softened his tone a little. The last thing he needed was for Ham to have an actual breakdown, right here, right now. “Look, it’s alright. No harm no foul, right? There’s no one out here to bust us, and even if there was: we came up to the sign; we saw the sign; we can just turn around and walk the other way, right?”
Ham seemed to calm a little, but his eyes went shifty. “Well, there’s no one out here certainly. If there was they would have stopped us at… at the first sign,” Ham looked pleadingly into Greg’s eyes. “You know? The sign we passed about a mile back? You may have missed it. I didn’t point it out or… or anything,” Ham looked down at his feet, like a shamefaced schoolboy.
“So you’re telling me, the reason you wanted just me out here with you tonight was to involve me in trespassing on federal property?” Greg pinched the bridge of his nose. He turned down the offer to shoot that reality show with the one moron and the dozen whorish bimbos fighting over his attention for this. Because I thought I could trust these people. Why did I think that? “And what do you think the Producers are gonna have to say when we show them hours of video taped proof that we’ve committed a federal offense?”
Ham looked up, a strange awkward expression on his features, “the… the Producers… they knew what I was planning. They kind of… liked the idea. They kind of… came up with the idea.” Ham seemed like he didn’t want to bring Greg’s delusions about the noble aspirations of the Producers crashing down. Yeah, I really should’ve seen THAT one coming.
“Okay, so our Producers decided to send us into a chemical dumping ground. Why? For ratings? What could we possibly get on tape out here? All I’ve seen so far is trees,” Greg suddenly felt tired. Why me?
“Well, it was here - I mean right in this area - that he was seen.”
“Who was seen?”
“The Mothman,” Ham said, sounding almost confused by Greg’s question. Of course Greg never paid attention to Ham’s rambling about the locations, about whatever the hell they were supposed to be working so hard to capture on tape. He didn’t really think I cared, did he?
“Huh. Okay. A moth man was seen here. Great. We’re pointing this way, so the car must be back in this direction, right?”
“No, we can’t leave now! He may be out here!” Ham’s excitement shone from his face like a beacon. His eyes positively glittered. “C’mon, Greg, we’re already here. We’ve already done the crime, and look- look at us,” Ham stood back and spread his arms wide, “Still not in prison.”
Abruptly, from somewhere ahead of them, bright white light burst to life. Ham and Greg dropped into a crouch and stared at the illumination streaming through the trees before them.
“What the hell?! You and your big mouth!” Greg whispered furiously. Who could be out here? Who else WOULD be out here? “Is that… it’s not…” Ham’s blank expression at Greg’s sputtering was maddening. “Mothman?”