Two Sides to Every Murder

Gia North’s lungs ached as she tore through the trees.

It’s not too late, it can’t be too late, she told herself, willing her short legs to move faster. The muscles in her calves screamed.

She leapt from the grass to the hard, packed earth of the trail—

Her foot slipped out from beneath her. She felt a sharp crack through her chin and tasted dirt in her mouth before she even realized she’d fallen.

It was the worst possible time she could’ve tripped.

She pushed herself off the ground, catching sight of her hands as she did. They were splayed in the dirt and her fingers, her knuckles, her wrists—every inch of visible skin was covered in blood.

“Get up,” she told herself, her voice ragged. “Get up, Gia.”

She was tired and panicked and terrified but she had no other choice. She had to get up. Actual human lives depended on whether or not she pushed herself off the ground and found help.

She got up.

Her camera had fallen out of her pocket and skidded across the path. Gia glanced at it, still breathing hard. That camera was probably the most important possession she had right now. The police would want to see the footage. She needed to put it back in its hiding place, where she could get to it later. She glanced over her shoulder, into the woods she just ran out of. Did she have time for that?

Making a quick decision, Gia snatched her camera off the ground and hurried to her hiding place, up the stairs to the camp director’s office, stopping at the window. Hands shaking, she removed the faulty piece of trim no one knew about but her, and stowed the camera in the little hole in the siding, then slid the trim back in place.

She exhaled, relief flooding through her. There. At least that was done.

And now she noticed something lying on the ground at her feet. It was the camp keycard she’d been carrying around for the last two days. It must’ve fallen out of her pocket when she tripped. She leaned over to pick it up—

And froze. From where she was standing, she could see all the way across to the Archery Range.

It was starting to get dark, but she could just make out the shapes of two figures standing in the field. She was about to lift her arms, to call out to them for help, but something stopped her. Were they arguing? Gia squinted, trying to see who they were. That was the blonde hair and tall, broad-shouldered build of Jacob Knight, the camp’s archery instructor, but she couldn’t tell who the other person is. It looked like a woman, she thought. Her face was old, haggard, with green-tinted skin and long, stringy grey hair, and her eyes were black, sunken, surrounded by deeply lined, rubbery skin, her nose long, hooked, covered in warts—

It was a Witch of Lost Lake mask, Gia realized. The Witch was a Camp Lost Lake tradition, part urban legend, part bedtime story, a sort of local boogey man. Camp counselors came up with the tale ages years ago, to keep the younger campers from sneaking out of the cabins at night. Every year one of the new counselors brought the mask to camp so they could scare the younger campers after dark. She wasn’t real.

And yet, as Gia watched from her perch outside the office, the woman in the witch’s mask plucked an arrow out of the nearest target and lunged for Jacob, stabbing him through the throat.

Jacob grabbed at the arrow protruding from his neck, blood spurting through his fingers. A spasm jerked through him. He fell to his knees in the dirt. A moment later, his body crumpled to the ground.

Gia released a choked scream. She threw her hands over her mouth to muffle the sound, but she was a beat too late. Her voice was already echoing through the woods.

The Witch, she thought, her heart leaping into her throat. Oh God it’s the actual Witch if Lost Lake, she’s real.

And now the Witch was lifting her head. She was looking right at her.

No, Gia thought. She turned, grabbing for the office door . Her hands were shaking badly, still slick with blood, and it took her two tries to get the knob to even turn.

Before she could throw the door open, Gia glanced over her shoulder. The Witch had picked up a bow from the ground and loaded an arrow. She aimed— 

The air whistled as the arrow flew toward Gia’s face.