The Rules:

An Appalachian Trail Horror Story

By Howlietzer

Part 1: Scene 1

Zoom in on a VHS player in an office as a tape is pressed inside. Then zoom out on the TV screen.

The footage begins in darkness.

A loud thud. Static.

“Aw hell… it’s recording already?” said a young man. The camera starts to pick up objects as the lens is taken off.

The camera jerks upward violently and around, blurry, as the camera man begins to focus the camera. A dorm hallway, aged from decades of use, and yelling coeds dodging the camera. Some waving and smiling.

The cameraman laughs and greets everyone as he heads down the hallway.

“Okay. Cool. Great start.” He says, adjusting the camera’s focus.

The date stamp flashes in the lower corner:

APRIL 28, 2007

The camera steadies.

Antwone Greene grins into the reflection of a dormitory mirror while adjusting the strap around his wrist. He’s tall, skinny, wearing a wrinkled hoodie that says ETSU on the front. His eyes are bloodshot in a way that suggests either exhaustion or weed.

Probably both.

Behind him, a cramped women’s dorm room looks like a tornado made entirely of clothing and textbooks tore through it.

“Documentary Day One,” Antwone whispers dramatically into the microphone. “A historic moment. Six brave scholars enter the Appalachian wilderness…”

He lowers his voice.

“…and probably get murdered by hillbillies.”

A pillow flies across the room and smacks him directly in the face.

“Shut up, Antwone!” Libby shouts.

The camera swings toward her.

Liberty “Libby” Monroe is kneeling on the floor beside an overstuffed duffel bag. Even dressed casually, she looks like she belongs on a magazine cover. Tiny black shorts. White crop top. Blonde hair tied up messily with colored pencils shoved through the bun like chopsticks.

She notices the camera and instantly poses.

“Wait, hold on.”

She arches her back dramatically.

“There. Better lighting.”

Antwone snorts.

“You are physically incapable of acting normal for more than six seconds.”

“That is because,” Libby says, “normal people are boring.”

The camera pans toward Judy.

Judy Mercer sits cross-legged on her bed surrounded by notebooks and photocopied articles. Unlike Libby, she’s dressed practically: jeans, oversized sweater, thick glasses sliding down her nose. Brown hair pulled into a ponytail.

The contrast between the girls is almost comical.

Judy looks up and smiles warmly.

“Are you recording already?”

“Absolutely,” Antwone says. “Future generations deserve this.”

“Future generations deserve better,” Libby says off camera.

He zooms aggressively onto Judy’s smiling face.

“Tell the audience what we’re doing.”

Judy laughs and covers her face shyly, before she gets control of herself.

“We’re hiking part of the Appalachian Trail before graduation.”

“Why?”

“Because we’ll probably never all be together again after this.”

For a second the room quiets.

It’s the first genuinely honest thing said since the recording started.

Even Libby stops posing.

Judy continues softly.

“We’ve been meeting every Thursday for almost three years. I just thought…” She shrugs. “One last adventure.”

Antwone lowers the camera slightly. There’s affection in the silence.Then Antwone ruins it immediately.

“Also, we’re hunting cryptids.”

Libby gasps theatrically as he turns the camera towards her.

“The elusive Appalachian Crackhead!” Libby swoons.

“An extremely dangerous species,” Antwone says solemnly. “Known to attack gas stations at midnight.”

Judy laughs hard enough to snort. Antwone pans back over to her.

“Oh my God,” said Libby, laughing hysterically.

Antwone zooms in instantly.

“There it is. Got it on tape. Judy snorts.”

“Delete that!” She throws a pillow at him.

“Never!” Antwone dodges effortlessly.

Libby stretches across her bed dramatically.

“I personally hope we meet a sexy forest demon.”

“You would try to sleep with it,” Judy said, rolling her eyes.

“I absolutely would!”

Antwone mumbles toward the microphone.

“Nobody left here to sleep with…”

“What?” Libby asks.

“I said, ‘Me Too!” Antwone smirked.

She stands suddenly and strikes another pose.

“Film this side,” she winks, “It’s my intellectual side.”

“You don’t have an intellectual side,” Judy rolled her eyes.

Libby points toward a stack of philosophy books.

“I minored in philosophy.”

“You minored in annoying people.”

Antwone drifts toward Judy’s desk, filming scattered papers.

Handwritten lists.

Maps.

Articles titled:

MISSING HIKERS OF THE APPALACHIANS

STRANGE FOLKLORE OF EAST TENNESSEE

RULES OF THE TRAIL

“You’re bringing all this?” he asked.

Judy brightens instantly.

“I want to interview people.”

“Hikers?” Antwone interjects.

“Yeah. Locals too, if we can.”

She grows animated the way she always does when discussing folklore.

“My grandmother used to tell me stories constantly growing up. Stuff people around here genuinely believe.”

“Like what?” said Antwone, pointing his camera towards her.

Judy hesitates.

“The woods aren’t empty. I mean, we’ve talked about this in the club,” Judy continues, “Ned likes to recite them. The rules.”

Libby rolls her eyes, “Oh boy.”

“No seriously,” Judy says. “People out there believe these things.”

“Rules?” said Antwone.

“Remember,” said Judy, “Like, don’t whistle in the woods.”

Antwone immediately started to whistle.

Judy smiled, pointing. “Don’t do that!f”

“What happens?” said Antwone.

“My grandma used to say if something hears you whistle, it might whistle back and try to find you.”

Libby grins. “That’s hot.”

Antwone zooms into Judy again.

“Do you actually believe that stuff?”

Judy thinks for a moment, “No. But I think stories exist for a reason. And that’s why I want to go so badly. I want to write a book about our experience out there and… see what happens.”

“You want something weird to happen?” Antwone smiled.

“Kind of,” Judy said blushing.

“Only if he’s hot,” said Libby trying to lighten the mood.

Antwone turned the camera back on himself. “There you have it folks: ‘Only if he’s hot. This is Antwone Greene, signing off.”

Another pillow flies at his head, as the screen goes to black.