DISPATCH FROM THE CITY

Something’s happening in Noir City. You’ve been called to the scene. Make your choice. See what happens.

The Bicycle

A child’s bicycle lies abandoned on a dirt trail beside a dimly lit paved path in Don't Wander Park.

You’re taking an evening walk through Don’t Wander Park.

Beyond the reach of the park light, a narrow dirt trail disappears into the trees.

A child’s bicycle is lying on its side farther down the trail.

The front wheel is still spinning.

You look around.

There’s no one in sight.

WHAT DO YOU DO?

You take out your phone and call 911.

You tell the dispatcher about the bicycle.

She asks you to stay where you are.

You wait beneath the park light.

Then you hear something from the dirt trail.

A child laughing.

The dispatcher says, “Did you hear that?”

You look toward the trail.

The bicycle is gone.

You leave the paved path and head toward the bicycle.

The front wheel has stopped spinning.

You call out.

No answer.

Then you hear something farther down the trail.

A child crying.

You move toward the sound.

Behind you, something scrapes across the dirt.

You turn around.

The bicycle is gone.

The trail behind you is darker than you realized.

WHAT DO YOU DO NOW?

You follow the sound deeper into the trees.

The crying gets louder.

Then it stops.

Up ahead, you see a small figure standing with its back to you.

“Are you okay?” you call.

The figure slowly turns around.

It’s wearing a child’s Halloween mask.

You stare at each other.

Then, from somewhere behind you, you hear a child crying.

The figure begins to laugh.

You turn and run.

Branches catch at your clothes as you race toward the park lights.

You can see the paved path ahead.

Almost there.

One of the park lights goes out.

Then another.

Then the one directly ahead of you.

You stop.

In the darkness between you and the paved path, you hear a bicycle bell.

Ring. Ring.

You turn on your phone’s flashlight.

The beam cuts through the darkness.

You sweep it across the trail.

Across the trees.

Then you see them.

Dozens of children’s bicycles.

Scattered beneath the trees.

Some old. Some rusted.

Some almost new.

Behind you, the child starts crying again.