I tried the next name. JACK PACE– MISSING PERSON.
It was the most ludicrous thing I d ever heard.
When it looked like I had actually gone to every single geocaching location in my town, I explored some online forums to see if there were anymore I d missed out on.
My next few stops were in more public locations. A jar was concealed underneath a park bench.
I havent been going to beaches with buddies. I have not been going to the motion pictures on dates. All you have to do is download an app to your phone and you can begin going on treasure hunts. If youve never been geocaching previously, you must know the treasure at the end of the hunt is typically concealed inside a little jar or container of some sort. I simply wrote my name down on the slip of paper and went on my method.
Each and every single name on the list was missing out on, murdered, or MIA.
Because Ive been bored out of my mind, I chose to begin geocaching. All you have to do is download an app to your phone and you can start going on treasure hunts. It gets me outside.
More like eyeballs.
” Shit shit shit.”
And the next. ELIZABETH BLACK– MISSING PERSON.
I went back to the woods, stupidly forgetting to pack an umbrella in my bag. By the time I arrived, it was pouring. I went through the rain, my t-shirt absolutely soaked, and took out the container from the tree.
And it was. In the beginning.
“You have such pretty eyes,” he stated. And then everything went dark.
Allegedly, every single individual who composed their name on the list inside the container there had passed away. They had either gone missing or were discovered dead, their bodies mutilated.
If youve never been geocaching in the past, you need to understand the treasure at the end of the hunt is usually concealed inside a small container or container of some sort. Inside, there will be a little notebook or sheet of paper where everyone can compose their name. Sometimes, individuals take it a step even more and will leave presents that can be swapped out.
Under the cover of branches, I slipped out the note pad and plugged the given name into my phone. MARY SHEPHERD. She showed up in an article about a kidnapping. She was listed as a missing person, presumed dead.
On my first stop, deep in a forest on the side of a roadway, there was a jar concealed inside an open tree trunk. I just wrote my name down on the slip of paper and went on my method.
I swallowed down vomit, sealed the jar, and clutched it against my chest. I rose from the mud, relied on leave, and stumbled right into a masked man in black.
I stuffed the note pad back into the container, preparing to take it to the cops. In the process, my finger brushed versus one of the marbles at the bottom. Except they werent marbles. They were too squishy. Too soft.
I came across a weird post, alerting everybody to prevent a specific place. It was one I had already visited, the very first one, but I read through the post for the hell of it.
I still had a strong desire to doodle my name off of the damn list. Simply in case. It could not hurt.
I havent been going to beaches with pals. I havent been going to the movies on dates.