[EXCERPT FROM VERIDIAN CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT CASE FILE #VC-26-8517]
DATE OF INVESTIGATION: 04/24/2026
LOCATION: WILLOWDALE VILLAGE & SURROUNDING HILLS
INVESTIGATING DETECTIVES: THORNE, K. / MCDONALD, M.
FIELD NOTES - 08:32 HRS
Our trip up the north ridge last night was a bust. Harlan Blackwood lived up to his reputation—a grumpy old bastard who threatened to set his hounds on us if we didn't get off his porch. He didn't tell us much, but before he slammed the door, he spat on the ground and told us that if we wanted to understand the 'sickness in the dirt,' we needed to check the town archives. He said the past holds the keys the city folks are too blind to see.
We spent the morning following his advice, starting by interviewing the children’s parents – every one of them lifelong Willowdale residents, their families rooted in the town for generations.
"No one in town talks about it much," said Elena Domingo – grandmother to six-year-old Mia Domingo, one of the missing children – as she showed us her granddaughter’s room. The walls were covered in drawings, all featuring the same glowing symbols. "But we all know. Every twenty-seven years, kids go missing from Willowdale. My own mother told me about it – said they’re ‘called home to the hills.’"
Mac was already taking notes, cross-referencing dates. "Twenty-seven years – let’s check that. If the last disappearances were in 1999, before that 1972, then before that 1945..."
"War years, economic depression, times when people were struggling," I finished. "Just like the city cases – the entity seems to act when people are vulnerable."
We left the house and drove to the town hall to pull old records. Willowdale’s archives were kept in a dusty basement room, managed by Esteban Pablo – the local historian who’d been mentioned in Sheriff Joyce Castro’s report.
The man who met us was thin and gray-bearded, with eyes that seemed to see more than what was in front of him. He’d already laid out boxes of old papers on a long table.
"I knew you’d come," he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "When the kids disappeared, I knew someone from the city would finally ask the right questions."
WITNESS STATEMENT - TRANSCRIPT EXCERPT
WITNESS: PABLO, ESTEBAN (DOB: 1958/06/04) | WILLOWDALE HISTORIAN & FOREST RANGER
INTERVIEW CONDUCTED: 04/24/2026 - WILLOWDALE TOWN HALL ARCHIVES
THORNE: You were expecting us?
PABLO: I’ve been studying Willowdale’s history for forty years. The pattern is clear – every generation, seven children are called to the stones. The town was built around that hill, you know. The founders made an agreement – they’d give the hills seven children every twenty-seven years, and in return, the land would stay fertile, the people would stay healthy.
MCDONALD: You’re saying this was intentional? That the town gave up kids?
PABLO: Not gave up – gifted. The children aren’t harmed. They become part of the hill, part of the land that sustains us. My own great-aunt disappeared in 1945. She came back once, when I was a boy – just for a moment, walking in the woods. She looked happy. Radiant, even.
THORNE: What do you know about these symbols?
I slid Mia Domingo’s drawing across the table. Pablo’s eyes widened slightly, then he nodded slowly.
"Those are the old marks," he said, pulling out a leather-bound book from under the table. It was centuries old, its pages yellowed and brittle. "They’re not just drawings – they’re a language. The hills speak in symbols, in song, in feeling. The children can hear it because they haven’t learned to block it out like adults do."
He opened the book to a page filled with hand-carved symbols that matched the ones in the drawings exactly. "This is the ‘Song of the Hills’ – written down by the first settlers who could understand it. It says the stones are a doorway between our world and the place where the hill spirits live. The children are chosen because they can pass through without being burned by the energy there."
THE CIRCLE
After leaving the archives, we decided to hike up to the Children’s Stones ourselves. The footpath was steeper than it looked from below, winding through woods where the trees grew in strange, curved patterns – as if bending toward the hilltop.
"This is weird," Mac said, running his hand along the bark of a massive oak tree. "Look at the way the branches grow – all pointing toward the stones. Like they’re being pulled there."
I’d noticed it too – even the ferns and wildflowers seemed to grow in lines leading up the hill. And the static was getting stronger with every step, not overwhelming like in the city, but warm and inviting, like a fire on a cold day.
When we reached the top, we found the six granite pillars standing in a perfect circle, each taller than a grown man. Carved into the base of every stone were the same symbols from the children’s drawings. The ground inside the circle was perfectly flat, no grass or weeds growing at all – as if the earth itself was different here.
Mac pulled out his measuring tape and started documenting the layout. "Thirty feet across, pillars exactly six feet apart. This isn’t random – someone planned this, and they knew what they were doing."
I stepped into the circle, and the world shifted slightly. The sounds of the forest faded, replaced by that soft singing we’d heard about. I could see images playing in the air like water ripples – kids laughing, running through fields of flowers that didn’t grow anywhere else, chasing glowing lights that danced around the stones. Mia was there, holding hands with two other missing children, her face lit up with pure joy.
"Kaelan, can you hear that?" Mac asked, his voice sounding distant even though he was right beside me. "The singing – it’s real this time."
I could hear more than that – whispers in a language I didn’t know but somehow understood. "Come play... stay with us... the hills need you..."
But then I noticed something else – among the glowing figures of the missing children, there was another shape. Tall, dark, moving among them like a shepherd with his flock. It wore what looked like a long coat, and its face was hidden in shadow – but I could make out a strange device in its hand, pulsing with a cold blue light that clashed with the warm glow of the stones.
"Mac, look," I said, pointing – but when he turned, the shape was gone. All that was left were the stones, the singing, and the faint hum of static in the air.
FIELD NOTES CONTINUED - 14:17 HRS
Discovered strange growth patterns in vegetation leading to the stones.
Symbols at stone base match those in children’s drawings and city cases (but different arrangement).
Experienced auditory and visual phenomena within the stone circle; confirmed Mia Domingo and other missing children appear unharmed in visions.
Identified possible unknown figure associated with the disappearances – appears to be carrying some form of technological device.
Sheriff Joyce Castro reports a recent arrival in town – David Keller, who bought an old farm near the hills three months ago.
Background check on Keller shows he previously worked for a tech firm in Veridian that specialized in "energy harvesting systems" – the company closed down last year after a raid by federal agents.
THE BARN
We hiked back down the hill to find Sheriff Joyce Castro waiting for us at the bottom, her face serious.
"Found something you need to see," she said, leading us to a dirt road that wound toward the back of the hill. "David Keller – the man who just moved here – we did a quick search of his property while you were up the hill. You’re not going to believe what we found."
A few minutes later, we pulled up to an old red barn behind Keller’s farmhouse. Through the cracked boards, we could see light flickering – and hear the faint sound of machinery running. The air around the barn hummed with a different kind of static than the stones – sharp, electric, wrong.
"This isn’t just a farmer," Mac said, his hand moving to his weapon. "And whatever he’s doing out here – I have a feeling it’s connected to our missing kids."
Sheriff Castro pulled out a set of keys. "We got a warrant after finding his truck tracks near the school playground – matches tire prints we found there from the day the kids disappeared. Let’s go see what he’s been hiding."
We moved quietly up to the barn doors. The machinery noise was louder now, mixed with a low whirring that made my teeth ache. Mac signaled for us to spread out – Sheriff Castro at the back door, me and Mac at the front.
Mac took a deep breath, his knuckles white around his weapon. "Ready when you are."
I nodded, reaching for the handle