“Hey!” Greg called, motioning to Sean with his eyes. Stay sharp.
“You’re the first one to find us. Where’s the rest of your crew?”
“I came by myself.”
The guy didn’t stop smiling. Thin, bird-chested, pale. His yellowed T-shirt sagged off his frame, like it had lived too many lives. His grin stretched too long, teeth uneven, lips cracked.
Greg forced his own smile. “Okay… well, I’ll be honest. We don’t really have the money to—”
The stranger waved both hands quickly. “Oh, no, no! I don’t care about that. I’m not here for the game.” His voice cracked with excitement. “I came to meet you.”
Sean’s brow furrowed. Greg blinked.
From his backpack, the kid pulled out a poster — Greg’s old goblin logo from the early channel days, the one he’d Photoshopped in college. The paper was creased and smudged, like it had been carried everywhere, folded and unfolded a hundred times.
“Can you sign it? Please?” He shoved a sharpie out.
Greg took it automatically, nostalgia hitting him like a sucker punch. The logo brought back those first years — posting videos nobody watched, wondering if he was wasting his life, broke and anxious and convinced he’d end in obscurity. He pushed the thought down and scrawled his name.
“There you go.”
David’s eyes lit up. “And this.”
He peeled off his shirt. His torso was pale, soft, cratered with acne scars. He held it out like an offering. “Sign this too.”
Greg’s smile didn’t falter, but unease settled under his skin. He signed the shirt.
“One more thing.” David’s hands shook as he dug into his bag again. He pulled out a Polaroid — a family photo from a Chuck E. Cheese. Three faces were scratched out with angry gouges: mother, father, and sister. Only a boy with black hair remained, smiling stiffly, the ink cut clean around him.
Greg hesitated.
“Please,” David whispered.
Greg signed it. Quickly.
“And… this.” David shoved his phone forward. The voice memo app was already open. “Say your intro. Say my name.”
Greg took the phone. He could feel how sweaty it was, still damp from David’s palm. He forced a grin and launched into host mode:
“What’s up, guys! We’re in Vickers Forest, trying to survive out here… and I’m here with the man, the myth, the legend—David!”
He threw his fist in the air. David lit up. His lips split at the corners as he grinned, bleeding a little, but he didn’t seem to notice. He rocked side to side like a child at a concert.
Behind them, Sean had pulled the camera out, already recording. Content, content, content.
When the moment finally fizzled, Greg lowered the phone and handed it back. His face ached from the forced smile.
Sean jumped in, his opportunistic tone flat and casual: “Hey, David, you wouldn’t happen to bring food, would you?”
David’s smile twitched, as if the question insulted him. Then it returned, too wide. “Yeah. I’ve got some in my car. Beef jerky. Protein bars.”
“How about you go grab it and meet us back here?” Greg suggested.
David nodded too quickly. “Of course. Can I leave my bag with you?”
He set it down like it was holy. As soon as he disappeared into the trees, Greg opened it. Inside:
A white T-shirt with Greg’s shirtless face printed across it, the kind of memorial tee worn at funerals.
On the back, a list of Greg’s videos in chronological order, like scripture.
A corked test tube wrapped in blue tape, labeled in shaky marker: Adonis’s hair.
Greg’s stomach turned.
“I don’t like this,” he muttered.
Sean leaned over his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. This is gold.”
Branches snapped. David reappeared, smiling, a blue backpack slung over one shoulder. He pulled out Slim Jims, beef jerky, Quest bars. “Go ahead. Eat.”
They ate in silence. David never broke eye contact with Greg as he gnawed his Slim Jim, chewing wetly, eyes shining. Greg forced down jerky, shuddering at the sight.
“You should check Reddit,” David finally said. “Everyone thinks that bear attack was fake. Special effects. They think you trained the animal.”
Greg’s eyes twitched. He pulled out his phone, Starlink blinking beside him. The comments confirmed it:
Get this man an Oscar.
Wish the bear ate him ass first.
Fake as fuck.
Greg’s jaw tightened.
“Who cares?” Sean cut in, calm as ever. “If they want a goblin, give them one.”
Greg looked at David’s pale, eager face, then back at Sean. He forced the host’s smile again. “David, how would you like to be our new cameraman?”
David’s mouth dropped. His pupils widened. “I… I would be honored.”
Sean recorded David’s reaction, the grin splitting wider, blood beading on his lip.
Greg leaned back against the tree. He forced another bite of jerky, dry in his throat.
Night was coming.
And something about the way David kept staring at him told Greg he wouldn’t sleep easy.
