Treasure Hunters

I was 8 years old when I saw violence in live-action for the first time.

There was a black out in my neighborhood and 6 year old me thought it would be a fantastic idea to go out and do some good ol' fashion treasure hunting. It was about 8 in the evening, I remember because I had on my brand new Hello Kitty wristwatch with the tiny flashlight. My sister bought for me on my birthday with the little money she had left. I thought it was the coolest shit ever.

I was out with my friend, and let me tell you, he was the best treasure hunter ever. See, in my neighborhood, black outs were so frequent that we'd be surprised if the power was stable for a full 48 hours. My parents absolutely hated it, but me, I thought it was the best thing about the town. 

You see, at nights like this, my friend and I would always go "treasure hunting." When I asked him why we had to do it at night, he said that it was more "challenging" and "exciting" when the lights were off. We entered vacant lots, abandoned houses, and random dark places in search of anything that would be worth a story. I remember our first hunt where we found underwear, soaked in blood, stuff into a toilet inside the unkempt bathroom of the clubhouse in our neighborhood. The bathroom itself was decorated with dozens of foul drawings of women being sodomized and and beaten. Back then, we thought it was the funniest thing ever. It even featured a schoolmate of ours who got raped by a staff member. We used to laugh about it all the time.

That particular night, we found something more interesting. After a futile search of the local abandoned house, we decided to check back in the clubhouse in search of mysteries worth solving, and stories worth sharing. We took the usual steps. First, we tell our parents that we'd be in each other's house for a bit, Second, we would meet up at the end of the street where they won't see us, and third, we'd sneak off to the clubhouse. 

The clubhouse itself was old, dirty, and abandoned, which was typical for a subdivision that had terrible amenities. I whipped out my fancy Hello Kitty wristwatch flashlight and we began searching.

"Let's look at the bathroom again." He said while we were scouting the murky pool.

"I don't know...it smells in there." I whined.

"Come on, don't be such a girl."

Mind you, I am a girl.

As an attempt to impress my treasure-hunting buddy, I decided to give it a go. As we neared the bathroom, I heard someone softly crying. 

Now, as a die-hard Left 4 Dead fan as a kid, I knew exactly how to assess the situation. Is the room dark? Yes. Is the crying random? Yes. Are you in the middle of a zombie apocalypse? No. But give me a break, I was 8 and that was the perfect opportunity to showcase my zombie-fighting skills.

So we approached the door carefully. As we got closer and closer to the door, the crying became louder and sounded more strained. My companion slowly nudged the door open and there we saw the biggest mystery we never got the chance to solve. A story that should have been told to the right ears.

We saw our schoolmate. Her hands were chained to a urinal and her mouth was covered in something that looked like duct tape. Her top was ripped open and her bottoms were no where to be found, her legs were spread open, and a bald man that looked like he could be her father was viciously thrusting his hips to her.

I didn't know how to react then. I stared at the scene with my eyes wide and mouth open. I remember my friend dragging me back to our street. I remember him talking to me about something but I couldn't remember what. Then we went home and swore never to speak of it to anyone, ever.

That was the last treasure hunt we ever did.