VIDEO BEGINS TRANSCRIBING — — —


    The view of the camera is once again grainy and distantly framed, this time from the high ceiling of a familiar room. The harsh angle and wide view displays so much more of the chaos littered about the hunting lodge''s great room. The security camera sits against one wall, almost to the roof high in the center of the room. We can see the other three walls from this point, two familiar and one new.


    The back wall, with the rocky fireplace and chimney, is still cluttered with weapons, though now quite a few of the stuffed trophies sit on the ground in front of the wall. The chalkboard still reaches up to the slanted ceiling on the right side of the room. And on the left wall lies the first glance of the fantastical paintings Fumushu mentioned earlier. The sharp downward angle makes it difficult to get a good view of what is pictured in the paintings.


    The room no longer looks like a cozy, if cluttered home. From this view it looks like a dollhouse or movie set, artfully designed to generate stress; the clutter, angle, and low quality combine to create a pressing drama that twists into the center of the room. There the three YouTubers stand around their constructed boxy roundtable, the odd device sitting in the middle, at the very center of the shot.


    The transcription begins halfway through Fumushu’s sentence, Her raspy voice still dissonant coming from her pastel outfit and bunny hat.


    “-and you’ll cut me out of the final video?” she’s looking across to Tim, sitting in the camp chair where he was in the most recent video. It appears he was actually sitting there while they filmed.


    Tim’s cowl shakes imperceptibly, then he raises a thumb to Fumushu. He’s slouched in the camp chair. It''s a stark contrast to his proper posture earlier.


    Judy’s bun has devolved from the relatively neat bun in the video to an askew mess. It hangs off of her head, still looking good with her wavy auburn hair. She isn''t paying attention to her two teammates'' conversation, all of her focus is on the clear orb wrapped in gold in front of her. Judy and Fumushu are standing, Judy leaning into the table as if she can physically intimidate the device, and Fumushu a bit back from the table, one hand hidden in the sleeve of her baggy hoodie resting on the back of the cork board next to her.


    The only person whose face can be seen is Judy, the three of them small in frame like dolls posed for the camera.


    “I can’t do this, Fumu, no needles.” Judy says, “Can we not find something else, edit out that bit at the end and post the video as it is?”


    She looks at Tim, who just shrugs, spreading his arms out to the sides to make sure this time the gesture can be seen. Neither girl takes this as an answer, and under the pressure of their gazes, Tim relents.


    “Of course, I’m fine with doing away with Fumushu’s “proof”. I can always just edit around it. We can find some other lesser way to end the video.” He tucks his gloved hands behind his head and leans back, his chin just peeking out from under his hood, his skin is white. “You’re the boss, Judes.”


    “You are insufferable, you know? Really doesn''t come across in emails.” Judy gives Tim a glare.” I’m trying here, and that''s no help, you know it.”


    Tim just stands up and heads out of the shot. Toward the only wall, the camera doesn’t record. “Not my problem, I came to help you clear out your grandma’s stuff, not glorify it. If you get around to ‘proving’ all this malarkey, let me know.” He points at the camera, sounding annoyed as he passes out of view, “I’ll make sure we record it.”


    “ Wow,” Fumushu shakes her head, bunny ears flopping around, “What''s got him so against all of this? Who isn’t looking for some magic in their life?”


    She looks at Judy, “I’ll stay here, for support! Though I shouldn''t stand in camera, I don’t want A**holes online like Tim to complain that the video was edited because he had to take me out.”


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    She wanders toward the wall the camera is mounted on, though clearly to a different place than Tim.


    A scraping noise can be heard, wooden chair legs on tile, then Fumushu’s voice right below the camera, “If you really don''t want to prick your finger it''s fine, I can find something else to prove magic. Your grandma left more than enough to convince me.”


    “I think I have to, I think I should. My grandma always sounds so scared to tell me about all of this. Am I really any better than my family if I can''t just do this one small thing?” Judy seems so small at this moment, as if her inability to reach out and prick her finger was the greatest personal failure she could imagine.


    >>> 2X Speed <<<


    The two sit silent, Judy able to do nothing more than stare at the sharp point of the golden arm reaching out to her. Her hands are wrapped around the top flap of one of the boxes on the table, griping it and curling the cardboard. They twitch - once, then twice - straining against Judy''s fear. The movement is the only indication of the fierce battle going on in Judy’s head.


    >>> Normal Speed <<<


    Suddenly, Judy throws up her hands and steps away from the table, “No, I can’t. Not this… I’m… sorry grandma.’


    She shrinks into herself, the view of the camera no longer able to see anything but her back as she halts in her abrupt retreat from the device.


    “No, No. Who am I. I can do this,” she whirls back to the table, almost dragging herself through the space to grab the arm of the device, her thumb hovering over the needle. “I can do this!”


    She looks away - plunges her thumb down on the needle.


    Light floods the room, the camera''s poor lens overwhelmed.


    Two shouts, one of panic and victory, the other of pain, fear, and shock.


    The light lessens.


    Judy has sunken down, shaking, hand still on the device. Pale. It''s a stark contrast to the stream of blood that spills out of her thumb, the needle embedded deep inside. Her fear lead her to push her thumb too hard into the tip.


    The blood flows down the arm of the device, staining it, dripping down to the crate. Judy’s pale face is exaggerated by the blue-white that shines on it. A bright thread leading from her thumb and to the crystal orb of the device. It glows a bright but pale blue, It isn’t frayed at all, but rather a clean streak of blue that leads to a tangle of the same thread inside the circular crystal.


    Even through the video, the thread has this weight to it, as if you were seeing a secret withheld for only the divine. The thread pulls at you, at the part of your brain that simply understands how the world works. It seems to settle itself in that place: to finally put a name, a final conclusion to the everlasting childhood question. An answer to why, to all whys.


    The glowing tangle is impossible to make clearly out on the substandard security camera. But any who see it, even through video, know that instead of a tangle much of the thread inside is structured in many tiny fractals, repeating patterns in three dimensions all the way down to the center of the orb. The conclusion seems to speak itself into the mind in the same way the thread outside the orb does.


    The moment breaks.


    Fumu rushes to Judy’s side, “Ohmygod- what the - JUDY! Why? Are you ok? Please be ok.” Her words collide and mix together, a jumble of joy and concern. “That’s magic! Real magic! -Your finger - you need help, let me help.”


    She reaches Judy''s side and gently pries her away from the magic detector, helping her stand and guiding her out of view to the kitchen. As Judy’s thumb is gently pried off the needle, the string connecting her to the device snaps with a thrum, then a pop. The sound could be audible, but as before is felt much louder in that instinctual space in the back of a viewer''s mind. The tangled weave inside the orb, however, remains, glowing softly.


    Seconds after the two disappear from the shot, Tim rushes in. He stops in his tracks as he sees the device, lit up with the tapestry of threads.


    “F*ck” The curse comes from deep in his chest, too quiet to be heard by the panicking girls in the kitchen. He collapses much the same way Judy did, just before finding the strength to jab her finger. Shoulders curling to his chest, spine rolling forward.


    Whatever he fears has come to pass.


    END TRANSCRIPTION — — —