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You soon find yourself in a rather green-looking clearing. Verdant grass and flowers provide a soft place to sit, while the water of the lake laps against the shore under a gentle breeze.

Everyone tosses their backpacks to the ground. Madison looks toward the water greedily, while Brody is busily looking around within his backpack.

"Does anyone know the name of this lake?" Madison asks. "I've never been here, but I think I'd like to return someday."

Brody shrugs. "Your guess is as good as mine."

You actually remember an old news story about this area, one that had been repeated on television for a while. One perspective showed a nearby junkyard, where the reporter had talked to the owner several years ago. Vestiges of memory tug at your awareness, and then you remember the name.

"This is Sapphire Lake, so named by the first American explorers who discovered it. They were struck by the deep blue color of the water."

"Sapphire Lake? Why does that name seem familiar?" Madison muses to herself.

"Leather Jack," Brody says quietly, his face getting a little more serious.

"You don't mean—" Madison starts to say, then stops when she sees Brody's affirming nod.

"Yeah, Leather Jack, a serial killer from about fifty years ago. He would take hunters, hikers, whoever crossed his path, and skin them alive," you say, growing engrossed with the tale. "Made their skin into jackets."

"If it was leather, wouldn't he stop at some point?" Madison asks. "You know, once he had a full jacket."

"Not really," you reply. "It wasn't like he cured it properly. If nothing else, he kept hunting to replace the newest patches in his jacket."

"No one needs to worry about him. Police caught him decades ago," you say. "Although some people say they feel his presence to this day."