Doubt
By Aaron Polson
The video received over four million views on YouTube before being pulled. No one admits to the upload. The account has been deleted, and the mother insists the phone had been in the hands of the police. All this remains: over four million views in five days, and thousands of blog posts, Facebook messages, and tweets about the girl who was zapped into another dimension, the girl who was swallowed whole, the girl who simply vanished.
Of course, aside from the video, there’s no real evidence.
The video begins with Tabitha’s wide grin. She announces, “I’m going to sing for you.” Her curly hair bounces like stringy springs as she croaks a squeaky rendition of “Story of My Life” while holding the camera with one hand. YouTube swims with these videos, children doing cute childish things. The lyrics morph into a sing-song poem at 2:15. Maybe she forgot the lyrics. Maybe she grew bored. Tabitha’s face twitches slightly—only noticeable when the video is examined frame-by-frame. Tabitha stops speaking at 2:47. All trace of childishness stops at 2:49. Until 2:49, one might think of the video as a game, spooky child’s play, a version of “gotcha.”
And then she simply disappears. The phone hangs in the air for a frame without the girl.
In the final seconds, after the girl is gone and the sudden flicker and thunk when the phone presumably falls to the floor, footsteps can be heard. The camera captures several moments of ceiling with the corner of a dresser in view. A fuzzy hand comes into frame. A woman’s voice, soft and groggy, says, “Tabitha. Did you take my phone? Where are…” The video blurs.
She claims to have picked up the phone and stopped the recording. According to her police statement, she didn’t know Tabitha had the phone. She was napping, trying to sleep away a headache after swallowing “four or five” Ibuprofen tablets. Tabitha was the only other person in the house. The phone, a Samsung Galaxy IIIs, was in her mother’s purse on the bed side night stand.
There’s more to the story after the video: the search, the campaign to find Tabitha, the police investigation and lack of trail. A little girl simply does not disappear without leaving something, no matter how small, how seemingly insignificant, behind. News crews catch much on camera in the following weeks, but the video, the one in which Tabitha disappears, is complete with her mother’s words—where are.
Such things are easily faked. We know. We trust the world and logic and reality. Despite the consistent time stamp throughout, simple editing made the girl vanish. An easy Hollywood trick, we say. We disregard the final seconds, the shift in Tabitha’s facial expression and the odd shadow which clouds the wall behind her in the final two frames. A simple Google search for “Tabitha Hornburg shadow” produces several dozen screen grabs from those last frames, the fuzzy thing looming behind a little girl whose face is pale and slack. But we know this is fake. We doubt. We post pictures of the shadow meme with cartoon faces added. We live our lives content in a world where little girls simply do not vanish.
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Aaron Polson currently lives in Lawrence, Kansas with his wife and half dozen kids. His stories have been reprinted in The Best of Every Day Fiction 2009 and 2010, listed as a recommended read by Tangent Online 2009 & 2011, received honorable mention in the storySouth Million Writers Award and Ellen Datlow’s Best Horror of the Year. Rumor has it, he likes ketchup with his beans and musical theater.
By Aaron Polson
The video received over four million views on YouTube before being pulled. No one admits to the upload. The account has been deleted, and the mother insists the phone had been in the hands of the police. All this remains: over four million views in five days, and thousands of blog posts, Facebook messages, and tweets about the girl who was zapped into another dimension, the girl who was swallowed whole, the girl who simply vanished.
Of course, aside from the video, there’s no real evidence.
The video begins with Tabitha’s wide grin. She announces, “I’m going to sing for you.” Her curly hair bounces like stringy springs as she croaks a squeaky rendition of “Story of My Life” while holding the camera with one hand. YouTube swims with these videos, children doing cute childish things. The lyrics morph into a sing-song poem at 2:15. Maybe she forgot the lyrics. Maybe she grew bored. Tabitha’s face twitches slightly—only noticeable when the video is examined frame-by-frame. Tabitha stops speaking at 2:47. All trace of childishness stops at 2:49. Until 2:49, one might think of the video as a game, spooky child’s play, a version of “gotcha.”
And then she simply disappears. The phone hangs in the air for a frame without the girl.
In the final seconds, after the girl is gone and the sudden flicker and thunk when the phone presumably falls to the floor, footsteps can be heard. The camera captures several moments of ceiling with the corner of a dresser in view. A fuzzy hand comes into frame. A woman’s voice, soft and groggy, says, “Tabitha. Did you take my phone? Where are…” The video blurs.
She claims to have picked up the phone and stopped the recording. According to her police statement, she didn’t know Tabitha had the phone. She was napping, trying to sleep away a headache after swallowing “four or five” Ibuprofen tablets. Tabitha was the only other person in the house. The phone, a Samsung Galaxy IIIs, was in her mother’s purse on the bed side night stand.
There’s more to the story after the video: the search, the campaign to find Tabitha, the police investigation and lack of trail. A little girl simply does not disappear without leaving something, no matter how small, how seemingly insignificant, behind. News crews catch much on camera in the following weeks, but the video, the one in which Tabitha disappears, is complete with her mother’s words—where are.
Such things are easily faked. We know. We trust the world and logic and reality. Despite the consistent time stamp throughout, simple editing made the girl vanish. An easy Hollywood trick, we say. We disregard the final seconds, the shift in Tabitha’s facial expression and the odd shadow which clouds the wall behind her in the final two frames. A simple Google search for “Tabitha Hornburg shadow” produces several dozen screen grabs from those last frames, the fuzzy thing looming behind a little girl whose face is pale and slack. But we know this is fake. We doubt. We post pictures of the shadow meme with cartoon faces added. We live our lives content in a world where little girls simply do not vanish.
- - -
Aaron Polson currently lives in Lawrence, Kansas with his wife and half dozen kids. His stories have been reprinted in The Best of Every Day Fiction 2009 and 2010, listed as a recommended read by Tangent Online 2009 & 2011, received honorable mention in the storySouth Million Writers Award and Ellen Datlow’s Best Horror of the Year. Rumor has it, he likes ketchup with his beans and musical theater.
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I like it ..Will there be more?