"Oh, Jesus," breathes Peter, cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't want to be dead. He doesn't want to be a bloody ghost. If they'd come straight from the car crash maybe this would mean they died and are what, haunting the woods now? But then what the hell was America's Got Talent, some kind of hallucination while the oxygen left their brains?

"Fuck," he says, inching closer, willing it not to be true. He reaches out a shaking hand, hesitates, then goes to tap it against the man's arm. It swipes right through and Peter lets out a yelp and scrambles back to join Daniel.

The cameraman jolts and takes a step back of his own. "There it is again!"