Things That Go Missing

I’ve always wondered about where things go when they go missing. I’ve always wondered what actually happens to them. I’m a curious person. That’s why I was so eager to join the Search and Rescue team in my small town. We live near a large forest, so the Search and Rescue team stays pretty busy. I had been with the Search and Rescue team for three months when I found out. Three months of searching. Of course, we found survivors. People who had wandered off the path and were scared and confused. But I had never found a trace of the people we *couldn’t* find. The missing. Until that day. I was out searching with my team; we were looking for a nine-year-old boy who had strayed from his camp and hadn’t been seen since. I had been searching for hours, and I was getting worried. I had a bad feeling. I searched all the more diligently because of it, ※scanning the forest so intently that I actually thought I saw a flash of blue fabric (the color the boy had been wearing) out of the corner of my eye. I walked faster, my heart pounding, until I rounded a corner and my teammates caught up with me. And they saw it too. It was an entire house, standing just off the forest path. I had never seen it before, and none of my teammates had either. The boy we were looking for was standing in the front yard, trying to get inside. He would pull on the doorknob, rattle it as hard as he could, and then pound on the door. When that didn’t work, he’d run through the yard, pulling on windows and pounding on the walls. “Little boy!” I called, and he looked up at the sound of my voice. “Please,” he said, running up to us. “Let me in. I have to get in.” “Why?” I asked him, but he just kept repeating himself. Let me in, let me in, let me in. We searched the house. It was abandonated. There was no one inside, no one to let the boy in. But he kept asking. He kept banging on the door, kept pulling on it. And then, in a flash of blue, the door disappeared. The boy fell through the doorway and inside, and then he was gone. We searched the house again, but he was not there. We searched the forest for hours. We searched until the sun began to set. Until finally, we had to admit defeat. “We’ll find him in the morning,” my team leader said as we trudged back to the path. “He’s smart. He’ll be okay. Probably just went back to camp.” I didn’t say anything, but I knew that wasn’t true. I had seen the way he’d acted, the way he’d kept trying to get in. And I had seen him disappear. I didn’t sleep much that night. I couldn’t stop thinking about the house, and the boy, and where he had gone. I couldn’t stop wondering. So the next morning, I set out on my own. I went back to the spot where we’d found the house. But it was gone. I searched the forest, widening my circle out farther and farther. But there was no house, no sign of it. I kept searching until it started to get dark. And then, defeated, I made my way back to the path. I decided to take a different route back to town, just for fun. And that’s when I saw it. The house. It was back, and it was in a different location. I approached it slowly, wondering if I should go inside. But I didn’t have to. Because the front door opened, and the boy stepped out. I gaped at him in shock as he smiled and waved. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you so much. I’ve been trying to get in there for *so long*.” And with that, he turned and walked away. I watched him go, confused and disbelieving. I wandered back to the Search and Rescue base in a daze, my mind whirling. What had just happened? What was going on? But as I walked in the door, I was confronted. “What were you doing out there?” my team leader asked. “Why were you searching alone?” I tried to explain. I told them what had happened, about the house and the boy and everything. But they just looked at me. Like I was crazy. “There is no house,” my team leader said. “We never found any house.” And then they told me to go home. Take the week off. I went home, confused and disbelieving. What was going on? Was I going crazy? Had I hallucinated the whole thing? But over the next few days, as I thought more and more about what had happened, I started to have more and more questions. What was that house? What was happening to the missing people? And I knew exactly who to ask. He was a older man in town who had been on the Search and Rescue team for thirty years. He had stepped down a few years ago, deciding to spend more time with his family. But he was still an expert. So I visited him. He was friendly and welcoming, but I could tell that he knew what I had come to ask. “Where do things go when they go missing?” I asked him. “Sometimes things disappear,” he said. “Sometimes things go missing and we never find them. And that’s the way it’s supposed to be.” I scowled, irritated. “No,” he said. “Listen to me. I was on Search and Rescue for thirty years, like I said. And in that time, I never found a single truly missing person. I searched for them, but they were always gone.” “But what happened to them?” I asked. He leaned forward, and his eyes locked on mine. “I’ve lived in this town my entire life,” he said. “I’ve been all over these woods. But I have never, ever seen that house. I don’t know what it is or where it is or what it does. But you need to stay away from it.” I nodded, and he nodded back. “I feel better now that someone else knows,” he said. “But you Listen to me. Don’t go in that house. Don’t even go near it.” I nodded again, and I meant it. But as I left, I couldn’t help but feel…disappointed. I had gotten no answers. But the next morning, I got one. I got a call from Search and Rescue. A little girl was missing. She had been picking berries and hadn’t been seen since. I didn’t even wait for my teammates to pick me up. I got in my car and sped to the forest, my heart pounding. I had to find her. I had to. I arrived at the forest at a run, racing towards where she had last been seen. I searched and searched, but there was no sign of her. I searched for hours, my anxiety growing more and more intense. I was starting to get really worried. I searched until the sun began to set. But then I saw it. The flash of purple that the girl had been wearing. And the house. It was back, off the path. The girl was standing in the front yard, pounding on the door and wailing. “Please,” she said, over and over. “Let me in. I have to get in.” I approached slowly, wondering what to do. But before I could do anything, the door disappeared. The girl fell through it, and then she was gone. And I was alone. I wandered back to the Search and Rescue base in a daze, my mind whirling. What was going on? What was happening to the missing people? Why did they want to get into that house? Why did they need to get inside so bad? When I arrived, I told them what had happened. I told them about the house, and the door, and the girl. And they just looked at me, like I was crazy. “There is no house,” my team leader said. “But I saw it,” I said. And then they told me to go home. Take the week off. I went home, confused and disbelieving. What was going on? What was happening to the people who went inside that house? Why did they want to go there so badly? But as I thought more and more about it, I started to have more and more questions. What was that house? Where was it? Did it move? But most of all, I wondered what was inside. What could be so tempting, so alluring, that it would make people *beg* to get in? What could be so important, so vital, that they would keep trying and trying to get in? I couldn’t stop wondering. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And finally, I had to know. I had to *see*. So the next day, I went back out. I searched the forest until the sun started to set, and then I saw it. The house. It was back, in a different place. I approached it slowly, my heart pounding. I had to know. I had to *see*. And then I reached out, and I opened the front door. And I stepped inside.

Things That Go Missing

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