Here he was, yet another night, staring down at the many houses below. The boy had his eyes fixated on one house in particular. Silhouettes of people waltzing through the rooms could be seen. The light was turned on in the kitchen and a person was moving around inside. As the familiar person looked out of the window, The boy felt an ache in his chest. For he could not go there. He could not waltz through the rooms of the house while waiting for dinner to be finished. Yet he could not help but to return to the house which had used to be his home. The person looking out the window, his mother, moved her face away and returned to what she was doing. The longing in his chest only grew larger and larger as he watched the family, his family eat dinner by the kitchen table. He should have been there, but he couldn’t. 

When he’d returned the first time, the boy had heard his father telling his sister that he wasn’t returning. This had confused the boy, as he was standing in the room with them. Yet it seemed that it didn’t matter how loud he yelled ‘I’m here!’, they could not hear him, or they just didn’t want to.

He soon came to realise that it did not matter how many times he screamed at them, his family continued to act as if he wasn’t there. 

The boy pushed himself from the ground and found himself standing. The ground was rough against his bare feet and the wind sent chills through his whole body. 

***

The boy suddenly found himself in his family’s living room. He watched from the darkest corner as his father slumped down on the brown couch he missed so dearly. How he’d laid beside his mother while she stroked his hair. Instead, she just had a pillow beside her; perhaps she imagined it was him. His family was watching a movie, the one which used to be his favourite. They’d watched it every week since they started ignoring him, and the boy couldn’t quite figure out why. 

Another thing which puzzled him was the brown boxes on the floor of every room. He’d watched his family place things, their things, in the boxes and then taping them shut. First, it had been the decorations they kept on top of the fireplace, then it was his mothers fancy glasses. And now, all that was left in their home was the couch, the tv, and the kitchen table. 

He walked out into the hallway, quietly praying that someone would yell his name and ask him to join them. But that never happened. It never did. They continued to watch his favourite movie in complete silence. The boy soon reached the carpeted stairs, leading upwards. He’d never dared to walk upstairs, scared of what they’d done to his bedroom. 

This time however, he couldn’t stop himself. His feet stepped onto one step, and then the next, until he was standing at the top of the stairs. The hallway was dark, except for the light coming from his sister's room. His room however, was dark. A tug, he suddenly felt. Towards his bedroom. The boy walked with careful steps, scared of the noises the floor sometimes made. But that didn’t happen either. It was completely quiet as he walked across the hallway, careful not to bump into the same brown boxes that they kept downstairs. 

His room was located next to his sister’s. The boy reached for the doorknob, but didn’t feel it. His hand went straight through the grey knob, as if it was an illusion. He tried again and again, but his hand continued to go through it. The boy put it in his memory to ask his mother to take him to the doctor once they stopped ignoring him. 

He put his arm against the white wooden door, but could not feel that either. His whole arm went through the door, as if it wasn’t real. The boy took a deep breath and pushed his whole body through the white door. His bedroom was exactly the same. It had the same smell that he treasured deeply, the smell of his family. His bed in the corner of the room had the same bedding, they hadn’t changed it since they started ignoring him. The boy walked up to his bed, frowning at the cold floors. The only thing missing was his carpet he’d used to play on. Perhaps they’d put that in a box too. He tried putting his hand on the bed, desperate to feel the familiar comfort of the blanket. 

There was nothing, just the emptiness of the air. 

Tears began to form in his eyes as he remembered the day he’d woken up, and everything had been different. 

***

The boy opened his eyes, and met with the same white ceiling as always. Smiling as he realised what day it was, the boy sat up in his bed. He’d expected to see his family there, with cake and presents, but it was completely empty. 

He managed to get himself out of bed and walked to his door, which was open just enough for him to slip through. Perhaps they were still preparing? After all, the boy didn’t know what time it was. It might as well have been in the middle of the night. He walked through the lit up hallway, towards the top of the stairs. 

“Mom?” he called out silently. But no reply. 

“Dad?” he tried. But still no reply. 

He could hear shuffling downstairs. Confused as to why they would not respond to him, the boy climbed down the stairs. It had only been recently he’d learned to get down on his own, which he’d proudly showed his mom who’d started crying. Once he reached the bottom, he found himself walking towards the kitchen where he heard people talking. 

“Mom?” he spoke again as he walked into the kitchen.

To his surprise, he found his mother, father and two strangers sitting by the kitchen table. His mother was crying. Tears were streaming down her face as she listened to the two unknown men beside her. His dad was standing behind her, gripping her shoulders. The boy had never seen his father cry, yet here he was with tears slipping down his newly shaved face. 

“I’m so sorry, but there isn’t more we can do.” one of the two men spoke softly. 

The boy noticed his weird choice of clothing. Some sort of uniform it seemed. 

“Mom?” he called out, hoping for her to turn to him. 

Confused as she didn’t even look his way, the boy walked up to the table. He watched his mother closely as she held a tissue by her face. Her sobs were loud and helpless. The boy couldn’t possibly figure out why she was crying. 

“My baby,” she got out between her sobs. “It’s my fault.”

“ Ma’am, it’s not your fault. Whoever took him knew what they were doing.” the other stranger replied. 

“Took who?” the boy asked in confusion. 

“We’ll find him.” his father spoke, his voice on the verge of breaking.

“Find who? Dad, can you hear me?” the boy spoke, now yelling. 

He didn’t get a response from his parents. The boy started crying. He was scared. Why were they ignoring him? 

“MOM!” he screamed as loudly as he could, but it sparked no reaction. 

Then he spotted the newspaper on the kitchen table. He was surprised to see himself on the front page. The picture was from his sister’s birthday, only a few weeks earlier. Then there was the text above, which he could not understand. 

The letters M-I-S-S-I-N-G. Whatever that meant, he had no idea. The boy was just desperate to get his parents to notice him. 

But they never did. And he never returned home.