Searching for Gordy started from the prompt “Write about home”. It takes place in my hometown of Laramie, WY. However, the theme of home resonates beyond the setting. Being alone in the forest and the chaotic yet comfortable atmosphere of a friend’s house party both fill me with feelings of home. Contrasted with those feelings of home is the uncanny and unknown, which is both disturbing and alluring. This story’s biggest influences are Stranger Things, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and Roadkill by Dennis E. Taylor.
Travis savored the rhythmic motion as he moved his weight back and forth, kicking off one ski and gliding on the other, and then kicking off that one and gliding on the first. It made him feel like an antelope, bounding through the woods on legs much longer than the ones he was born with, smelling the crisp snow and the fresh pine aroma. With each stride his body compressed and then extended, pushing him along the freshy groomed track that winded through the sparse alpine forest. His wax was perfect today; the slick wax at the tips and tails of his skis elongated his gliding motions perfectly, and the tacky wax underfoot gripped and released the snow at the perfect time, as long as he stayed on rhythm and kept his muscles properly engaged. As he crested the first hill, he boosted himself forward with two big double pole motions, and then folded himself into a tucking position as he rocketed down the other side of the hill. At the bottom of the hill, he rose from his tuck and began striding again. Suddenly he felt a tingling sensation running down his spine. He froze in his tracks and whipped his head over his shoulder. Was there an owl or a moose watching him? He scanned the trees but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Bits and pieces of the orange semicircle of the setting sun peeked between the tree branches. With a shudder, Travis resumed skiing and tried to forget the strange feeling. When he was alone these woods, Travis always felt like he was the only person on Earth, even though he could still hear the perpetual drone of semi-truck traffic on the interstate. Usually, the solitude was peaceful, but every once in a while, he’d be reminded of Gordy’s rambling stories of strange energies and uncanny encounters in these woods.
As Travis neared the end of his workout, and the last scraps of daylight were waning. He’d head back to his truck soon, but he had a visit to make first. At the top of Caution Hill, he took his headlamp out of his extremely fashionable fanny pack and clicked the light on before making a right turn off the groomed ski track. When he stepped into the soft, dry, unpacked snow his narrow skis sank several inches. As he plodded between the trees, with cold snow up to his ankles wetting his socks with freezing meltwater, he felt more like an awkwardly lanky flamingo trying to walk through mud than a graceful antelope. After a couple of minutes, he finally saw the clearing up ahead. He emerged from the cover of the trees into what Gordy had creatively dubbed Drift Meadow. In the summer, there was a trail that led through this clearing, but you had to go off-trail to reach it in the winter. There was no daylight left, but the night air was clear and the whole area was awash with silver moonlight. Off to the left, the landscape sloped away with a spectacular view of the valley. To his right were the snowdrifts that gave the meadow its name. Some quirk of the landscape and wind patterns made them grow spectacularly tall every winter, though this season they seemed less impressive. Travis couldn’t tell if the drifts were smaller or if he was bigger. Carefully, he sidestepped up the side of the biggest drift. His steps sent pebbles of snow rolling down the slope, and he cringed slightly as he disrupted the smooth shape of the drift that the wind had spent so many weeks sculpting. He sat down on the lip of the drift and turned off his headlamp. After a moment of fumbling, he extracted his water and granola bar from his fanny pack. The cold air had hardened the granola bar, making it tough to chew, but the water was ice cold and refreshing. He closed his eyes, thinking back to all those times when Gordy would bring him, Franny, and some of the other athletes here for a midday break from training. Gordy was powerful athlete despite nearing 65 and he pushed them hard, but during those breaks, Gordy would stop giving them training drills, and switch to telling stories about his time on the ski team back in the 80’s, or vague, half-redacted stories about his career in the nuclear power industry. Travis wished he could go back to those days, but things were so different now. Franny was on the university ski team now, and Gordy was… well, nobody knew where Gordy was. He hadn’t been seen in weeks, and his mental health had been deteriorating for months. Leading up to his disappearance, his quirky stories had morphed into delusional, nonsensical ramblings about strange encounters.
Travis sighed, opening his eyes, and putting his belongings back into his fanny pack, when something caught his eye. He looked up to the sky and saw a shooting star—no, not quite a shooting star… It was bright green, a little too big, and moving a little too slowly to be a normal shooting star. Travis watched the green dot until it disappeared below the line of the trees, out of his sight. That same chill ran down his spine. In the direction of the green light, at the edge of the clearing, there was perturbation in the smooth surface of the snow, but it wasn’t his tracks. He rose from his seated position and glided back down the slope of the drift, skidding to a halt near the perturbation. There were three round imprints that had broken the crusty surface of the wind-scoured snow. The imprints were equidistant, arranged a few feet apart from one another at the points of an equilateral triangle. The inside of the imprints was shiny with ice, as if whatever had made them had been hot enough to melt the snow. Between two of the imprints, there were two other shapes in the snow. They reminded him of the prints of bare feet, but they were a strange shape, longer and skinnier than any foot Travis had seen, and he thought he could make out six toes on each foot. How could someone get all the way out here without boots? He clicked his headlamp back on, and he noticed another set of ski tracks, older than the ones he had just made, leading to the strange prints from the direction of Caution Hill. The tracks stopped in front of the front of the prints, but there was no second set of tracks leading back to the groomed trails. Whoever had made the tracks must have carefully turned around and used the same set of tracks to exit the meadow. They must have been more fastidious than Travis was about leaving the windswept crust of the snow as undisturbed as possible. Travis took out his phone and took a few snapshots of the prints in the snow, before giving in to the growing urge to ski as fast as he could back to his truck at the Tie City trailhead.
***
Travis followed the sounds of a bustling party up the worn and sagging stairway leading to Franny’s apartment. Travis had asked if she minded hosting the end of year banquet for the seniors on the ski team. It was an unspoken tradition for the banquet to be held by a recently graduated former member of the team, so the seniors could let loose away from the watchful eyes of their parents and coaches. There were other recent graduates that Travis could have asked, but no one that he liked as much as Franny, and his heart warmed when she eagerly accepted. He knocked on the door and it creaked open.
“There you are, Mr. Team Captain! We were wondering if you were even going to show up.” Franny said with a wink as she relieved him of his burden, a big casserole dish of mac and cheese. She was wearing a fitted maroon t-shirt that read “2033 LHS Nordic Team Captain”. When she had first gotten that shirt, she had been a couple inches taller than him. It was a strange sensation to tower over her now, wearing an almost identical t-shirt.
“Sorry Fran, the mac took longer than expected.” He said sheepishly. She walked over to her little kitchen island, already piled high with enchiladas, potato salad, Walmart sugar cookies, and cheap boxed wine, and struggled to find a spot for the mac. Barb, Franny’s shaggy wire-haired pointer urgently skittered across the hardwood floor to investigate the slides that Travis had just kicked into the pile of shoes by the door, before slobberingly greeting him. Hogan, the massive sprinter, waved at Travis from across the kitchen. Mark and Sam were whispering and giggling to each other conspiratorially as they walked to Franny’s balcony, thinking that nobody could smell the weed on them. Kylie and Megan were watching a Pixar movie in the next room, and Gavin was bumping Playboi Carti on his portable speaker. After Travis made the rounds, greeting his teammates, he found Franny again. She had kicked Kylie and Megan off the TV and was fiddling with Nintendo controllers, trying to set up a round of Mario Kart.
Travis grabbed a PBR from the case next to the couch and sat down, trying to sit in the perfect spot, not too close or too far from Franny. Kylie caught his eye from the adjacent armchair and gave him a mirthful knowing glance, and Travis tried to subtly roll his eyes in a way that Franny wouldn’t notice.
“How have you guys been?” Franny asked, passing controllers to him, Kylie, and Megan. “I know this has been a tough season.” For a moment, Travis didn’t know what to say, so he just sighed and cracked open his beer, taking a sip. The upbeat music from the character select screen clashed with the melancholy mood in the room.
“You guys know I love my dad.” Kylie said, exchanging a glance with Megan. “And I know he means well and is doing the best job he can. But it wasn’t supposed to be him that took us to nationals. It was supposed to be Gordy.”
Travis and Megan nodded, and Travis leaned forward and looked down at his feet. Mr. Nilsen’s heart really was in the right place. But he hated the overly upbeat pep talks he gave before practice, and he hated the childish gamified training drills he ran them through. Mr. Nilsen could barely even keep up with him and Hogan on the trails, why should they listen to him? A lot of the time, Travis, Hogan, and sometimes Mark and Kylie snuck away from the group, skiing alone, talking, or trying not to talk about Gordy. Mr. Nilsen pretended not to notice. Ultimately, Travis knew his frustration was misplaced. Mr. Nilsen hadn’t really done anything wrong besides not be Gordy.
Travis selected Donkey Kong and as he waited for Franny to pick a course, his eyes wandered to the picture on Franny’s mantle. It was a team picture from the ’32 junior nationals competition, Travis’s freshman year, Franny’s junior year. They all stood arm in arm. Travis’ darker face stood out against the blindingly white snow and blindingly white people. Gordy stood at one side beaming with pride at the medals hanging from Travis, Kylie, and Mark’s necks. On Travis’ right was Hogan, looking laughably scrawny compared to his current form, but sporting the same lopsided grin. On his left was Franny, her round sunburnt face spotted with freckles, and her wide smile showing her not-too-white, not-too-straight teeth. All these years later, Travis could still remember the warm feeling of belonging he felt, pressed between Franny and Hogan, basking in Gordy’s approval.
Travis shook himself out of his revery and forced himself to speak on the subject. “It’s been strange. We all miss Gordy. Everyone was affected when he… disappeared.” He couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge what everybody else seemed to take as hard fact; that Gordy was dead. “But we’ll get through it.” He took a deep swig from his beer.
“I miss him too. I was surprised by how quickly the rest of the town moved on. It seems like the rest of the town shrugged their shoulders and went about their lives after that joke of a police investigation. I was thinking about writing an in-memoriam article on him for the Boomerang. Remind everyone how much of an impact he had on this team and the community. Maybe rustle up some more interest in figuring out what happened to him too.”
After a few rounds of races in which Megan wiped the floor with the rest of them, Kylie and Megan had lost interest and wandered back to the other room. Travis had another swig of beer and was finally loose enough to bring up something that had been bothering him.
“Fran, remember those weird stories Gordy would tell? They started just before you left the team. He’d talk about strange encounters in the woods, weird lights, stuff like that.” She grinned and looked over at him.
“I always thought he was jerking our chains, but you loved those stories.” She said.
“It got weirder after you left. He quit coaching before it got really bad, but Hogan and I were still skiing with him right up until he disappeared. He would ramble on about ‘Sowers’ and ‘Tall Whites’ and ‘Nordics’. Hogan just laughed it off. I wondered if by ‘Tall Whites’ and ‘Nordics’, he meant Kylie’s family, but when I asked Mr. and Mrs. Nilsen if they knew what he was talking about, they said they had no idea and told me they were going to ask him to get psychiatric help. And then, just after he disappeared, I found this in Drift Meadow.” He passed his phone to Franny, and she furrowed her brow as she swiped through the photos of the strange tracks and imprints in the snow. He recounted what he’d experienced that night to her. He even told her about the green orb in the sky, but he left out the part about tingling sensation in his spine. Travis took another sip of beer to quell his mild embarrassment. He leaned over and stopped her on the picture of the bare footprint.
“Have you ever seen a footprint like that? Doesn’t it have six toes?” he asked. It didn’t look quite as weird in the photo as Travis remembered it, and he felt vaguely ridiculous. Over Franny’s shoulder, Travis saw Kylie and Mark dancing to Gavin’s music, stumbling a bit. They’d been closer recently since Gordy disappeared. Travis had seen them together late one night on the bus ride back from nationals, both asleep with Mark’s head in Kylie’s lap. Franny shrugged her shoulders skeptically and gave him back his phone, but not before she texted herself the photos. After a moment, she responded.
“That is weird. As much as I love skiing there, people get up to strange things in those woods. Remember that Heaven’s Gate cult from the 90’s? They committed group suicide back in the 90’s, thinking that their souls would be transported to an alien spaceship. Apparently, they spent a few weeks camped out there. The whole thing doesn’t sit right with me.”
“Do you think there could be anything to his stories?” Travis asked. She raised an eyebrow at him.
“I don’t know Trav. Maybe he saw a mountain lion out there. But… anything else?” She bit the inside of her lip. “Trav, to be honest, I think he probably had schizophrenia or dementia. Knowing him, he probably wandered into the forest before his disappearance and that’s all there is to it. I’m sorry. But if it makes you feel any better, we can go investigate those woods a bit. Whatever we find, it’ll be good material for my article.”
Before Travis had a chance to protest, to point to the footprint photo or the weird light in the sky, he heard the opening riff of “Thunderstruck” by AC/DC start coming from Gavin’s speaker, and Hogan came over to wrangle them into a drinking game based off the song. Travis filed his concerns away for later and tried to enjoy the rest of the night. He had a feeling he might not see these people again for a long time.
***
The next morning, Travis pulled up to Hogan’s house, his Toyota chugging away, and honked. Hogan stumbled down the steps in front of his house and climbed into the passenger seat.
“How ya feeling, big man?” Hogan could only muster a groan in response, and Travis passed him a high-octane canned coffee and a microwaved breakfast burrito. “Try to keep these down.” He said as he pulled out of Hogan’s cul-de-sac.
Fifteen minutes later, they rumbled over the cattleguard that marked the beginning of Gordy’s long dirt driveway on the outskirts of town. To the east, you could see the bustling metropolis of Laramie, marked by the concrete factory and the Walmart. To the west rose forested mountains that concealed the Tie City trail system and its mysteries. The intervening land was flat plains, dotted with a few houses, stables, and workshops. A sign next to the road read “Estate Sale, today only; cheap ski equipment”. A small group of cars was parked at the end of the driveway by the house. Travis had hoped to be the first to arrive, and he hoped what he wanted was still for sale. He pulled up behind a blue Subaru and admired the high-end Canondale mountain bike on its rack before putting the truck in park and stepping out onto the driveway. A short, plump, red-faced woman approached, wearing a battered MAGA 2028 cap and bejeweled cowboy boots that would have been a better choice for a middle schooler than a middle-aged woman. Travis looked over Hogan and braced himself.
“Greetings, boys. I’m Maggie, how can I help ya?” Travis bristled at the word “boy”, and was glad Hogan was there by his side. Maggie didn’t extend a hand for them to shake, and when she moved her arm slightly Travis noticed a sidearm in a leather holster on her belt.
“Hello, ma’am.” Travis began, matching her slight redneck speech pattern. It tended to make these interactions go more smoothly. “Gordy used to coach us on the high school ski team. We were hoping to get our hands on some of his waxing equipment so it could be put to good use.”
“Be my guest, I ain’t got no use for it. Never understood his fascination with skiin’ anyway.” She led them to the open garage and when she was facing away, Hogan elbowed Travis and pantomimed gagging. When they got to the garage there were a few people milling around, perusing Gordy’s haphazardly arranged collection of wood carvings, bike parts, arrowheads, and interesting rocks. Maggie hovered by the entrance of the garage, and Travis could feel her eyes follow him as he looked around. He sighed with relief as his eyes landed on the thing he’d come here to get, and the reason he’d forced Hogan out of bed so early to come help him. A solid, handmade wooden ski waxing table, more robust and easier to use than any of the flimsy plastic ones that could be bought from the big ski companies. Travis flagged down Maggie and she approached.
“Is this what you boys wanted?” She asked.
“Yes ma’am. Will this cover it?” Travis asked, handing over the $100 bill that Mr. Nilsen. Maggie’s eyes widened for a moment before she smiled and took the money. She probably didn’t know that a high-quality waxing table like this could have sold to a ski enthusiast for $250 or more online or at a gear swap.
“I think that should be good. Anything else I can do for you?”
“That’s it. Thanks!” Travis said. Him and Hogan lifted the table and began to shuffle back to the truck. Travis’ shoulders strained, but Hogan didn’t seem to notice the load. He probably could have carried the whole table on his own. Once they’d hefted the bulky table into the bed of Travis’ truck, they climbed back into the cab. Just before Travis was going to spark the engine, he noticed Maggie hurriedly waddling towards them, something cradled under her arm. He wondered if she had belatedly realized the value of the table and was coming to hassle them for more money and considered gunning the truck back down the dirt driveway. Instead, he rolled down the window as she approached, trying to hide that she was out of breath.
“Glad you boys didn’t leave too fast! I just remembered this old wax box and ran to grab it from the house! I figured I’d throw it in for free since you were so generous with your price for the table. It’s got some weird knick knacks in it, you know how he was by the end.” Travis reached out of the car window and took the heavy plastic box, handing it to Hogan in the passenger seat.
“Thank you!” He said, pleasantly surprised.
“No problem. Y’all drive safe now.” She said as she turned back to the house. That was one of the strange things Travis had noticed about those people. They could be so generous and polite, all while wearing paraphernalia and sporting bumper stickers that shouted “we don’t want you here” at anyone who they perceived as different. Travis didn’t know where he’d go or what he’d do after this summer, but he knew one thing for sure. He was getting as far as he could from this town.
When Travis and Hogan arrived at the Nilsen house, Mr. Nilsen was standing outside, hands on his hips. He tried to help them move the table from the truck into the garage, but when he realized he was being more of a hindrance than a help, he let them handle it. When it was safely positioned in the center of the garage, he thanked them profusely and went back inside. As Travis and Hogan walked back to the truck, Travis heard a tapping sound, and looked up to the house. Peering out of Kylie’s closed bedroom window was the wide-eyed face of Mark. He made a shushing sign with his finger in front of his mouth, and slowly opened the window. He swung one leg through the window, before he lost his grip on the window and tumbled out, crashing into Mrs. Nilsen’s flowerbed. Travis and Hogan stifled their laughter and helped him up. He brushed the soil off his jeans and team t-shirt, the same one he’d been wearing the previous night. Kylie closed the window and blew a kiss in their direction, and Mark jumped into the bed of the truck and pressed himself against the side so that he couldn’t be seen from the house. As they pulled out of the driveway Mr. Nilsen waved at them from the living room window. Once they’d safely rounded the corner, they burst into laughter, and Travis had to blink tears of laughter out of his eyes in order to see the road. Hogan turned in his seat and opened the rear window to the truck bed.
“Mark, you sly bastard. You’ve got some balls to do that.” he said as he dapped up Mark through the window.
“Do what?” Mark said, turning up his chin mischievously, “I simply had to visit my associate Miss Nilsen to exchange some files and records. All quite above board.” He said, putting on an atrocious fake British accent. The dirt on his face and red spot on his neck ruined the effect.
“Ahh, ‘exchanging files and records’, is that what you call it now?” Hogan said with a grin.
When Travis arrived back to his house after dropping off Mark and Hogan, he noticed the wax box was still on the passenger side floor. He picked it up and walked into his house. As he entered, he called out.
“Dad?” he called out. As expected, his dad was away this weekend for a work trip. His dad was single, and Travis didn’t even really remember his mother. His dad worked hard as an engineering professor at the university, and he wasn’t home much, so Travis usually had the house to himself. He liked this arrangement, and despite not seeing his dad too often, they were still close in their own way. Travis went into his bedroom and collapsed face first into his bed and drifted to sleep, letting the scraps of hangover that were left in his body seep into his deliciously comfortable bed.
He woke up a few hours later, having slept longer than he meant to. The sunlight outside had already began to turn orange. Sitting up in bed, he remembered the wax box and lifted it into his lap. He undid the plastic clasps and lifted the lid, but instead of the bars of wax, scrapers, and brushes that he’d expected to find, there was an arrangement of strange objects. The first thing Travis picked up was a little humanoid wooden figurine. It was the size of his palm, with skinny, lanky proportions. It was painted white except for two red eyes. For a moment, he thought it was a figurine for a tabletop roleplaying game like the ones Megan, Mark, and Sam played, until he examined the tiny feet of the figurine. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he counted the little marks dividing the toes of the figurine. There were five marks on each foot, indicating six toes on each. He put the little figurine in his pocket. Underneath was a Polaroid camera and four boxes of Polaroid film. Three of the boxes were empty, and one was unopened and full. When he turned the boxes of Polaroids over, he found that each box was labeled with blue painter’s tape and sharpie. The three empty ones had past dates, with varying intervals between each date. The final box also had a date. Today’s date. Underneath everything was a worn pocket notebook. He picked it up and paged through it. The first few pages were sketches of animals and landscapes, but as he continued the scribblings got stranger and stranger. There were nonsensical mathematical equations and diagrams of molecules, dates including today’s date, and what looked like the doodles of a child, all hastily scribbled down with a dull pencil. One page had a sentence underlined three times at the bottom. What is the significance of Drift Meadow?
He jumped when his phone started ringing next to him on his bed. He picked it up and saw who was calling. It was Franny. He picked up.
“Trav, you know how I told you I was going to look into Gordy’s disappearance? Well, I went poking around the old Civic Center today. His office was still locked, but I broke in. Travis, I found some weird photos in there. I wouldn’t believe any of it if you hadn’t told me the story about the weird things you saw at Drift Meadow, but there were photos of something that looked like the green light you said you saw.” she said in a tone that mirrored his own current feeling of wonder and panic.
“Were they Polaroid photos?”
“Yes.”
“Did they have dates written on them?”
“Yes.”
“What were they?”
Franny read out the dates, and they aligned perfectly with the dates written on the empty film boxes.
“Franny, I think we have to go to Drift Meadows, like, right now. I’ll explain when I pick you up. I’m on my way now. Be ready when I get to your place.”
“This better be good.” She said.
“Not sure about good, but it’s definitely something.”
Travis ran out the door and hopped into his truck. When he arrived at Franny’s house, she was ready, even wearing hiking shoes while Travis sported only sneakers. He took the exit for I-80 and pushed his truck as fast as it could go up the pass, which was five miles below the posted speed limit. As he drove, he explained how the dates in the notebook aligned with the dates on the polaroids and the empty film boxes, and how today’s date was also written in the notebook.
“What do you think we’re going to find out there?” Franny asked as Travis parked the truck. Travis looked over at her at despite himself, and he cracked a slightly maniacal smile.
“I have no idea, but whatever it is, I have to see it,” he said. Franny’s brow furrowed slightly.
“Trav, whatever we find out there, it might not be what you’re hoping for. It might be nothing. I don’t want you to be disappointed,” Franny said. Travis didn’t respond and hopped out of the truck.
It was already dark, so Travis and Franny both put on headlamps and clicked them on. It had been a warm spring, so they had to walk instead of ski. The trails were still wet and muddy from meltwater, and it was night, so there was no one else in the parking lot besides them. Despite the urgency of the car ride, now that they were out here in the cold, dark woods, it suddenly seemed a lot more reasonable to walk at a normal pace. Travis forged forward through the mud, taking big strides. His sneakers were soaked through to the skin with mud and caked with dirt. He wished he had been smart enough to wear boots like Franny.
Franny plucked at his shirt from behind. “Wait up Trav. My legs are shorter than yours,” she said. Travis slowed his roll so she could keep up. His heart was beating fast, and thoughts raced through his head about what they might find. He didn’t voice any of them. He didn’t want to hear Franny shoot them down, tell him that Gordy had just lost it and offed himself. Gordy wouldn’t do that. Instead, they walked in silence, only breaking it to warn the other of a puddle or rock in the path.
Finally, they arrived at Drift Meadow. After a few moments of searching, they found a dry patch of ground at the edge of the meadow. It was mostly concealed from sight by underbrush, but they still had a full view of the meadow. They laid down prone. Franny assembled her Go-Pro tripod, pointed the camera at the meadow, and started recording.
“So, what now?” Franny asked.
“I guess we just wait,” Travis said. They laid there for what felt like hours but was probably less than thirty minutes. Travis felt the cold ground leeching his body heat, while Franny’s body against his side replenished a bit. As the minutes ticked by, he began to wonder if whatever they were waiting for had already happened. Maybe they’d missed their chance, and Gordy’s trail was as cold as ever. Just before he voiced his concern, Franny gasped and death gripped his hand, pulling him closer to her with surprising strength.
“Look,” she whispered. Travis followed her line of sight to the sky. Directly above was a green orb of light. Instead of darting across the sky, it was hovering there, slowly growing bigger. Travis felt that old shivering sensation in his spine, but instead of pure terror, it was infused with a sense of excitement and wonder. Orb slowly descended to the ground above the spot where Travis had seen those strange prints weeks ago. The light was almost blinding. The orb stopped moving, and Travis thought he could make out a spindly humanoid silhouette. Travis’ heart swelled, and he felt an urge, no, a compulsion come over him. He had to know. He rose from their hidden position behind the underbrush and began to move forward, but Franny gripped his hand tighter.
“What are you doing?” she hissed; eyes wide.
“I’m sorry,” he said, pressing her hand to his cheek before letting it go. “I have to go. I have to know.” He hoped, one day, she would understand. He turned back towards the light and walked towards it. The light grew brighter and brighter, but he could still make out a shadowy figure. It extended a hand, and he reached out to it and grasped it.
***
Franny awoke with a pounding headache. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a hangover last two days. She thought back on the previous day, but the details refused to materialize from the haze. She cursed herself for forgetting to hydrate and chugged the whole glass of water on her nightstand to compensate. She unplugged her phone from the nightstand table. She had a text from Hogan.
“Have you seen Travis? He’s not responding to anybody’s texts or calls since last night. His dad just got back from a work trip and says he’s nowhere to be found,” it read.
She furrowed her brow and thought back to the previous day. Hadn’t she seen him? Hadn’t they done something important together? No… The last time she had seen Travis was the night of the seniors’ party, two nights prior. She asked Hogan to keep her updated and rolled out of bed. She walked out into her kitchen furrowed her brow deeper with confusion at what she saw there. Sitting on the kitchen island was a slender, white, wooden figurine with pinprick red eyes.