| Missing | Short Scary Story |

Missing

I've always been interested by those posters of missing people you see glued onto bust stops and shop windows. A simple picture of a kid, most of the time, stating their name, age they went missing at, and most often that they've been missing for a very, very long time.

It was an autumn evening I was walking home from school, the darkness already begun creeping up upon the deserted roads of London casting shadows greater than mautains themselves. I always walked home alone, no friends lived in the same direction as me. On this acasion I decided to take a shortcut by a small woodland by an even smaller creek, a hot spot for junkies and suppliers. Withusic blasting in my ears I quiet enjoyed the melonchony underbrush, trees and shrubs dull in hue sof orange and brown, air crisp and thin stabbing at my lungs with every breath I took-it was dark, there was only one lamp across the enrirety of the path, an old one, rusty and still lit by a candle like the olden days by the man who loved by the woodland.

I came nearer and nearer towards the lamp which was near the middle of my journey, I always liked darkness, a soothing painting absorbing all my worries and pains. Struggles of himelife. My mother was an overprotective one, my father too but more... Odd, like an actor putting in an act, but they were the only family I have, they were the ones who took care of me, the ones who kept on fighting when I got injured as a toddler and lost my memory, they were always there. But our relationship had strained over the years, I was the black sheep in the family, unathletic, drowsy black eyes and blonde hair even both of them had bright blue eyes and chestnut hair.

But the darkness made me forget.

I finally reached the lamp by quarter to six, its dim flame trying its best to illuminate the small bench in memory of a woman who took her own life by the creek and the trash can used by the people who walked their dogs here in the morning. I threw my backpack onto the oak wood bench and sat down, just to kill time and delay the journey home, but that when I noticed the worn down and waterdamaged poster hanging on my a single tape strand, hanging on for dear life to the lamp.

In big, pink letters it stated,

'MISSING,

DANIELA BROOKS, LAST SEEN ON FEBRUARY 2001 AT AGE 2, SHE'S BEEN MISSING FOR TWELVE YEARS. SUTTON, LONDON.'

And a picture of a toddler with the widest smile ever and the cutest doe eyes waved in the photograph, pure white skin and a Bob of sun bpod hair, and oddly enough, the same four inch scar right above the kids brow. The same looking scar I gained in the accident in my toddler hood, and oddly enough it also happened when I was two in February of 2001.

I was memorised by the poster theat I didn't notice that my music stopped, replaced with the ringing of my phone. I snapped out fo my trans and looked to see mum was calling, I picked up after a moment of hesitation.

"Diane darling, please don't come home, go straight to the rental in Kent, rmemebr where it is? You have your zip card, grab a train and go. Go."

"Mum? What's happening?"

"Nothing. Papa just has some friend coming over and i—"

My mother's voice was cut off by loud Yelling and sirens blasting, what sounded to be like a door kicked open and a man Yelling.

"POLICE. GET ON THE GROUND. WHERE IS THE GIRL?"

And then the call ended. I looked at the missing poster and looked at the happy smile of the girl.

I didn't want to belive it....