Day 261

My son has been seen at the graveyard recently.
Not the one he was buried at, this one is nearer the old playground.
It's fenced off and private but my friend Tess said she talked him through the bars.

"He didn't look no different," she told me in hushed tones, "talked all normal and everythin'."
I wanted to go there and see him right away but my wife refused, she was furious.
Wouldn't talk about it either, she hated superstition but I had to try.
I just wanted to see my little boy again.

While I was meant to be on lunch break the next week I decided to walk past the place.
Just in case he was there, you know.
The gates were always locked, why would he even be there?

I waited by those bars for as long as I could but he didn't show up.
I went day after day, every lunchtime for weeks.
He never came but Tess kept swearing he was there and talking.

Why was he talking to her and not me, his own damn father.
I can't even talk to my wife about this, she's stopped talking tome.
Come to think of it, she hasn't said a word in weeks.
She's been drawing more though, therapy or something... I might have a look at some.



She's been drawing him at that place.
Her notepad is like a flickbook of him pacing behind the bars.
His face is like nothing I've ever seen before.
It looks like him but he's never looked so angry before.

That's when the running started.
As I looked up from the drawing I saw him run past the office door.
I spent the rest of the day searching the whole house for him, every nook and cranny.

After that he came back at least once a day, I don't know where he goes or why.
Sometimes he leaves footprints though.
They lead to the spot in the back garden where we found his body.

He even leaves me notes every now and then.
Just to let me know he hasn't forgotten.

I was the last thing he saw after all.