Day 555

There are four stone plinths in the woods past the back of my house.
Right next to the river, all rain soaked and graffiti smeared.
Of course they were covered in graffiti - most things in the woods were.
It was strange to find a tree trunk not scribbled on.

Aside from their shared multicoloured nature the trees shared one other thing.
Four names written on every single trunk throughout the entire area.
The same names etched into the plinths by the river.
The same names written all over the town, in the cracks between their very mortar.

For years nobody had any idea who the people behind the names were.
Last week they found a trapdoor in the town hall right behind the mayoral chair.
It had been moved for renovations - nobody had any idea it had been there.
Steep steps leading down to a small chamber holding four stone heads.

On the base of each head was an initial matching one on the plinths.
They have plans to reunite them tomorrow, matching them to the names.
None of them have noticed how all of the names around town have vanished.
Even the trees are slowly eating away at the spray-paint, their red bark bare to the sun once more.