Fiction | Short Story | Fascinate Me Fiction

Something Familiar

Some mysteries don’t need to be solved.

This story is written with Prompt #3 in mind for Fascinate Me Fiction’s November Story Prompts.

I kick a rock down the bank and watch it roll. The splash is satisfying. I breathe in the moist gray autumn air and try to focus on happy thoughts. Two in the afternoon, and the sky is so heavy with clouds it feels like dinner time. My mind is weighing me down, and the weather makes it worse. I’ve been dreaming about an old friend. Caralee was still twelve the last time I saw her. She disappeared days before her thirteenth birthday. I was ten, and blamed myself.

We were neighbors. I lived a couple doors down from her in a modest mid-century suburb. We had sidewalks, streetlamps, and a playground we could walk to. We were lucky. I remember the day Caralee disappeared, because I was excited for her party that weekend. Our birthdays were close together; mine was a week and a half after hers. We had the same birthstone. The year before, we gave each other the same bracelet with the same exact blue stone as a gift. This year, Caralee was planning a massive pool party at a nearby indoor pool. Her entire class was coming, and me. After the party, me and a few of her other friends would meet at her house for a sleepover. It was a big deal for me, hanging out with teenagers. I couldn’t wait.

But a couple nights before the party, police cars showed up at Caralee’s house after dinner. My dad walked over to see if he could help. He returned a few short minutes later, his face a mask of anxiety. “Have you seen Caralee today, Joanna?”

I had, briefly. I waved to her as I passed her house after school. I was still in elementary school, while she was in 7th grade. She usually got home first. We didn’t see each other as much during the school year anymore as we did during the summer break, but we sometimes talked on her front stoop after school if she didn’t have massive amounts of homework. Today was one of those big homework days, I thought. She waved to me over her shoulder as she walked in the house. I thought her face looked sad. I figured she’d had a rough day at school, and eventually I’d hear about it.

“What happened?” I asked, tense with worry. “Why are the police at Caralee’s house?”

My dad glanced at my mom, who nodded. “Caralee’s missing. She told her mom she was going to study at the library, but she didn’t make it home in time for dinner. Her parents can’t find her anywhere.” My dad turned toward my mom again, who now also looked upset. They hugged, thankful I wasn’t missing, too.

I went to the window to watch Caralee’s house, wracking my brain for any secret friend knowledge that would help. I thought of only one place she might be, but I needed to go see for myself. My parents would never let me out now, though, especially after dark. Especially with a neighbor’s child missing. Unthinkable.

I would have to escape.

I announced that I’m heading to bed. My parents are astonished I go up without being told, and without bargaining. I do my bedtime routine: brush my teeth, wash my face, make sure my parents hear all the right sounds. I shut my door and lie in bed for a while, listening for my parents’ going-to-bed sounds. Once I heard their bedroom door close, I climbed out of bed still fully dressed. I picked up my shoes and took them downstairs with me. Once safely outside the house, I shoved my feet in my slip-ons and take off toward the woods.

The woods. I loved the woods. The tall ancient trees felt mysterious, like there was something waiting to reveal itself to me and only me. The woods was a fun place — in the daylight. At night, it was another story. I felt a cold chill crawl down my spine as I carefully padded toward the tree line. The far-off hoot of an owl made me jump out of my skin. I heard skittering and scuttles — animals trying to get out of my way as I found my way among the trees. I moaned quietly to myself. This is wrong. I should be in bed.

I picked up my pace, recognizing I was on the right path and wanting the experience to be over already. The place where Caralee and I spent many hours whiling away the afternoon during the previous summer break. We needed a place where we could tell each other ghost stories and talk about the boys in our neighborhood. I used an old comforter and sheet set from our basement that no one wanted to use anymore. It was a tent hidden in the hollow among a grove a trees, a spot designed by nature specifically for kids to hideaway in.

I had never been here at night and almost couldn’t find it. As soon as the thought entered my head that I should give up, I looked up and saw the familiar red blanket waving in the sudden breeze. Our tent. The blanket was ratty and torn, roughed from exposure, but still there.

I thought maybe Caralee had run here. I hoped against hope she’d run away from home and was hiding out in our favorite spot, maybe even waiting for me to find her. I walked all the way inside the tent and sat down before I succumbed to the grief of knowing she wasn’t here after all. I buried my face in my knees and sobbed. My best friend was really gone, probably kidnapped. I couldn’t believe it. If I had to pick one moment, it here my childhood ended. I fully realized the cruelty and injustice in the world. My friend had been taken from me and I may never see her again.

I pulled my feet closer to me to make myself smaller against the wind. As I did, my shoes rolled over something small and hard. It felt different than the dirt and twigs that littered the floor of the tent. I lifted my foot and felt around in the dark. My hand landed on a loop of beads. It was the bracelet I had given Caralee for her birthday, the one very much like the one she gave me. I was wearing mine, so I knew for a fact this one was hers. I knew she’d been wearing it when I saw her last, so I knew she’d been here tonight.

Mystified I took the bracelet home with me, trying to understand. A million possible stories popped up in my head for why she’d been there, some reason for why her bracelet was there. Did someone kidnap her from our spot? Was she somehow waiting for me there after school? Did the look she gave me earlier convey some code I’d missed? Good afternoon, Joanna. Did you have a good day at school? Yeah? Well, mine sucked big meaty balls! Find me in our secret spot in five minutes; I’ll tell you all about it!

I walked back home with the bracelet, my head spinning with questions I couldn’t answer and completely wracked with guilt. I put the bracelet inside the curved, bowl-like base of my bedside lamp, where it stayed. When I moved out of my parents’ house, both the lamp and the bracelet came with me. I never told anyone about the bracelet, somehow afraid I’d get into trouble. As an adult, I continued to keep it a secret, but now only because I realized how much of a mistake it was to not tell police I’d found what must have been valuable evidence. I couldn’t imagine it was worth anything now, though.

The last few years have been peaceful. I finally stopped berating myself for the actions I didn’t take as a little kid. I have a good job in the HR department of the corporate headquarters of a big-name arts and crafts company. On weekends I paint acrylic landscapes. I have new friends. I have a dog. My life is finally my own, and I know some happiness. But today, something nags at me. I started having those dreams about Caralee, which brought up unwelcome memories and baggage. It bothered me, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the dreams were trying to tell me something.

The details of the dreams are cloudy, but I always wake up feeling tense and lost. I see her face, or someone’s face. Though it is obscured, like looking through a veil of fog on the mirror, I somehow always know it’s Caralee. I feel like she’s whispering something to me, her hand outstretched, her mouth moving quietly. So quiet. I try to listen harder, to understand her message.

When I realize I’m waking up, I always try to will myself back into the dream. I begin every morning crying into my pillow, asking myself why I didn’t go up to her. Why didn’t I ask what was wrong? Why didn’t I care more? I constantly think about the dream in my waking hours, trying to unravel the message. The mystery is eating away my sanity.

I look up from my reverie to discover I’m walking straight toward a fence. It occurs to me I no longer know where I am. This place is strange. A line of fence surrounding a patch of woods, just a few miles outside of the center of town, right along the river. Not outside city limits, though. Did the government build a new military installation overnight and not tell anyone? Did anyone else know about this?

Curious, I change course and walk parallel to the fence, to see if I can learn anything about it. I look for signs other than ones that say “No Trespassing” in bright colors. Nothing. It’s all so bare. Tall steel sheeting interspersed with lengths of chain link fencing. I can only see glimpses of what’s on the other side, mostly just trees and tall grass.

As I round a corner, I see the back of someone’s head as they pull open a gate. At first, I back off and try to hide. Something about the person is familiar, though, so I instinctively and carefully walk closer. Suddenly I realize… “Caralee?”

The person turns at the sound of my voice. It is Caralee, or at least someone who is identical to my friend. My heart leaps in my chest. Before I can stop and think, feelings of relief and joy that had been nesting inside me for 20 years burst and I scream a greeting. I have no intelligible words, I just can’t contain my excitement.

A flash of recognition crosses the face of the person who looks like Caralee, and then fear. Her brows furrow, confused. I want to reach out to her, to stop her — to hug her — but I can’t move. I’m frozen by my shock and overwhelming emotion. Before I can react, she squeezes through the barely-opened gate and is gone.

Back home, I ponder the person I saw with Caralee’s face. A strange feeling has creeped into my bones and vibrates throughout my body. The experience felt so much like my dreams. The face, the feelings of anxiety, the inability to act — it all felt so familiar. The most upsetting part is, nearly 20 years had passed since the night Caralee went missing. This person, this phantom, hadn’t aged a day. This Caralee still looked to be on the cusp of 13. I didn’t sleep well that night.

The next day, I walked back out to the fence and gate with a plan. Well, not really a plan. More like the edges of a plan. I would climb the fence, obviously. I didn’t know exactly how I would get the locked gate open without a key. Over the other side, I would then miraculously locate Caralee and question her unceasingly until she said something that made sense. I realized to myself how crazy I sounded. I felt crazy. But it had to work.

I followed the bank down to where I had seen the fence. I walked for an hour, before I found the spot. I knew it was the spot because I remember it was at the end of the sidewalk, past the outdoor restrooms. The only problem was, there was nothing here. No fence, no gate, no “No Trespassing” signs. Just some trees and a field of underbrush and grass beyond. Some birds tweeted.

I felt a cold sweat break out on the back of neck and in the palms of my hands. Where had the fence gone? The gate? It was impossible for it to just up and vanish overnight.. right? I walked around the field surrounded by trees that hours ago had been a secret government facility. I looked for a building or someone that looked like they could tell me something. There is nothing, except a few park-goers who stare at me with passive concern.

I sit down in the middle of the clearing. In my hand, I hold the bracelet. The same bracelet I gifted Caralee for her 12th birthday, and the one I picked up in our hiding place on the night she went missing. I don’t remember grabbing it today, but it’s good to have now. It reminds me how I felt as a kid: so sure I’d found something important, a key detail no one else had. Consumed with the nagging feeling I might be able to save her, if I just had one more detail. She was always just beyond my reach, and I still felt lost in the dark. I feel that way now, too.

A hand juts out in front of me, an offer from nowhere. I look up. “Caralee?” I’m relieved to see her face, her whole face. “I’ve been looking for you! Where have you been?” My friend doesn’t speak, but she smiles. It’s the most wonderful sight. I know she’s not going to tell me what happened to her, but I don’t mind. I don’t care anymore. I’ll go anywhere with her, as long as she stays. As long as she stays with me.

Caralee runs toward the river bank with her hand in mind. I don’t resist. I’m enthralled by the ripples of her long strawberry hair, still as shimmering and alive as I remember. Still so much longer than mine. I don’t care where she’s leading me. Wherever we’re going, I know we’ll have fun together. We run past an old twisted aluminum sign lying on the ground, so rusted-over and dirty I can’t read the brightly painted letters anymore. The screams from the passersby don’t bother me much as we tumble into the river.

Thanks for reading! For the month of November 2023, my goal is to write 50,000 words worth of short stories for Medium. Follow me to see if I can!

My word count total after this story is 2,491.

Fascinate Me Fiction is a Medium publication created and edited by M.E. Gattignolo. For more from me, grace me with a follow. I also write for The Customs House Museum & Cultural Center. You can find me on Twitter and Instagram as Meggiebeth_Writes.