This audiobook is on my youtube channel, check it out:

https://youtu.be/o93UY-wo7MQ

 I don't know when my son disappeared, only that he did. I've worked at the Acadia National Park, in Maine for fifteen years. For my son's birthday, he wanted to join me at work. The fall is a slow season for the park, not much to do so I didn't think twice about bringing him along.

My day usually consists of driving around, cleaning up litter, emptying the trash cans, and sitting in my office. So long as no one is running off and getting themselves into trouble, life is easy and predictable—a perfect setup for a father-son outing.

I suppose that's why I brought him, expecting that we could relax in my office, and everything would be alright. Never had a problem before, didn't think there would be one now.

It's been a while since we bonded, so, naturally, I was looking forward to this quiet day in the woods. In the fall, we like to sit on the porch outside the Park Ranger cabin, a small office where we're not bothered too much.

But, presently, on this autumn evening, we listen to the wisping wind as it passes through the trees, and often, I don't know if it's the changing of the seasons or that fall has this distinct aroma, but I enjoy the smell autumn brings. I can't describe it—realistically, who can?

The leaves are often changing color by late October, and the autumn gales are starting to get that crisp bite to them. I remember now. My son and I stood outside the cabin, and a particularly cold gust of wind pushed against us. He stood beside me, sipping a hot chocolate while I drank my tea. The sun was setting in the distance, and our bellies were full with fast food. Burger and fries for me, nuggets and onion rings for him.

My son, Maya, started to shiver. I turned around and entered the cabin in search of a jacket for him, and once I returned, he was gone. Vanished. I tried to remember if I heard him step off the porch, or the rustle of shrubbery. Something—anything that would suggest where he wandered off to. And then a thought hatched in my mind.

What if he didn't wander off? An animal, perhaps a bear or cougar snuck onto the porch and—my heart sank as my eyes widened. Surely, I would've heard a scream, or at least some kind of scuffle to suggest a beast had taken him. Right? My stomach turned as the cool fall air bit at my flesh.

I would have heard something. Anything! I reached into my pockets and removed my cellphone. My hands trembled as I struggled to dial 9-1-1. Is it too soon to call them? No. No, it's not too soon.

The operator answered. I said, "my son, he's missing. My name is Miles Monroe, I am a park ranger at Acadia Park, and—sorry, description? Description? Uh, nine-year-old boy, African American, I last saw him at—at, oh geez, when did I last see him? Well, it's 6:42 right now, so, maybe five minutes ago?"

Everything the operator said faded, everything—what did she say? I stared out the window, the sun is falling beyond the horizon, the orange sky is darkening to purple, and I feel the icy embrace of a dark night settling in around me. That's right, it gets dark in these woods, pitch black.

The operator said, "sir, sir! Are you still there?" I felt like a rubber band stretched too far and snapped back into reality. The world around me whooshed into existence, and then, in this moment, everything became crystal clear. I stepped outside, just to double check. Maya's seat was still empty. He truly was gone.

The operator repeated, "sir! What was he wearing!"

I closed my eyes, sweat hung at the edge of my brow. I said, "a black and gray transformers shirt. It has bumble bee on it. It's holey because that's his favorite shirt. He's about four foot five, wearing some red and white Sonic the Hedgehog tennis shoes. Uh, he's a skiddish boy, so, if you see him, please be calm. Please. You might scare him off."

The operator said, "has he ever run away before?"

I quickly replied, "no, no, he's a good boy. Never runs off, does as he's told. He like's his videogames and sneaks onto 'em, but, outside of that, there is no chance in hell that he ran off on his own."

What did the operator say?

I—I—what was she saying? It escaped my attention. My son. Where is he? Maybe he's not too far off and can hear me if I shout for him.

I said, "hold on a minute, gonna holler for my boy." The screen door creaked as I pushed it open and set foot onto the porch. Red Spruce trees stood tall and allowed thin sheets of moonlight to pass onto the forest floor. I didn't realize the sun had set. My cellphone, I dropped it, and it crashed into the floor.

I screamed, "Maya!" I huffed as I dropped to my knees. In an effort to project my voice as far and loud as possible, I clasped my fingers together, cupped my hands and then shouted.

"Maya! Come on home, boy! You ain't got no business out here in these woods!" The operator, I could hear her.

She said, "police are on their way, Mr. Monroe, sit tight. They're coming."

As I knelt, I scanned each tree. Column, after column. Tree after tree. Mist was all I saw, a dreary dense fog which hovered just above the forest floor. Soft ribbons of moonlight revealed logs, bushes, and other shrubbery as the moon passed above.

But, my son, I did not see him.

I shouted once more, "Maya! Come on back home, whatchu doin' out there!? Come home, boy!" My shoulders slunk low as I nearly fell forward. I waited. I listened for a response. The wind travelling through the leaves and the low hum of crickets was the only secret the forest told. I looked at my phone. It sat, facing upward. The Operator, though she never stopped asking if I was there, her voice, somehow, returned to me.

I scooped it up off the floor and studied it. I realized I had been on this phone call for about fifteen minutes. My son, he's been gone for fifteen minutes. Fifteen!

I said, "I didn't hear or see anything."

The operator replied, "Mr. Monroe, the police are on their way."

Suddenly, I saw something far in the distance, perhaps north-west from where I was. The soft orange glow of a light, and then, another light. Streetlights? A few flashlights? Buildings, emitting a soft orange glow manifested before my eyes, and then, so did cobblestoned streets. Something resembling a city appeared in the distance, about half a mile away. And then, from that location, I heard him. My son.

"Dad! Dad!" He cried.