The Day I Went Missing in My Life

The engine noise was getting closer.

Claire grabbed my hand and yanked me onto a narrow animal trail that headed deeper into the forest. We moved fast, branches whipping our faces, the ground slick with moss and dead leaves.

"They'll try to trap us," she gasped. "Stay off the main path."

I didn't ask how she knew — I just followed.

The engine's roar faded behind us. Followed by the slamming of doors. More than one door.

Claire's fingers tightened. "They're on foot now."

We ran for what felt like forever until the trees thinned out. That's when I saw them — figures slicing through the woods in perfect formation. Too perfect.

They numbered four, and they were all clad in black. Their faces were hidden behind dark visors that reflected the light in a way that made them seem not of this world. They did not shout, did not call to each other. They moved as a single entity.

One of them shifted its head towards us, and I swear I felt it — a pressure, sudden, on my chest.

Claire must have felt it too because she spat, "Don't look at them."

We reached a ridge and tumbled over the far side, half-running, half-stumbling, until we fell into a small stream. Claire waded into it without hesitation.

"They can track heat," she said. "Water will hide us."

My legs hurt from the cold, but we went on downstream until the sounds of pursuit fell away.

When we finally emerged, soaked and shaking, Claire stopped and scanned the trees.

"They're not done," she said. "Next time, they won't send four. They'll send them all."

She turned to me, her eyes more intense than I'd ever seen.

"You need to decide, Moses — do you want to know what they did to you… or do you want to live?"

We sought shelter in the ramshackle remains of an old hunting shack mile from the ridge. The roof sagged, the walls leaned, but it was dry and out of sight.

Claire lit one candle from a tinny metal can, the flame casting shadows that stirred like they had secrets of their own.

I sat across from her, still damp from the stream, my legs aching from the escape.

Tell me," I said. "All of it."

She was silent for a long time. Then she said, "They don't have a name — not one they'd ever tell you. Some of us call them the Collectors."

The word gave me the creeps.

"They take people," she continued. "Not just kids. Anyone they need. Sometimes they keep them for days, sometimes years. And when they're finished… they put them back.

I thought of the hours lost. The childhood I did not remember losing.

"What do they take?" I asked.

Claire's eyes flicked toward the candle, as though it could be listening.

"Pieces," she whispered. "Memories, skills, even. pieces of you. Things you don't realise you've lost until it's too late."

Her voice dropped lower.

"There's a facility underground. I don't know how deep it goes. No windows, no clocks. White rooms and halls that hum like they're alive. That's where they took you — both times."

I swallowed. "Why me?"

Claire looked at me for the first time since we'd stopped running.

"Because you're not just a target, Moses. You're one of the few who's ever escaped. Twice."

I hadn't had time to respond to that when there was a noise outside — soft, deliberate.

Not footsteps. Something heavier.

Claire blew out the candle.

"They've found us again."

Darkness pressed against my eyes after Claire blew out the candle.

There was nothing for a few moments but the sound of my own breathing and the quiet drip of water somewhere in the shack. Then I heard it — a slow, deliberate scrape along the outer wall.

Claire clutched my arm, tight but stable. "Don't move. Don't make a sound."

We were frozen as the scraping continued to the front door. There was a knock — three taps, spaced apart evenly — in the silence.

Whoever was on the other side said nothing.

The knock came again, with a sound I can barely describe. It was like metal through bone.

Claire leaned close to my ear. "They're not breaking in yet. They're waiting for you to open it."

My heart was racing. "Why?" I whispered.

"So they can take you without a mark," she said. "Makes it easier to return you."

The scratching stopped. The silence was worse somehow. Then — a loud crash against the back wall. Another at the side. They were attempting every point of entry.

My hand touched Claire's in the dark. "If they break in, we make a run for it. Out the back, no matter what's out there."

The shack creaked loudly — one of the boards in the side wall splintered inward.

I saw it through the gap: a visor glinting faintly, reflecting my own pale face back at me.

The board splintered. Something reached through — not exactly a hand, but something jointed and too long, curving toward my shoulder.

Claire yanked me back. "Now!" she screamed.

We burst through the back door into the night, the sound of the shack falling down behind us.

We ran blindly through the trees, smashing through underbrush and over roots, until my lungs were burning and my legs were going to shatter.

Behind us somewhere, the hut gave a final creak and collapsed. I did not dare look back.

Claire led the way, moving swiftly and surely — until she stopped suddenly still.

"What is it?" I whispered.

She pointed down. At first, I saw nothing except a tangle of weeds and leaves. Then I discerned the outline — a square metal hatch, partially buried in soil.

"This isn't ours," she said. Her voice was tight, like she was speaking through clenched teeth.

I had time to ask myself what she meant before a low, mechanical hum lifted from beneath the hatch. The sound was low, constant, and wrong — machinery with a pulse.

"They made an access point here," Claire whispered. "That means they're—"

A beam of light sliced through the trees behind us. Multiple beams. Moving in.

Claire's gaze locked with mine. "We die now… or we let them take us up here."

My gut said run, but my legs carried me forward. We opened the hatch together. The whine grew louder, vibrating in my chest.

A ladder disappeared into the darkness. No smell of dirt or dampness — just cold, antiseptic air that made the hairs on my arms stand on end.

I went down first. The metal rungs were wet and slick under my hand, the darkness devouring me rung by rung. Claire followed, closing the hatch behind us just as the searchers' light exploded into the clearing.

We climbed for what felt like forever until my boots thudded against solid ground.

Ahead was a faint light — not natural, not gold. White, antiseptic.

We stepped into a corridor with sleek walls that seemed to hum from within. No doors, no windows.

"This is it," Claire whispered. "This is where they keep us."

Somewhere down the corridor, distant, a shadow moved.

And it was coming our way.

To be continued... Episode 3