I don’t really know how to lay it out any simpler than that. I know it doesn’t make any sense but you have to listen to me.

Everything has been going downhill ever since I saw the first poster. I had been riding my bike home from a friends house when I noticed it. It was stapled haphazardly onto a telephone pole with an eerie black and white picture of a boy posted above the name, age and description.

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BENJAMIN W. COOK

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AGE: 15

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DOB: 9-24-2007

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EYES: BROWN

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HEIGHT: 5’9

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WEIGHT: 155

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HAIR: BROWN

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RACE: CAUCASIAN

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‘IF FOUND PLEASE BRING TO xxxx MEADOWLARK LANE! OR CALL 911, THANK YOU.’

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I thought it was a little odd that there was no number on there besides 911. Just an address. Usually there would be a personal phone number, but I guess whoever put the poster up didn’t have a phone.

The address was actually a lot closer than I had thought, and I came up with the idea to bike to the house, and check up on whoever put the poster up. I was curious, and had nothing better to do.

It was the first day of Thanksgiving break at my school, and I’d already spent the majority of the day with some friends, so whats the worst that could happen by going on a quick and spontaneous trip down the street.

My parents weren’t going to be home anytime soon either, since they were at a friends’ wedding a few states over, so they couldn’t tell me where to go, and when to go to bed. I can’t believe they had this much trust in me by myself. It was like a dream for me.

It was a short ride to get there, only about a minute or two, which was in my favor, as it was getting a little dark outside.

The house was surprisingly nice, but a little worn down.

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It had orange bricks, that’s what really stuck out to me. Not really a brownish orange, more of a carrot orange, just very bright.

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The lawn looked as if the color had been sucked out, replaced with a dull, lifeless pasty brown.

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Another thing that slightly stood out was the tall pine tree by the side of their house. My neighborhood wasn’t really suburban, but it wasn’t rural either, every house had a good amount of space between each other, so trees weren’t uncommon. I had just never seen one like it before.

I kicked down the stand on my bike, and made my way up to the front of the house. The pavement was faulty, and riddled with cracks, and anthills.

I could’ve just left right there, but curiosity got the best of me. I wanted to know what happened to this kid.

I got up to their porch, and rang the half broken, antiquated doorbell.

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The door opened not a second after I had rang the bell, and an old lady’s head poked out from behind the door.

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I let out a quiet greeting, the lady just stared back at me, and cleared her throat. I thought she was going to say something but she didn’t.

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Her skin was gross. I feel bad saying that, but it really was. It was disgusting. Little patches of dry skin were blotted all on her face, as well as big ugly liver spots. Her hair looked as if it had been pulled out in several places. Those weren’t the only thing off about her either.

Her eyes were black. Very black. Like looking down a deep well, and seeing nothing.

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“I was just wondering— just wondering, if you ever found your son, or grandson, or whoever Benjamin was to you?”

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I said, stumbling over every word terribly. I stutter when talking, especially when I get nervous.

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“Benjamin? Oh— you found him?” The lady replied.

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“No— I’m sorry, I hope you find him though. Have a nice day” I muttered nervously, backing down off of her porch.

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“Oh, oh please look for him, please, I want him back. I want my Benjamin back.”

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She opened the door, and followed me, slowly walking down her steps.

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“Please find him for me, please find him, please just find him.”

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I ran to my bike, kicked up the stand, and rode home as fast as possible. I really felt bad for her. It seemed like she had dementia, or maybe something like schizophrenia. Your guess is as good as mine.

When I got home, I ran up to my room, and opened my laptop.

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[Benjamin Cook missing kid local area]

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Is what I typed into the search bar, but weird enough, no results. I tried again, this time adding some other words.

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[Benjamin Cook missing 15 year old local area]

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I tried a few more times before giving up. On the last try, I clicked on the ‘Images’ to see if I could find pictures of the kid on there. What I was met with was one of the strangest feelings I’ve ever felt.

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There were dozens of pictures of Benjamin, but each one looked incredibly fake.

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I don’t know how to explain, but they just looked photoshopped or something. The lighting was off on some of them, in others, it looked as if someone had taken a stock photo, and edited that boy’s face onto them.

I felt disgusted, and I sort of just zoned out. I didn’t know what to think. I clicked on one of the photos, and was taken to a Facebook account. It was fittingly named, Ben Cook.

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The account was filled with pictures like this. The editing on all of them were just so off putting.

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After a while of scrolling down, I went back up to the top, where I noticed the latest post. It said it had been posted a day ago.

It was a picture of Ben. With the weird old lady I saw earlier.

She was standing, smiling in a dimly lit room. Ben was next to her. His face was yet again uncanny. It was sunken, and looked as if someone copy and pasted a smile over his mouth.

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I thought this could be a coping mechanism, making it seem like he’s still here, but the caption read as follows:

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‘Benjamin. I dearly miss you.

Please come home. Here is this picture of us happy together. When will you come back home?

From, Grandma’

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I closed my laptop and got in bed.

I put the covers up to my chin, and just thought.

I wondered what to do.

About all of this.

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I asked myself if I should report this to the police, but I knew they wouldn’t do anything about this. The most they could do is check up on her. I could tell them she threatened me, but she really hadn’t. It was her house, and I was intruding, she had every right to chase me. Maybe they could take her in because she was mentally unwell, but then I’d feel bad.

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I fell asleep while trying to decide.

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As soon as I woke up, a horrible pain came to my head, and my T-shirt was covered with sweat. I changed my shirt, and ran downstairs to grab something for my migraine.

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I’d taken some pills and finally started to feel better, so I decided to go outside to get some fresh air and to feel the sun on my skin.

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I stayed out for a good twenty minutes, resting on the rocking chair on my porch, before I noticed the paper on my front door.

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I approached it cautiously, and could make out some small letters.

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All it said was:

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'I saw your bike out front. Ben has been found. Thank you.'

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I ripped it off my door, and stared at it in awe. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. He had been found apparently.

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I needed to go to her house again. I had to see if he was real.

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At the time, I didn’t even think of the fact that she had known where I’d lived.

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I hopped on my bike, and headed back to that old orange house.

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I had memorized the route to get there, which didn’t take too long. After about five minutes, I could finally see the familiar orange.

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I arrived outside, and threw my bike on the sidewalk outside her house.

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I ran up to her porch, and noticed three brown helium balloons had been placed outside.

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I didn’t know what I was feeling.

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I was confused and anxious, but kind of relieved at the same time. Finally I’d be able to find out what was going on.

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I knocked on the door, and it opened. The lady’s head poked out and she greeted me with a grin, revealing a pattern of yellow and brown teeth. I winced, and smiled back.

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“You— so you found him?” I asked.

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She nodded, opened the door, and gestured me in.

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I reluctantly walked in, took my phone out and made sure to always stay behind her so I wouldn’t get attacked. I could easily overpower her, but I was still cautious.

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Her house was very dim. Small candles were placed all around, giving everything a weird yellow-orange tint.

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The walls were a gross yellow brown, matching her teeth, and the dusty wooden floor creaked with every step I took.

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We arrived at a dark brown wooden door at the end of a hall, and a terrible odor filled my nose.

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She looked back at me, still maintaining her disgusting smile, and spoke.

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“He’s in here. I found him by the dumpster. A silly boy he is. Ben is just a silly boy.”

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She opened the door, and I was met with darkness. As my eyes adjusted, I could see a circular array of orange light. Candles.

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Then I could make out flowers. Several bouquets littered the floor.

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And then I saw something in the middle of the circle.

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I stepped a little closer towards all of this. I knew it was a stupid idea in the moment, but my adrenaline got the best of me. I walked over to it, and the stench got even worse. Flies buzzed all around, and I turned my phone flashlight to see what was producing this awful odor.

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It was a piece of paper with Ben’s face on it stapled to a raccoon.

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I know that, because I reached down to pick the paper up, and it tore off, revealing the lifeless body of some poor, beaten raccoon.

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I won’t get into all the details, but it didn’t feel real. I turned around to see the silhouette of the lady.

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I couldn’t see her eyes, but I knew she was staring at me.

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“Don’t be rude, put Benjamin’s face back on.”

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I hesitantly placed the paper back over the raccoon’s face, or what was left of it, and made my way to the door.

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“Are you leaving? You didn’t even introduce yourself.”

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I wrinkled my face, almost tearing up as I pushed my way past her.

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I ran toward the front door and slammed it open, not even taking time to close it. I ran to my bike, and made my way home, making sure to never go back to that horrid place.

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I saw the lady as I left. She was standing on her porch, waving.

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I couldn’t get that image out of my head.

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That smell either. It’s like it’s in my mouth. Just this disgusting rancid smell. When I got home, I dialed 911 and told them everything.

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I told them about the house, her address, my address, and about the lady.

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They told me the police would be there soon, within the next five to six minutes.

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I got a knock on my door, and opened it, to find two officers on my porch.

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I escorted them in, and they questioned me about everything.

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I told them about the old lady. The dead raccoon. I showed them the posts, the Facebook account, and the pictures of Ben.

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I called my parents soon after, and they sounded worried sick over the phone. My mom was crying, and my dad was trying to keep her sane. They told me they were on their way home and would arrive in a few hours.

It was so stupid of me to not have called them. It didn’t even cross my mind once, not with all of this going on.

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Another pair of cops arrived at my house about an hour after the first. They told me they had found what I described to the other officers, the raccoon, the candles and the yellow walls.

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I'd overheard them talking to the other officers about dead animals in her fridge. Mainly roadkill, but that didn’t make it any more comforting. There was one thing they managed to keep from me until I asked about her.

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They didn’t find a lady in the house.

My head felt light, and I froze.

She knew my address. She knows where I live.

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I told them about this, but there’s nothing they can say or do that will make me feel safe.

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It would make me feel better to know that I will never see that old lady again.

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To know I’ll never have to pass by that dirty orange house again.

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To have reassurance that I will never see that boy’s twisted face again.