I hope you've been wearing sunscreen this summer! If you can support me and what I do, join my patreon and purchase my poetry book. Doing so allows me to keep growing as a writer.
The cramped apartment is dark, besides the living room and kitchen. The heavy rain taps along to the white noise of evening downtown traffic. You've been relaxing to reruns of NCIS episodes for about an hour while your half-eaten meatball sandwich dries up. You toss aside political ad after political ad, not bothering to read them. You already know who you will vote for anyway, and this is all junk. You're about to discard another envelope when you see that it's actually a personal one. Your name, Raymond Hall, is written in sleek cursive. Who even writes in cursive these days?
Curious about what's inside, you open the envelope despite not knowing who it's from. Unfolding the paper, you see that it's typed. Only one line is typed: What happened to your cousin Oswald? Along with the letter is a picture of you and Oswald smiling at the camera. Freaking out, you drop everything in your hands to scramble for your cell.
Unlocking it, you dive through your contacts to call your mom. She'll know if any family has sent you a letter. The cell rings once, and your mother's loving voice answers. She goes through the basic conversation beats most parents ask their kids who don't call enough. You do your best to answer calmly, but your voice sometimes wavers. You get an opportunity to ask your mother if there's any family gossip going around with your aunts and uncles. Your releases a somber sigh and tells you that Oswald's body has been found. You still and mumble something before hanging up on your mom. As you stare blankly ahead, you stumble back into a childhood memory.
***
It was the year Oswald disappeared. The both of you were spending winter break at your grandparents' house. The nearby woods were barren of leaves and critters. The dark gray clouds were heavy as they darkened the afternoon sky. The air smelled damp and caused your hair to frizz. Although the sky threatened to drown them, you dared Oswald to traverse the woods alone. That arrogant twelve-year-old did it and didn't return after fifteen minutes. Then it started drizzling, and you waited for him to get back. The rain picked up, and what was a drizzle transformed into a storm.
You feared getting sick and waited for Oswald to come back inside the house. An hour passed, and your grandpa called the police to investigate. The cops searched the woods for five hours, but Oswald was never discovered. When questioned later, you reiterated that Oswald should have returned before it started raining. You didn't enter the woods; no one else was around the house.
At least that's how you told it to the adults.
***
Snapping out of it, you pick up the photo that your grandma took and reexamine it. The thundering rain picks up as you flip the photograph. It's Oswald's handwriting on the back. He dated the picture and wrote yours, his name, and the place. You knew that Oswald would get lost in the woods without your help. He had been ridiculing you because of your lisp, and you wanted revenge. You spent days attacking his shallow pride. He was supposed to bitch-out of entering the woods.
What happened to your cousin Oswald?
Someone knows there's more to Oswald's disappearance and death than what you've told. Their threat is obvious, and you need to discover who it is. After all, two people can only keep a secret if one of them is dead, and you have a lot to live for. END.
