Just Gone

The sheriff stood with his arms folded, dead cigar dangling from the corner of his mouth. “Dogs been all over the damned forest. Not a trace.”

The mayor sighed, ran his hand over his weary face. “Well, we gotta keep looking. That’s all.”

The sheriff shook his head. “It’s been almost three weeks. I think the parents are reconciled now. At least the father is.”

The mayor watched the dog handler  loading the bloodhounds into wire kennels in the back of a truck.  “What about the boy, then? The witness? Is he reconciled too?”

The sheriff stared a second, cleared his throat. “Well, no. He’s sticking to his story. Tells it the same way every time. Gets mad when people don’t believe him.”

“Why should they?” said the mayor, his voice hot.  “We ripped up the stump. There was nothing there. No tunnel. No fairy people. And no missing kid. Just a big muddy hole in the ground.”

 

Sunday Photo Fiction

 

 

Photo by Eric Wicklund