October 19, 1932-

It’s already been two days. Misery. Utter misery.

My life, my everything, my James. My poor little James. Taken, ripped away from what felt to be my very bosom, right before my eyes. Worst of all, not a soul in town believes me.

James, only four years old, full of wonder and curiosity, wandered away from me. This was not entirely new. The forest has called him forth many times. And, as with any other occasion, I followed. There is no reason on Earth to interrupt a young boy’s instinct and inquisitiveness, so thusly I would allow him some distance, ready to snatch him away should any trouble arise. On every other day, trouble never came.

I blame myself. I know not what else to do.

On this occasion trouble did come for my James, and I was not his guardian angel. I could not snatch him away from fate’s hand. I could only watch it all happen. And I could scream.

Lord, did I scream.

I could have saved him, I keep telling myself this. But when the demon stared me down, it rooted me to the spot. It froze me just long enough to do its vicious will.

Poor James was just trying to pluck out crayfish from the stream. He did this most of the days in summer, and with the warm autumn, his little hobby continued. He would find them buried in the silt with the end of a stick, poke down in front, and watch as the spindly creatures would jump back, fast as lightning. It would make him giggle.

Oh, now that boy’s laugh still makes my heart ache just thinking about it.

I would watch from a distance until he would notice me. "Mama, cray’s are jumpin’," he’d say. Then I’d walk up and ask him if he was a crayfish. He would always say he was, and we’d play chase the rest of the way home, with him jumping away from me, fast as lightning.

My little crayfish. He knew I’d be following him to the creek, too. He’d just pretend he was alone. Sometimes he would talk to pretend friends while he was there.

I thought nothing of it at first. I thought he was just pretending when he asked what the stranger was doing there. I saw no one. He asked why the stranger’s head was so big. I laughed to myself, wondering who he was picturing. When he asked "Where is it you want me to go?" I started walking toward him, thinking his imagination was taking him a little too far into the woods.

And then I saw it. And it saw me.

The demon with the frozen stare. With the head so big. It was nothing natural. Maybe could have been a human being once, but that day long had passed. And it moved unlike any of God’s creatures I’d ever seen.

I froze, my feet buried in the dirt. All I could do was watch.

In two leaping bounds, the demon had my James snatched up under his arm. Only when James started screaming did my body release from the demon’s spell. I ran.My lord I ran. I charged.Unthinking. I did all I could to catch up to the monster. To make my son stop his screaming. To steal him back, tell him everything would be alright, tell him I was sorry. To tell him Mom would always be there for him.

But I was not his guardian angel. Not that day. Not ever since. Not since I let a demon get the best of me.

The way it leapt away with my son through the forest as fast as I’ve only seen deer fly.

I screamed.I tried to follow. I cried. I scoured the forest high and low until I came out the other end at sunset, covered in scrapes and scratches, bruises and dirt. I must’ve looked a deranged woman. I tried to tell everyone. Tried to explain about the demon and my son. I must have looked to be a rambling lunatic, because I was.

No one believed me. They took me to the doctor, not the police.

Dr. Crowe gave me something, said it would settle my nerves. It did the job ten-fold. I woke up in one of the doctor’s beds the next morning, and they all claimed surprise that my story had stayed the same. I still spoke of demons. The doctor readied another dose, but Sheriff Jones was there, and he did not want me sleeping any longer.

He said they had my husband in the jail, and all I had to do was say he had done something to James and I, and the matter would be settled. He said that after they got me calm, they went and found my husband, passed out drunk, knuckles covered in dried blood and bruises. He didn’t know where James was. But all they needed me to say was that he had done it. That he had hurt my James.

I said no. Robert Cawley might be one of the meanest drunks in all of Kirtland, but he never beat his boy. I stood in the way of that, and I still have the bruises to prove it.

And anyhow, it was the demons.

They kept me at the doctors for another full day, calming my nerves and trying to get me to tell them Robert had done it. I said no.

And I say no until this day and until forever.

They finally let me home, all full of sympathetic looks and promises of how sorry they were, eyes full of pity and shame at how a woman could let her drunk husband get away with what they thought was the murder of his own child. But shame on them.

They are keeping Robert for a week. They say he needs to recover, and Sheriff Jones promised a confession from him. It made no difference to me either way.

Because no one believes me whether Robert is home drinking or in the jail sober.

But it was a demon. And so it is a demon I am on the hunt for.

Because if there is even the slightest chance that my James is still alive, then I shall be the one to find him, even if I have to walk through hell alone.

For hell is already here in the world I live in, the one without my son.

Next Chapter: Three