Ashton Claiborne was missing.
It was a Thursday afternoon and his whole, tired family was frantically looking for him. They have searched for Ashton for the last four hours. Darkness and bad weather came upon the search parties, turning the surroundings eerie gray, dim and cold.
The members of the search parties were familiar with the layout of the land, but that didn't influence them from getting concerned that they will never find Ashton again. First, they looked in their two-story home. They started on the first floor, without course or direction, frantically running over each other, checking all rooms; living room, kitchen, bedrooms, spare rooms, study and the toilets.
Ashton was nowhere in sight.
Next, they went to the basement, where they checked an old washer and dryer, as well as niches and crevices. Then they rechecked the bedrooms and the toilets on the second floor. Again, they couldn't find him. The attic always was a mystifying place for young Ashton, ever since he could walk and climb steps. Occasionally, he snuck up there and played with the old, broken, wooden train and toys from his grandparents. His mother knew that he was afraid being alone in the attic, but he couldn't resists it's fascination. For some reason he was always drawn to it.
“What are you doing in the attic all by yourself?” said his mother, worried about him.
“Just playing with toys,” said Ashton, looking over his shoulder to make sure that his mother didn't go too far away.
Now, the search party turned on the lights and opened the door, leading to the attic. But, all they found was an antique mirror near the door, half hanging from a post and half leaning against an old dining room chair with a red carpet in front of it. Behind it were junk, broken toys, an accumulation of years of old furniture, useless items and newspapers, boxes and chests. The family uses it as a storage place. However, Ashton wasn't there either, though they checked every corner.
In the early evening of the same day, a second search party assembled in town to help the Claiborne family. With their cars, they traveled to the Claiborne home, a long three-mile stretch in quickly changing weather. Once they left their cars, the wind blew from the north and the rain felt like sharp needles piercing people's faces. On this day, the wind blew more cutting than usual. Above, the clouds were moving fast. They turned up their collars, hoping for some protection from the vicious storm. One woman used an umbrella, but a wind gust turned it inside out and then ripped it out of her hand. She screamed, trying to retrieve it, “My umbrella, look.” The vicious wind carried it over the nearby trees, imitating a ghost, traveling aimlessly, looking for tomfoolery. Initially, they searched in the afternoon and into late at night near the Claiborne home, hoping to find Ashton nearby. That was a lost cause and the search parties slowed down in their search activities, standing around wondering what to do next.
At the beginning of the storm, about sixty feet, behind the home, the vicious rain swelled the creek. The search parties stayed away from there, but they had bad feelings about it. Did the creek's torrent flow wash the five-year old boy down the gulley and over the waterfall, a quarter of a mile downstream? Or, perhaps, Ashton ran to the nearby town of Roseville, Illinois, where he started Kindergarten this fall? He was the studious type. He loves the school and he was happy when he entered it.
His mother Cathy was crying, fearing the worst for her little boy. Her face was the color of talcum and she shivered. Ashton was a fragile child, wearing glasses, shaped round and ill fitting on his narrow face. He was smart and he liked to fantasize. On nice days, he sat on the bench by the creek. His father built it two years ago. That's where he daydreamed and threw pebbles in the water. Sometimes, he tossed small pieces of bread in the nearby pool and hungry trout jumped and attacked the crumbs. That made Ashton happy and he laughed. How many other kids played by this dangerous creek, before him, thought Ashton. When he wasn't by the creek, watching the water flowing he spent time with his father, while he prepared physics experiments in his home laboratory for his next class. Ashton watched intently. His favorite experiments were the ones related to light and mirrors though he didn't understand the complicated physics of reflecting and re-directing light rays.
Finally, the local police officer arrived. It took him a while to organize his thinking. Eating donuts and drinking coffee in the local cafeteria made him sluggish. He allowed himself a thin smile, looked over the situation and said, “Two of you better check the road to town, he might be there.”
“Good idea,” said an elderly man with a raspy voice, while he scanned his flashlight along the back wall of the home, shaking. Dusk set in a short while ago and fortunately, the vicious wind was beginning to fade. He turned toward his battered army jeep and sat in it. Then he used his phone to call his home, telling his daughter that he and his friend will be heading toward the Claiborne estate. .....