Humans have a religious thing about the number forty, they said forty days of floods with Noah, forty days of Elijah’s journey, Moses forty days on Mount Sinai, Jesus’s forty days of fasting in the wilderness, Israelites wandering for forty years, Goliath’s terror for forty days. Forty seems a constant biblical number. Never being religious, these things rarely continue course. But the fortieth day since disappearance did hold a certain weight. It had been over a month. She had been drinking heavily as without kids’ jobs were scarce and she had finally accepted a job as a bar tender. A major fall, from her job shaping tomorrows future minds. She had had parents come pleading to her and asking if their child had said anything or she could let them know of their friends or anything to tell them why it had happened. She kept shaking her head and apologising. She wished she was wearing a camera to stop having to explain the event. They disappeared. Nothing else. They didn’t say goodbye, they didn’t know, they were there and then they weren’t. It was hard to talk with the weeping mothers and she felt her heart constrict each time she had to talk with one. They made her cry and feel their horrible pain. A horrible amount of suicides had been reported from people not being able to come to terms with the grief. Seeing these people question, have hope, have unbelievable faith that their babies would return made her question and hope with them. She was a mixed ball of emotion as she didn’t believe that happy was something which was a possibility after the badness. If the kids were going to be returned, then it could be a good situation, but after forty days of no news except more theory, she was tired. She stretched her aching muscles from sitting in an uncomfortable position and seeing her classes photos flash across her screen again. She had done that to ensure she wouldn’t forget them. Their parents suffered and she suffered with them. She often visited them with a small gift basket and some hopeful banter. She could see them giving up, she could feel their loss of hope. But she kept trying. She visited Cassandra’s parents to check in. The father told her very politely and firmly to not come around anymore. Nodding, feeling a bit ashamed and disparaged. So instead of talking she just let herself out of the door. She leant against it for more than a few moments, feeling their grief and also her embarrassment combined. It was late evening and the dark porch had only the sliver of moonlight aiming towards it. She shook her head and walked down the three wooden steps and looked up from her shoes to see a strange man suddenly appear in front of her. He was around fifty and seemed very confused. He had bright eyes and a curious expression as he looked at her. She didn’t know why, but he seemed familiar to her. She couldn’t place where she knew him from, but he was not a stranger. He said very hesitatingly, “Miss Thrimble?” She immediately flashed back to her class, who she had been seeing across her screen daily and recognised the shy young boy who was autistic, even if he had aged five decades in a month.
“Hi, Simon. I’d recognise you anywhere,” she smiled as if in a dream, “where have you been?”
“I was taken, but I’m back, where are my parents?” He shook his head.
“Inside dear,” she turned and knocked on the door. She felt a slight hesitation at calling a fifty-year-old a child pet name, but he seemed confused.
The door stayed shut and she heard muffled footsteps. Suddenly it flung open and she stepped aside as Simon marched up and hugged his parents. His father was fighting against him, until he got a good look at his face and suddenly held him so tightly that his arms were shaking. His mother knew instantly and flung herself at them, as soon as the door allowed her to see him. She was kissing his face and telling him everything all at the same time. She felt an overwhelming need to interrupt and said into the odd reunion, “What about the other kids Simon?” He stopped and looked at her with an almost unhuman expression.
“They went home, except the others,” he told, without any explanation.
“Simon, you know that all kids left, who didn’t return?” She asked, trying to be succinct as possible for him.
“The ones who weren’t ready,” He nodded.
“Weren’t ready for what honey?” She asked.
“They didn’t want to give up,” He nodded.
“Honey, I can’t understand, can you tell me what they didn’t want to give up?” She asked gently, knowing his autistic brain wouldn’t understand the need for detail at the understanding.
“The babies.” He said and frowned.
“Thanks, um, why did they let you go?” She asked trying to gain his understanding.
“We aren’t able to do anything anymore.” He answered and pointed down.
“You have trouble with your legs?” His mum asked and jumped up to get some deep heat. She returned and said, “We can solve that!” She started uncapping the tube and her son stopped her, looking at her strongly and shook his head.
“No, cannot make children. None of us. We wait. We can’t.” He explained with sorrow in his eyes.
“You are unable to have children?” She asked, thinking of all the tests run about fertility and them all saying, that no eggs would be viable.
“None,” He stated, assuming that was the end of the conversation.
“Thank you, Simon, I’m going to go talk to your classmates. They came back, didn’t they?” She asked surreptitiously.
“Yes, but they don’t have the ability either. You would be better talking to them,” Simon explained.
“Where can I find them, Simon?” She asked.
“Ughh, they are at the place they left me at!” He yelled.
“I’m really sorry, I was not there, so can you tell me where you were left?” She asked pleadingly.
“In that old warehouse, by the old disused gas station. It was a long way!” He nodded at her.
“Really long way, maybe your mum can set you a bubble bath?” She asked and looked at his mum to suggest she go do that. He smiled and followed his mum inside after a heartbeat.
His dad looked at her and made a hapless gesture. Looking at him seriously she implored, “This is odd. He came back, but I am uncertain it’s normal. Actually, scratch that. This isn’t normal. Do you feel he is your son?”
“Yes, definitely. The eyes, the tone, the inflections. He is my son,” he agreed without hesitation and paused as he considered her, “Why would you take this away?”
“I am not trying to, I just need to know why? I’m not trying to stop a miracle. I just want to help,” she explained, “maybe I should go and let you enjoy your reunion” she ended, still stinging from their previous rejection.
His father scratched his chin, “Yeah, you probably should. But thank you.”
…
She had left and counted the seconds, but as she queried the odd happening, she went to find that the Warrens daughter had returned around fifty years old then the Jacobs family had Clarence show up as around the same age. All her kids were showing up randomly. Parents were shown along the streets, waiting for their loved ones to suddenly reappear. It became apparent that the younger the child, the longer it took. But finding a fifty-year-old in your yard was becoming a normal phenomena. But because they were overjoyed at the returns, they were very slow to realise that these kids were old. Apparently forty months meant forty years. The next wave were a surprise. Groups of mute forty year olds were being found all over the world. They couldn’t understand English and talked to each other in an odd clicking and almost barking way. The quick realisation of a few scientists who had been studying the causes of the human extinction, took the DNA samples of some of the women who had been expecting a baby and concluded these groups were the unborn children. This caused a flurry of numerous blood tests and trying to find parents, which lead to quite a few cases where the parents rejected the forty-year-old child who they had only conceived a month and a week previously, feeling no familial bonds. A human aid effort began to house, feed and clothe them. In the small country town where she lived, the hotel was being used as a place to house them, some being sent from cities to be accommodated there. The hotel had belonged to one of the sad cases of suicide and his wife, still in grief, but with a renewal of hope after her son had been retuned turned it over to good works of looking after the mute non-homed children.
She had been employed back at the school, but instead of shaping young children’s minds, she was faced with old people with the mentality of young children. She found the differences in appearance and abilities very confusing. They had done training sessions for teachers to help them adapt to the changes, but they had mostly been about trying to find out information about what had happened. She was asked to question them about random things and to instead of teaching a curriculum, instead teach about the human race and why it was so important. She had been given numerous history books to teach, but she noted that only the advancements were portrayed, no war or human error mentioned. She started to wonder if the government thought that the children, or adults, were still in communication with whatever had taken them.
She felt a sense of dread, going down the almost silent hall with its wooden and green panels and slowly making her way to her classroom, she looked through the doors window and saw the adults sitting in exactly the same places as they had when they had vanished. She opened the door and felt the creak of the unoiled hinge reverberate through the class. Their heads snapped towards her like a whip and she smiled nervously. Having a flashback to the previous time she had stood before her class, she felt an almost irrepressible shudder to see their same eyes shining out from aged faces. She wrote her name on the board again and turned to see them staring at her, she opened her mouth to talk when suddenly, as if a single organism they blinked a second set of eyelids at her.
She screamed and ran into the hall…
TBC.
