I am gone.
This is not a fairy tale, but the true history of my double life, left behind where it all began, in case I may be found again.
My own story begins when I was a boy of seven, free of my current desires. Nearly thirty years ago, on an August afternoon, I ran away from home and never made it back. Certain trivial and fotten matters set me off, but I remember preparing for a long journey, stuffing my pockets with biscuits left over from lunch, and creeping out of the house so softly that my mht not know I had ever left.
From the back door of the farmhouse to the creeping edge of the forest, our yard was bathed in light, as if a borderland to cross carefully, in fear of be-ing exposed. Upon reag the wilderness, I felt safe and hidden in the dark, dark wood, and as I walked on, stillness led in the spaces among the trees. The birds had stopped singing, and the is were at rest. Tired of the blaz-i, a tree groaned as if shifting in its rooted position. The green roof of leaves above sighed at every rare and passing breeze. As the sun dipped below the treeline, I came across an imposing chestnut with a hollow at its base big enough for me to crawl io hide and wait, to listen for the seekers. And when they came close enough to be, I would not move. The grown-ups kept shouting "Hen-ry" in the fading afternoon, in the half-light of dusk, in the cool and starry night. I refused to answer. Beams from the flashlights bounced crazily among the trees, and the search party crashed through the undergrowth, stumbling over stumps and fallen logs, passing me by. Soon their calls receded into the distance, faded to echoes, to whispers, to silence. I was determined not to be found.
I burrowed deeper into my den, pressing my face against the inner ribs of the tree, inhaling its sweet rot and dankness, the grain of the wh against my skin. A low rustle sounded faraway and gathered to a hum. As it drew near, the murmur intensified and quied. Twigs snapped and leaves crackled as it galloped toward the hollow tree and stopped short of my hiding place. A panting breath, a whisper, and footfall. I curled up tight as something scrambled partway into the hole and bumped into my feet. Cold fingers ed around my bare ankle and pulled.
They ripped me from the hole and pinned me to the ground. I shouted once before a small hand clamped shut my mouth and then another pair of hands ied a gag. In the darkheir features remained obscure, but their size and shape were the same as my own. They quickly stripped me of my clothes and bound me like a mummy in a gossamer web. Little children, ex-ceptionally strong boys and girls, had kidnapped me.
They held me aloft and ran. Rag through the forest at breakneck speed on my back, I was held up by several pairs of hands and bony shoulders. The stars above broke through the opy, streaming by like a meteor shower, and the world spun away swiftly from me in darkness. The athletic creatures moved about with ease, despite their burden, navigating the invisible terrain and obsta-cles of trees without a hitch or stumble. Gliding like an owl through the night forest, I was exhilarated and afraid. As they carried me, they spoke to one an-other in a gibberish that sounded like the bark of a squirrel or the rough cough of a deer. A hoarse voice whispered something that sounded like "e away" or "Henry Day." Most fell silent, although now and then one would start huffing like a wolf. The group, as if