The Missing Children (#OnceUponNow)

Curses Aren't Real.

     By 8:00 I got them to let us go. I didn't bother with the officer's names, more important things plague my thoughts. I'll get them later. Berkly is carrying a small gun in his boot, but it's not that easily accessible. We both have our IDs and badges around our neck, underneath the hoodie that hides them until we need them. My gun is in a shoulder holster under my hoodie, not as well hidden but I can get to it quickly. We got to the house of the first missing child. Knocking, an elderly woman came to answer the door. The house is white, as are a majority of the others on the block. The wood door, door frame, and window pane are all birch. The curtains are white and closed.

     "Hello, ma'am. We were wondering if this is the Von Weber residence?" I said politely but still emotionless. My accent was prominent and her entire demeanor changed upon hearing it. From guarded to relaxed, although by her glances at Berkly she didn't like him much.

     "Yes, what do you want?" She demanded.

     "I'm Special Agent Schneider and I have a couple questions about the little boy who was taken?" I asked, showing my ID.

     "I'm sure his mother would rather not talk to you about Gunther. He's been missing for days, and Gerta hasn't left his room." She shot back. I nodded. Gunther is Gerta's 7-year-old son. He's been missing since the first day: Friday, June 26. The Grandmother eventually allowed us in. Off in a corner of a living room, all my focus went to a painted image resting on a mantle. There's wax from melted candles dripping down.

     The picture is a painting of a man in black pants, and a red cloak. He's wearing black combat boots. His hood is up and a shadow is cast over his face, but his hands are lifted to his face, playing a pipe. The background is a dark woods and he's the center of the picture. I could only see that picture. I paled and all my organs seem to drop. My vision darkened at the edges and I began to hear the pipe. All I could hear is the slow, memorizing music. It's all I could think about, following that sound. Those three lines sang slowly by countless children singing along to the tune. Fear left me, terror taking its place.

     Who lives shall see...

     This is he...

     The ratcatcher...

     "Nein...nicht wieder...bitte...stoppen. Mach, dass es aufhört..." (No...not again...please...stop. Make it stop...) I begged quietly, then it all went black.

~X~

     I gasped awake, grabbing my chest. I can't breathe.

     "Beruhigen Sie sich, jung ein." (Calm down, young one.) I heard a young woman say softly.

     I don't...remember...I don't remember who he is. I don't remember what happened to me. I just...I felt so scared. Like a child. A repressed memory? I felt a hand on my shoulder and lashed out. Before I knew it I had twisted Berkly's arm to the point of it almost breaking, causing him to cry out in pain. My eyes widened and I stood, backing up. I backed into a wall and slid to the ground, curling up. I pressed my hands over my ears, squeezing my eyes shut. I tried to calm my breathing. I can't breathe. My heart is beating out of my chest, and I'm shaking. I'm having a panic attack. I can't do this. Not right now. I'm a 26-year-old special agent. I'm supposed to be strong...

     "Wer soll sehen lebt, das ist er, der Rattenfänger." (Who lives shall see, this is he, the ratcatcher.) I kept repeating softly, rocking back and forth. I can't get that tune, those words in English, those children singing it. That man in the painting. What is going on here? What is going on with me?

     "Woher wissen Sie das?" (How do you know about that?) The woman asked, worried. I shook my head.

     "Sorry, but I don't speak German. Do you mind speaking English?" Berkly asked timidly, trying not to offend anyone.

     "Who are you two?" The woman asked, turning away from me to him.

     "Well I'm Agent James Berkly from the FBI and he's Special Agent Nikoli Schneider." Berkly said and I managed to shove my emotions away and managed to regain my composure.

     "We're here to investigate the disappearance of the children." I said, struggling to my feet. I leaned on the wall, looking at the woman. While the elderly woman is a light gold with wrinkled skin and pure white hair, this woman has the same features, the same dark brown eyes. The woman is paler, and her hair is a light brown. Her son has golden hair and lighter eyes but the same ivory skin.

     "Leave this town." She said, making me extremely curious. She walked over and locked the door. It's a different room than we came in. This must be the child's room. The bed has pale tan sheets, birch head/footboard, and small handmade dolls scattered around the room. There is a bow along with a few arrows hand made from sticks and twine. Same with a small sword. There's also a hand carved dark oak pipe. If you stand in front of the solid birch door, there is a window to the left, a birch dresser (where the pipe lay) to the left, across from the window. There are light tan curtains that are closed, a soft light lighting up the room. The ceiling is white, the carpet tan, and the walls are a powder blue.

     "What do you mean? There are dozens of missing young children in your own town, including your son, yet you want us to leave?" Berkly asked, incredulous.

     "You can't lift this curse, you have to leave. There can't be any outsiders." She said. Curse? There is no such thing as a curse. What is going on with this town?

     "There's no such thing of a curse, there's just some bastard taking kids." I stated blankly. She shook her head sadly. Then I heard it. The sound of children singing and playing outside, their song ringing out in her, repeating in my head. Their words sent chills down my spine and terror through my body. The slow, careful words...

     "Who lives shall see...

     "This is he...

     "The Ratcatcher..."