I almost didn’t see it at first.
The morning sun caught the metal just right, a weird glint through the trees that made me blink twice. I thought maybe it was a trash can blown over by the wind.
But when I stepped outside, still barefoot, coffee sloshing in my hand, I stopped cold.
There it was.
Squat. Round.
Resting in the middle of my backyard like it had every right to be there.
At first glance, it looked like a cheap UFO prop—like something kids would build for a school project. I almost laughed. Almost.
Until I got closer.
There were names scratched into the metal. Tiny ones. Faint. Like someone had carved them hurriedly with a rock or a nail.
Names I hadn’t heard in a very, very long time.
Colby.
Jessa.
Me.
My throat closed up. My knees went weak.
Because those names—our names—belonged to kids who once made a promise, right here on this very ground.
We were just eight, maybe nine years old. We had built something out of scrap wood and dreams, and we had sworn it would take us away one day. Away from the fists, the shouting, the fear inside those walls we didn’t talk about.
We buried it when everything fell apart. When Jessa moved away. When Colby… never came back.
And now—somehow—someone had dug it up. Fixed it. Put it back.
Waiting.
Daring me to remember the things I swore I never would.
And as I stood there trembling, one name caught my eye—newly scratched in, rough and desperate.
“Come find me.”
I don’t know how long I stared at it before I finally moved. The coffee cup slipped from my fingers, spilling onto the grass, but I barely noticed. All I could think about was Colby. His wild grin. His knack for making us believe anything was possible. And then… the silence after he disappeared.
The police said he ran away. They searched for weeks, but no trace of him ever turned up. Eventually, people stopped asking questions. But I knew better. Deep down, I always suspected his dad had something to do with it. Everyone did. No one said it out loud, though—not where anyone could hear.
Now, standing in front of this strange contraption, I felt like I’d been pulled backward through time. Memories flooded in—memories I’d spent years trying to bury. Building our “spaceship” out of an old oil drum and plywood scraps. Sneaking out late at night to test its imaginary engines. Laughing until our stomachs hurt because we really believed we’d fly someday.
It wasn’t real. None of it was supposed to be real.
Except now, somehow, it felt like it might be.
“Come find me,” the message said again. Who wrote it? Was it Colby? Could it even be him? Or was this some sick joke?
I crouched down, running my fingers over the scratches. The metal was cool under my touch, smooth except for the grooves left behind by whoever had carved the words. It didn’t feel fake. If anything, it felt… alive. Like it was humming faintly beneath my palm.
That’s when I noticed the latch.
Hidden along the edge of the circular frame, it blended so well with the rest of the design that I almost missed it. My heart pounded as I hesitated, then pulled. The lid creaked open, revealing a hollow interior lined with what looked like faded cushions. A small compartment sat at the bottom, containing a rolled-up piece of paper tied with string.
With shaking hands, I untied the knot and unrolled the paper. It was a map. Not a fancy one, not professionally drawn—it was more like a child’s sketch, complete with landmarks labeled in messy handwriting: “Big Oak Tree,” “Swimming Hole,” “Old Miller Barn.” At the center of it all was an X marked in bold black ink.
Underneath the map, someone had scrawled another note: “Remember where we started. Follow the path.”
By noon, I was halfway across town, hiking through woods I hadn’t set foot in since childhood. The map guided me past places I remembered vividly—the treehouse we’d built near the creek, the clearing where we used to play hide-and-seek. Each step brought back memories I’d locked away, sharp and bittersweet.
When I reached the barn, I froze. The structure loomed ahead, its weathered boards sagging under decades of neglect. I hadn’t been here since the summer before Colby vanished. Back then, it had been our secret clubhouse, a place to escape when home got too heavy. Now, it looked abandoned, forgotten.
But as I approached, I saw something propped against the door. Another note, this one pinned to the splintered wood with a rusty nail.
“Keep going. You’re close.”
Close to what? To answers? To closure? Or to something else entirely?
Inside the barn, sunlight streamed through cracks in the roof, illuminating dust motes floating lazily in the air. In the corner, half-hidden behind a pile of hay bales, was another object—a shoebox wrapped in twine. My chest tightened as I opened it.
Inside were photographs. Polaroids, yellowed with age, capturing moments I hadn’t thought about in years. Me, Jessa, and Colby grinning at the camera, arms slung around each other’s shoulders. Us holding up the spaceship we’d built, pretending it was ready for launch. There was also a letter addressed to me, written in handwriting I recognized instantly.
Colby’s.
My Dear Friend,
If you’re reading this, it means you found your way back. First off, I need you to know—I’m okay. Well, mostly. Life hasn’t been easy, but I’ve survived. After everything that happened, I knew I couldn’t stay. Dad… well, let’s just say he wasn’t the kind of man who lets go easily. So I left. Ran as far as I could, hoping to start over somewhere new.
But I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. Not properly. That’s why I hid these things—to give you a chance to find me if you wanted to. To remind you that we weren’t just kids playing pretend. What we had was real. Our friendship mattered.
I don’t expect forgiveness for leaving. Honestly, I don’t deserve it. But I hope you can understand why I did it. And I hope you’ve found happiness, even if it wasn’t the way we imagined it back then.
One last thing: Look in the toolbox under the workbench. You’ll find something special waiting for you.
-Colby
Tears blurred my vision as I read the letter. For years, I’d wondered what happened to him. Whether he was safe. Whether he thought about us. And now, here was proof that he had. That he still cared.
Following his instructions, I located the toolbox tucked beneath the workbench. Inside, nestled among rusted tools and nails, was a small wooden box. Its surface was worn but intricately carved with patterns that reminded me of the stars we used to dream about reaching.
Opening it revealed a single key attached to a tag bearing an address. Nothing else. Just the key and the address.
For a moment, I simply held it, letting the weight of everything sink in. This wasn’t just about finding Colby. It was about reconnecting with the person I used to be—the kid who dared to dream big, who believed in magic and possibility. Somewhere along the way, I’d lost that part of myself. Maybe this was my chance to get it back.
The address led me to a modest house on the outskirts of town. As I knocked on the door, my heart raced. When it opened, I found myself face-to-face with a man who looked both familiar and foreign. Older, yes, but unmistakably Colby.
He smiled softly, his eyes glistening. “You came.”
“I came,” I replied, my voice breaking.
We hugged tightly, neither of us speaking for several minutes. Words weren’t necessary. Being there, together again after so many years, felt like enough.
Later, over cups of tea, Colby told me about his life since disappearing. He’d bounced between foster homes, struggled to finish school, and eventually found work as a mechanic. It wasn’t glamorous, but it gave him stability. Peace. Something he’d desperately needed.
As we talked, I realized how much we’d both changed—and yet, how much remained the same. We were still the same kids who dreamed of escaping their problems, only now we understood that running away doesn’t solve anything. Sometimes, you have to face your fears head-on.
Before I left, Colby handed me a small journal. “This is for you,” he said. “Write down your story. Keep remembering. Don’t let anyone—or anything—take that away from you.”
Driving home that night, I felt lighter than I had in years. Finding Colby didn’t erase the pain of the past, but it helped heal some of the wounds. More importantly, it reminded me of the power of hope, friendship, and resilience.
Life will throw challenges your way. People will disappoint you. Dreams may crumble. But if you hold on to what matters most—the connections you make, the lessons you learn—you’ll find your way forward.
So, dear reader, wherever you are in your journey, remember this: You’re stronger than you think. The past doesn’t define you unless you let it. And sometimes, all it takes is a little courage to uncover the treasures hidden in plain sight.
If this story resonated with you, please share it. Let’s inspire others to embrace their own adventures, no matter how daunting they may seem. ❤️
