It started like any ordinary afternoon in the mall parking lot until I saw him—a small barefoot boy standing alone next to a dark SUV, crying so hard his whole body shook. His skin was flushed, his hair matted to his forehead from the heat. He tugged at the car door handle over and over, like if he just pulled hard enough, it might finally let him back in. But the car stayed locked, its windows tinted and dark, and every time he failed to open it, his sobs grew louder.
I looked around, expecting a frantic parent running back, a voice yelling his name, but there was nothing. Families were walking to their cars, chatting, laughing, oblivious. I walked over, knelt beside him and asked gently, “Hey little man, where’s your family?”
Between hiccupping sobs, he whispered, “I want to go back inside…”
“Inside where?” I asked, thinking maybe he meant the mall or the nearby movie theater.
“The movie,” he said, still pointing at the locked SUV.
Confused, I tried the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The car was spotless inside. No car seat, no snacks, no toys—just empty. I decided the best thing was to take him to mall security and see if anyone was searching for him. As we walked, I asked if he came with anyone.
He nodded and said, “My other dad.”
The answer sent a chill up my spine. “Other dad?” I asked.
He looked up with wide eyes, as if it was obvious. “The quiet one. The one who talks in my head.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Before I could ask more, security officers arrived. They took the boy gently and brought us inside. We checked the security cameras, expecting to see someone drop him off or maybe wandering in from the street. But when the footage played, that’s when it got strange.
One frame showed the parking lot, empty and sunlit. The next frame—he was just there. Standing barefoot by the SUV like he had blinked into existence. No adult nearby, no one leading him in.
The security guard leaned closer to the screen and pointed, his voice low. “Look at the shadow.”
We stared.
There was the boy’s shadow, stretched along the asphalt. But his shadow wasn’t alone.
It was holding a hand.
A distinct second shadow stood beside his—taller, broader—and though there was no one visible next to him in the real world, the shadow’s connection was undeniable. The two shapes stood side by side, hand in hand, but only one body existed in the light.
I couldn’t stop staring. The boy never mentioned the other shadow again. The police were called, but by the time they arrived, the boy was gone.
Just gone.
The SUV? Still locked, no owner ever claimed it. To this day, I still think about that parking lot, that lonely boy, and the shadow holding his hand that we couldn’t see.
