It was a crisp Halloween evening, the kind where the chill in the air seemed to carry whispers of magic and mystery. The diner where I’ve worked for years was dressed in orange string lights and cobweb decorations, buzzing with the energy of costumed families and excited trick-or-treaters. I expected the usual rush—nothing out of the ordinary—until I got the unexpected call: my babysitter had quit.
With no time to find help, I brought my four-year-old son, Micah, to work. Dressed proudly in his firefighter costume, he radiated joy, completely unaware of the chaos behind my nervous smile. I sat him in a quiet booth with crayons and a sandwich, hoping the night would pass smoothly. But as I juggled plates and poured coffee, something far more unnerving happened—something that would turn an ordinary Halloween into a night I’d never forget…Micah was gone. The booth was empty.
