Warning: >!This story talks about a missing child. It is simply stated as a fact that a child has gone missing, there is nothing explicitly stating what happened.!<
I’m writing this to you because I feel like everyone thinks that I’m crazy. I think — no, I know — that my husband’s brother — Michael — has something to do with the disappearance of my son Isaac. No one believes me despite the fact that I have evidence against Michael. I think that I’m right, that I’m not looking into this too much, that my evidence isn’t just a weird string of coincidences. Michael knows more about my son than we do. I’m certain. I hope you believe me, Michelle. I can’t take this anymore; I miss my boy.
I think I should give you some backstory about Michael before I go in depth about my son’s disappearance. You need to understand who Michael was in our life before I throw out all of my suspicions. It’s important to know who he is and how he behaved when he lived with us, otherwise you wouldn’t understand.
Michael Stint — I never took my husband, Dean’s, last name — had a wife for nearly a decade. He had two children, both boys, named James and Alex. He seemed to have really adore them. He never talked much about his life back home, I don’t even know his wife’s name. all I know is that they never legally divorced, but she kicked him out onto the streets for unknown reasons — to me, at least. He only talked about his sons, which is why I assume he adored them. He only spoke about them with love. Dean convinced me to let him life with us, he told me that Michael didn’t anyone to lend him a hand, so we had to be the one to do it. We had to be good people.
My son Isaac was five when he disappeared. He was also five when Michael moved in. There were just six months between Michael entering his life and his disappearance. He didn’t mind his Uncle Michael moving in with us, he was a friendly boy. Trusting. He had no problems with new people. His trusting personality wasn’t something negative, since we live in a close-knit, have small town.
I find Michael suspicious for a multitude of reasons. During the day, he wouldn’t interact with Isaac much, just occasional greetings. But every day, since the first week he moved in, he and Dean would take Isaac out, they never took him out for the same reason. Sometimes it was for a movie, then for ice cream, then for the arcade, fun, simple stuff like that. Though they always left at six p.m. after dinner, and they always returned at nine p.m., Isaac’s bedtime. At some point I started doubting that they were really going out for those reasons, taking a child out for ice cream would take a shorter time than taking him out for a movie. Yet they always came home at the same time.
They never let up their story though, and I started to suspect that they were just taking him out to do “Man Stuff” and that they just didn’t want to tell me. Perhaps they were afraid that I would stop them. I didn’t mind this too much though, Dean was always with him, and, as his father, I was sure he would make sure Isaac wouldn’t get hurt. I just didn’t understand why they wouldn’t just tell me the truth. What I find the strangest is that Michael never seemed interested in Isaac normally, only during these three hours he spent time with him.
Since this habit started, I haven’t been able to take him to bed. Michael always did it. Whenever I tried to put him to bed, they wouldn’t let me. Dean always kept me busy downstairs as Michael put Isaac to bed. I don’t think he realized how weird it was. Since Michael moved in, I only put Isaac to bed once.
As usual, it is 9 p.m. and Dean’s voice comes from the hallway, announcing that they came home.
“We’re home!” he always exclaims when they return. Then he’ll come into the living room as Michael takes Isaac up to his room.
I stand up and walk into the hallway to disrupt their usual routine. Putting Isaac to bed was usually my job before Michael moved in. It was the only time that I spent with Isaac where he wasn’t in his hyperactive mood. I always read him a bedtime story; he never fell asleep without one. He quietly listens and only interjects when he really likes a part. His favorite books are Ernie & Bert related.
“I want to take him to bed.” I say, Dean opens his mouth to say something, but I stop him. “I’m taking him to bed.” I state.
Michael looks over at Dean and nods. Dean is more adamant that Michael should take Isaac to bed, I can see it in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows that I won’t let up. he knows I’m taking Isaac to bed tonight — no matter what. Michael goes upstairs to his own room and Dean leaves to enter the living room, leaving me alone with Isaac.
My eyes find him, he’s standing near the door, leaning against the wall with his back, his legs splayed in front of him. He looks shy, his eyes are downcast to the floor and his hands rest behind his back against the wall. It’s weird, Isaac isn’t a shy kid. He always speaks to people, unless they’re strangers, since he knows he shouldn’t talk to them when there aren’t any adults nearby. I never saw him so small-looking.
“Let’s get you up to bed, baby.” I say as I extend my hand for him to take, which he does. He can’t take the stairs himself yet, he’s too afraid that he will fall down them.
We walk up the stairs. I open his bedroom door when we reach the top of the stairs and I let him walk into his room. His bedroom was the first door on the right, Michael’s is right next to his. I go into my own room — opposite of his — to pick a book for him, he does have a lot in his own room, so many that they don’t all fit into the bookcase in his room. I keep about a dozen books in a box in my own room, since I don’t want to buy a bookcase just for a few children’s books.
I take my time searching for a book that won’t bore Isaac. He’s all right with books being re-read to him. There just needs to be a specific amount of time between the last time it was read to him. Minimally, there should be about a two week wait before I can recycle a book. The books in my room are the ones he likes the most, so it is harder to pick between them. But I know he really likes them, so I try to grab one from my room as much as I possibly can.
When I find my pick for him, I return to his room. But I’m surprised when I find him already changed into his pajama’s, tucked into his bed, and asleep. He did look a little tired downstairs, but he never falls asleep without his bedtime story, even if it’s just a few pages. I furrow my brows and turn off the light, walking out of his room and closing his door.
What I don’t notice is the closed storybook lying next to his bed.
It’s important to note that this occurred in the first month of Michael’s move-in, so I didn’t have many suspicions of him at that time. Though that was the first time I suspected that they were lying to me about where they took Isaac, a kid wouldn’t just be so tired from just going out for ice cream, right?
Michael also spent a lot of time in the garage, always alone. Dean always told me not to disturb him, telling me something about Michael being a photographer and that he developed his pictures in the garage, since it was a big, dark space. Perfect for photo developing, according to Michael.
“If you go in, the light will ruin the pictures.” Dean always said.
To this day, I haven’t entered the garage. We don’t have a car, so I don’t have a reason to. I think I might be scared of what I find in there, or maybe I’m afraid that I won’t find anything that could help me find Isaac, I can also tell Dean still wants to keep me out. Even though Michael is gone now.
We found out that Isaac was missing one early afternoon.
I place the plates on the dining table, ever since Isaac was born it’s been our tradition to eat breakfast/lunch on Sunday afternoons. No matter how busy we were, we would always make sure to have time for this. It was my idea to do this since family is so important to me.
Dean is already at the table, only Isaac isn’t. He always stays in late, it’s not like a five-year-old has much to do on his weekends. I go up to his room and knock before I enter. It’s a good habit I heard, to give your kids a sense of privacy from an early age. Dean and I try to never enter his room without a knock.
Usually, he would be awake by now, he likes to just lay in bed for a while before gets out of his room. Usually, he would respond to my knock. This time he doesn’t. I push the door open, assuming that he hasn’t woken up yet.
He isn’t in his room. A flash of panic hits me. I turn around and rush down the stairs.
“He’s gone! Dean! Isaac’s not there!” I yell.
Isaac should be in his room; we’ve all been awake since the early morning and his door hasn’t been opened since it closed last night. If he wasn’t there, where could he be? When did the door open? At night?
We reported him missing immediately. Now, you might wonder why I think that it’s Michael that did this. He was behaving weird, but does that mean he had to have been the one to take my son? Something I didn’t mention is that he left that morning, which is why we were awake so early. And if that isn’t just so crazy, I don’t know what is. My son went missing, and that morning his uncle suddenly moved out. I mentioned my suspicions to the police, and they found Michael hours away, still on the road. He must have been driving since he left, most likely with only a few stops between. They did a search of his car.
Isaac wasn’t with him. He had a strong alibi, according to the police. They couldn’t arrest him.
I can’t believe that Michael didn’t do this.
One last thing, this is the worst thing I have found out. When I was cleaning the attic a few nights before writing this, I found tons of family pictures from Dean’s family. The Stints seemingly had a habit of taking pictures with the whole family year after year. And I noticed something.
All pictures only had one little boy in it — I recognized him to be Dean. None had Michael in them.
Isaac didn’t have an Uncle Michael.