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Girl Intercepted

Letters in the Ether

By Samia AfraPublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 9 min read
1
Photo by Etienne Marais on Pexels

(Disclaimer: This story stems from the writer’s imagination – it is the work of pure fiction. All names, places, or resemblances to true-life events are purely coincidental.)

Dear Reader,

My name is Poppy Waltings, and this is my story. In less than twenty-four hours, I will go missing. In short, this is not a loss story; instead, it’s a love story. In an instance, when a person vanishes, the love for them expands. I never expose my face in my pictures. Why? I represent every person who has disappeared or has lost their life at the hands of another. So, extend compassion towards a friend with a missing person in their life. Often, it’s the unknowing that keeps them awake at night.

*****

May 17, 1976

Dear Diary,

It’s midnight, and I am officially eighteen, an adult! I’ll start my day with birthday cheer from my parents and brother. I’ll go to school, and my friends will shower me with cards and gifts. Randy, the cute guy from French class, might even ask me out. Mom will bake my favorite cake – double chocolate with white buttercream frosting. Love, love, love!

This afternoon Dad and I plan to build an aviary for my owl, Sage, in the backyard. Lately, I’ve been keeping my bedroom window open for him to roam at night. I love the way he returns every morning, right before dusk. We will be so happy when the lumber, poultry wire, plants, and waterfall become the best sanctuary for him. I need to pop by the Feed Store and buy him seed tomorrow, and then we can begin. Heck, I may even start breeding owls this year. I can’t wait to find Sage a mate and turn my hobby into a lucrative business. $$$$$

Happy Birthday to me,

Poppy

*****

Photo by Julia Caesar on Unsplash

MISSING

Poppy Waltings

Last seen: May 17, 1976

Age: 18

Height: 5’ 4” | Weight: 115 lbs.

Last known location: Gary’s Feed Store

Basell, Colorado

*****

May 17, 1980

Dear Poppy,

Writing helps me pave the way back to you, my sponsor – Barry, tells me. This letter is #106. Every time I look at Sage, he makes me feel alive. Your owl helps your mother, brother, and I wake up every morning. He gives us purpose. Life. Hope.

It’s been four years since you vanished. You would never leave because Sage is your world. I remember when I bought him for you two years ago. He was a gorgeous baby owl, with eyes so voluminous, feathers soft and downy, so small and sweet, and ready to meet you. I could tell you were instantly in love. His baby features turned into a beautiful heart-shaped face of distinction all these years later.

Each night, I pray you will return. I promise we are not angry; we never could be. Today marks your 22nd birthday. Please find your way back to us wherever you may be.

Love always,

Dad

*****

Photo by Catherine Harding on Pexels

September 30, 1981

Dear Poppy,

I keep my letters to you in a fat journal. I have over five journals now, and each reminds me how much I miss you.

Where are you? I know you are not a runaway like the police say. Did you disappear? Hitchhike somewhere with friends for your birthday? I can’t stand not knowing.

I keep your horse fed and watered. I mark the turning of each season with a strike on the barn door’s wood. I am at twenty-one seasons now. I wash Chestnut every other day. We have become close – almost as close as your owl. I moved Sage’s perch from the barn to your bedroom. It’s funny; he coos and yelps at your picture, and his hooting makes me laugh. I leave the window ajar, so he can spend the night flying and spreading his wings.

Mom lives in a time capsule. She keeps your room just as it was the day you vanished. Nothing in her life moves forward except her pain. Dad’s drinking is consistent; his benders continue to plague us. We are waiting for the day you return home.

I am a sophomore now at Basell High, and I turn seventeen on Friday. I will eat a fat piece of cake for you.

Love your brother,

Brandon

*****

April 30, 1982

Dear Poppy,

I held your framed picture yesterday while I was napping.

You wore your favorite red blouse and your blonde hair loose in my dream. You showed me your favorite jeans and sturdy boots, then smiled wide. It’s the same outfit you wore the day you vanished six years ago.

You talked about Sage and how you would set him free at night. He would enjoy the sweet wide-open vastness of the starry sky, then would hunt the dense turf for night crawlers. You would talk about him; then you stop and stare at me. I think you showed me it’s time to let you go and free myself.

Thinking of you,

Mom

Photo by Engin Akyurt on Unsplash

*****

December 30, 1987

Dear Waltings Family,

You don’t know me, but I know you. My name is Milt Hildenberry. I am a lifer here in the Downey Springs, South Carolina Correctional Facility.

In 1976, your girl Poppy became one of my victims during a nine-year killing spree. Forgive me; the details are fuzzy. I saw her at the local Feed Store. She kept talking with the owner, going on and on, showing off a picture of her bird. I stood in another aisle and watched her movements. She was so beautiful in every way. I loved staring at her in the store that day and outside her bedroom window every night.

In God’s name,

Milt Hildenberry

DSSCCF Prisoner #652843

*****

February 3, 1989

Dear Mom, Dad, and Brandon,

I watch you as the years pass.

Mom, these thirteen years continue to leave indelible marks on your face. Dad, your life has ebbed and flowed, according to the nightly bottle. Brandon, you have been in and out of jail for bar fights. Grief’s heavy blanket keeps you smothered.

Life is full of hope. Poppy would want better for you. Somewhere, sometime, she will return. Her spirit visits you in your dreams, wanting you to keep growing, stretching, and flourishing.

I fly out of her bedroom window each night to make my rounds. I swing by the neighborhood and see how it changes over the years. I gobble mice on the way to town, and then I peek at your old friends, former bosses, and close neighbors on clear nights. I circle the Feed Store on First Street, and then I fly into the Nature Reserve, where the dense trees dim any bit of light. I hoot until dawn, then return home.

Wanting better,

Sage

Photo by Daniel Ap on Pexels

*****

March 30, 1991

Dear Waltings Family,

Milt Hildenberry, again, I’m a prisoner serving life here in South Carolina.

My lawyer fills my inmate account with $20 for toothpaste, some pencils, and lined paper in exchange for information about your case. I intend to keep writing you letters, with hopes that you don’t trash them.

I took your daughter, Poppy, on May 17, 1976. It was a Monday, I remember. She had a habit of visiting the Feed Store owner every other Monday. I made sure to be there on schedule, pretending to shop. She would buy seed and show him her owl photos. She told Gary about her plans to build an aviary on her birthday. I found it odd that she was more interested in making a present for her bird than receiving gifts from others.

I approached her outside the Feed Store and told her I had a parrot. I flashed her a fake picture of a bird I snipped from a magazine. I invited her to come over to my house to see Jimmy. She jumped in my car, and we headed towards my house. We had such a good time; I tell you – so good that she gave me that picture of her owl before she left. I remember her so vividly. Sometimes I even dream about her here in the clink.

In God’s name,

Milt Hildenberry

DSSCCF Prisoner #652843

*****

April 14, 1992

Dear Mom, Dad, and Brandon,

I can’t believe all the years that continue to pass. I watch you live your lives, sometimes to your detriment, other times to your potential.

Mom, your grief began to rob your light, so I would visit you in your dreams. I am happy to witness your positive strides. Thank you for starting the Poppy Waltings Foundation for Missing Persons. It is a beautiful way to honor my legacy.

Dad, I’m thankful you remarried, and your new family photos are so sweet. I’m happy to see that your drinking years are behind you.

Brandon, my favorite person, thank you for being my brother. You have been the sail keeping our parents heading due North. Your restaurant reviews in the Basell Tribune are exciting to see.

Milt, you’re an animal. The day you killed me took me by surprise. I remember how I spotted you at the Feed Store acting creepy. You pulled up beside me in your car while I was walking home. I started to run, and you chased me to the ground. You placed a smelly rag was over my mouth until everything went black. I can’t remember anything afterward.

Sage, my beautiful owl, thank you for returning to me every night. I enjoy our peaceful time together in solitude. I love how you visit me in the Nature Reserve woods, sit in your favorite tree, and coo on a branch above my remains.

Someday I hope to be found.

Love,

Poppy

*****

Photo by David Bartus on Pexels

“Basell, Colorado’s KPOG Live at Five News

Good evening! Today is June 25, 1995, nightly edition. Earlier this morning, a hiker’s dog found human remains in the Basell Nature Reserve. Detectives report that these remains may be notorious serial killer Milt Hildenberry’s victim #26, Poppy Waltings. More to follow.”

Sage hoots at the TV… with confirmation, and peace finds its way home after nineteen years.

Mystery
1

About the Creator

Samia Afra

I'm new to this, so go easy on me.

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