The Disappearances on All Saints Road

All Saints Road was never busy. It was framed by oak trees that stood lined up like military men across the green where there were never any children that played. In fact, All Saints Road could not remember when it last saw a small child and frankly, it didn’t want to. Around fifty years before the present, All Saints Road went quieter than usual due to a local legend being passed around that during the early 20th century, a man used to live in the house at the end of the street. There’s no house there now though. It used to stand about three stories tall and was much larger than many of the other houses around. Owned by a banker, it was believed to cost somewhere in the millions and was one of the most expensive places to live in the whole town. Back when children did actually roam the streets during the day, the smell of orchids populated the spring air and the house was a sort of tourist attraction for the youth who thought it was inhabited by the most important man in the world.

It was a romanesque mansion with some of the finest windows that stretched taller than some people’s houses. Barely ever coming out for occasions, he had established his riches and aloof nature as being the talk of the town - someone very important indeed. Every morning before sunrise, he would get dressed and go out to work, driving in a luxury car to somewhere out of the area that other more common folks didn’t know about. Then, at about 6:30pm, he would arrive back home looking a little bit more dishevelled than usual. He would lock his car up and then disappear off into the mansion only to do the same thing the next day. This happened five days a week and on the weekends, he would disappear off in his car wearing more casual business wear. The townspeople were left believing he was dealing with very important people on the weekend since all the banks were, in fact, closed. There were some people who would watch him leave and come home, looking at the true luxury of that slick silver car with all its glory. He was the only person in town who could afford such a car and as there were other bankers living around the area, it was a wonder as to how he was affording such things.

He was not quite a middle-aged man but he was old enough to have amassed some sort of wealth to be able to afford the place he was living in. He had moved in only a few years’ before and though he hadn’t made many friends about town, the townspeople let him keep himself to himself as long as they got to stare at the house some more. He didn’t mind all too much unless they were trying to look inside. He was a man who liked his privacy and thought that the best thing a man could do was go to an honest job and then come home in the evening. Nobody knew if he had a family and nobody asked the question. They left him about his business.

On the evening of the Saturday after Easter, he noticed that his car was a little bit more untidy than usual. Normally, where he would wipe clean any inconsistencies in the upholstery, there were scuff marks in the passenger seat. He looked at it intensely and wiped his finger across it as it check if it were clean. It was not. Though not a lot of dust came off on his fingers he was able to wipe away enough to see that there was a clear stain on his car’s seat. As he looked over the vehicle once more he saw another scuff mark on the door. It was a small and blackish one as if the door had been opened on to something. He opened the door slightly and noticed that the passenger side didn’t open all the way - instead it met with the wall of his house that it was parked next to. He stared and stared at the black scuff mark on the door, wanting to know who would do this. He initially thought someone was trying to sabotage his impeccable image but instead, he simply had someone come out to check on it.

Later that week a man was sent from the company he had bought his car from. Making his way up the drive, he was impressed at the car and the house. “How do you get by living around the townspeople of All Saints Road?” Asked the man as he got out his cleaning equipment to work on the car. His customer ignored him though, too focused on the scuff mark that was left behind on his vehicle, too interested in catching the person who did it.

The man finished cleaning the scuff mark and then took a chortle to himself. “I honestly don’t know what you were worried about. That mark was so small it looks like it was made by a child!” They exchanged money and the man went away in his van.

Remembering what the man had said, he thought about the prospect of it being a child and stared at the place where the scuff now used to be. It would be later on that he would see a child looking at his car with intense wonder and even though before he would not have said anything, he didn’t say anything this time. He simply put his hand over the child’s mouth and carried them inside. Nobody saw it and nobody would see the child ever again. Did he know whether it was this particular child? Of course he didn’t. But the prospect of it happening again since a child was looking at the car was too much of a risk to take. He made sure that absolutely nobody in the town, nobody on the road, nobody in the world saw him take this child into his house.

In the coming weeks, the parents of the child started putting up posters and though they had done this for a while by this point, there was still not a single reply. Nobody had seen their child, nobody had seen their child anywhere near the banker, nobody saw them near the car. The parents began to panic from the outset and yet, in their hearts they knew nothing could bring back their child. They knew he was gone.

The banker went about his daily life as normal in the meantime, careful to not change anything just in case someone might notice. He too gave his condolences to the family, he too went to vigils and he too sent them presents of ‘sorry for your loss’ when they decided a year later to declare him legally dead. But, there was nobody in the whole town, nobody on the road, nobody in the police or the banks or the farms who knew what had happened in that house.

One evening the following week after the disappearance of the child, the banker came back to his house looking a little sadder than usual - the truth was that the bank had let go of one of his good friends and yet, the entire road thought he was sad about the child disappearing like they were. He climbed out of his car, careful not to scuff it on anything and got something out of the backseat. It was a set of grey and gold wind-chimes. He hung them outside his front door, the wind slowly passing through them and creating a momentary noise like the start of a lullaby. He tied the top of it into a double knot and gave them another small push as if the wind wasn’t enough for him. The rung out slightly louder than before and as they hit off each other, the hollow sound of metal and bone china like a harp across the silent evening. He disappeared back into his house, shutting the door behind him, he knew that nobody would look in his direction.

A few weeks later, he had a knock at his door from the police. As they stood outside, waiting for him to open the door, he heard them discuss how questioning him was a waste of time and was ultimately put at some ease. Asked whether he had seen the child, he lied that he hadn’t. Asked if he had encountered or ever spoken to the child, he lied that he hadn’t. Asked if he had seen anyone looking suspicious and before he lied, he stated that he didn’t really work around the road or the town and so didn’t know anyone well enough to say - but he said he didn’t see anything unusual as well.

The police left him alone, complimenting his lovely wind-chimes. He had said to the police that if they ever needed a place to rest or call base that they could use his living room as he barely did. They nodded and left in their car. He looked at his own. The neighbours were not suspicious of him and yet, he felt as if they were eating through his soul with their eyes. He shut the door and walked back inside whilst everyone was still frantically searching for any clues about where the missing child might be.

Some time in the future he chose not to leave the house and as it was a Sunday, it didn’t really matter whether he did. Instead, he tended to his flowers in his garden, watering and replanting things. He carried on with his morning until he saw the print on the colonnade on his house. It was a toddler’s handprint in what looked like blue paint. He grabbed every single cleaning product he could find and scrubbed quickly, scrubbed hard, at the handprint on his house. It was tiny and barely noticeable, but he hated it anyway. He depended on the fact that his house and his car looked as clean and perfect as they could be. Instead of going about the town and looking for the child with blue hands, he picked up the first toddler he saw walking past when nobody was watching and brought them into the house.

Almost immediately in the coming days, there were missing person’s posters everywhere. It featured a small toddler girl with large brown eyes and dark hair smiled up at the camera holding a golden retriever puppy called ‘Winnie’ after the pooh bear character due to its colour. The puppy had gone missing as it ran off to look for its tiny owner. Thinking she had run off into the woods, people who were called conspiracy theorists thought people from out of town were coming in and converting the children to some sort of cult, stealing them off into the night. They were ultimately dismissed as crazy and yet, nobody ever suspected the one actual outsider.

The police officers, the same ones as before, were invited back and questioned everyone they had questioned before. The spent a little more time with the banker though. They joked together and laughed about the horrid change in weather from nice and sunny to having to wear a coat because nobody really knows whether it’s going to rain. “You’re right…” One of the officers said. “Never know nowadays, even the weather report isn’t trustworthy.” They left the house taking up the same offer as before and the same things happened as before. This time, when the banker came back from the shop he went to outside of town, he returned with a new romanesque bone china plant pot which he placed the new orchids he had grown into. He patted the dirt as the golden retriever ran past him and back towards the house where the little girl had grown up. There was a cheer of happiness as one of the two had returned and then, the melancholy silence sank back in as they realised their daughter was not going to follow.

A few days later, the mother of the little girl suffered a horrid heart attack and ended up in hospital. During this time, people bought presents and cake along with a signed card from everyone on the street including the banker. He had written: ‘if you ever need anything, I am at the end of the street.’ He wrote his name at the bottom and when she came out of hospital, the banker was taken up on his offer. The father dropped by to ask if the banker might pick up some medication from out of town for the mother. He obliged and returned with the medication and a repeat prescription that would mean they would get the medication delivered for free whenever it was due to be low. It was expensive yes, but the banker had offered to foot the bill.

This made nobody suspicious. In the age of tragedy forming, people were helping out more than usual and the banker began to do things for the family that he would not normally do. For example: while the father was at work in construction and the banker had a day off, he would help with the gardening at the home since the mother could no longer bring herself to go into the garden. In order to organise their fuchsia plants, he emptied his bone china orchid vase and replanted the fuchsias into it. He decided that the plant pot looked nicer in their garden than his own. The mother thought it was absolutely beautiful and it smelled divine. Holding it up to herself, she brought it close slowly and took a deep breath. She knew the smell of orchids anywhere. Thanking him, she went back inside and offered him some food, but he chose to return to his own home to eat instead.

He was a vegetarian. That was something a lot of people didn’t know. He had never eaten a piece of meat and never planned to. It was out of no want to save the animals but it was actually because it disgusted him. He ate some vegetables made into a broth-like soup like he did everyday and went into his living room where he had some things delivered. These were ornaments and though they were small, they were meant as gifts relating to the toddler that had gone missing. He had a solid statue of about 20cm tall made of the girl with her golden retriever, like on the photograph. He would take this to the vigil and hand it to them as an offering of apology and pity. They both cried a little and gave him a hug. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he was part of a community.

A week or so afterwards, another child went missing. This child was actually caught in the garden of the banker. They wanted to see the flowers as they had heard of the rich colours and playful plants that lay about. Local legend committed an image of him to memory whilst he was still alive that his house was a fascinating museum where children and toddlers could touch and play with everything. This disgusted him. He took the child indoors under the guise of calling their parents. When the back door shut, the child was gone and nobody had seen them.

Meanwhile, the police went around to the house of the girl who had disappeared before this. They updated the parents on everything they had gathered and the people they had eliminated from the investigation. “Hey, what’s that?” One of the officers looked up at the small statue of the girl and the dog given to the family by the banker. “Oh, that looks amazing…” the officers both walked over to the statue with one picking it up and immediately noticing something. “Are you thinking about this to? Here, feel this…” the officer passed it to the other. The other nodded and said that he did, in fact, feel it. They both turned to the family again. “May we take this for testing? You can have it back as soon as possible.”

The parents agreed to let the officers have it though they were confused as to why. The officers then proceeded to place it in an evidence bag and take it away from the house. It was all sealed up and the parents were mostly assured that it would come back in one piece. It would be one of the kindest things that anyone had ever done for them at the vigil - a present depicting their daughter and the pet dog, Winnie.

A week or so later, the officer had brought back the item and told the parents that their fears and suspicions were confirmed. The item was made from human bone blended with a tiny bit of china. When asked who gave it to them, the parents told them it was the banker. The officers proceeded to split up, one went to talk to the banker and the other went to collect the vase from the garden that they had passed on the way in.

“Good evening sir…” the banker opened the door upon the officer who stood there holding the item in question. “Can you explain why this item here is made from human bone?” Acting like he didn’t know, he shrugged his shoulders and told the officers it felt like a mistake. The officer took out some documents that he had confirming the fact that this item was made from human bone and stated that the vase too, was being taken away. The wind-chimes shook in the breeze and, as the officer noticed them, he took out a pair of scissors and cut the knot open. “I will be taking this too, for evidence.”

He walked off after telling the man if he continued to get human bone items made that he could be arrested. With that warning, the banker went back indoors and leaned against his front door in a little, but not to much worry. He entered his garden and started cleaning his latest item which was a larger ornament of the Greek God, Atlas holding up the Earth with his back bent and standing upon a pedestal. It was bone white and shone in the little sun there was left from the day. He knew it wasn’t long now before everyone found out what had really been going on.

The officer was back at the house with his partner who had confirmed that both the vase and the statue were made from the same material. Out of instinct, they asked for any key identifiers they may have of their daughter. The parents stated that she had been playing with her dog the day she disappeared and her friend, a girl from across the street had been playing with paint. The dog had some of the paint on its fur and then, took off when the girl had disappeared.

Across the street, they noticed that the little girl was yet again playing with her paint set in the front garden, drawing pictures on a large piece of paper her father had brought back from the craft shop for her. “Hello, little one.” The officer stood over her smiling. “Would you know where your mother and father are?” She pointed to the house where her mother’s shadow was clearly visible behind the beige curtains of the living room at the front of the building. The officers ushered her outside and she stated she hadn’t noticed anything terrible or out of the ordinary on the day the girl had disappeared. She said her daughter was just painting her picture and the dog had some paint on him - she joked that the amount they wash that dog means he probably still had the paint on him to this day.

“No!” The girl shouted from the front garden. “That’s not true…” The officers looked at her. “I was painting the man’s house too… I went to paint his house blue because it looks boring in white…” The officers asked her which man she was talking about and she pointed to the banker’s house, but there was no paint on it. “Aw…” she looked defeated. “He cleaned it off…”

The officers exited the house and began to discuss the possibilities with each other. “There is the possibility that the girls were together and the dog was with them. The girl painted the house with blue paint and then…” He stopped, not knowing where it was going. “I don’t know.” They were also investigating the fact that the little boy had also gone missing but that was getting nowhere. They thought about the possibility that both of these things could have been connected and went back to the little boy’s family. “Excuse me miss, but your son had gone out to play the day he disappeared?”

She nodded and told the officers he had been helping his father with the car, “you know, changing the oil and things like that…” The boy had then gone out to play with filthy hands but he never came home. “I saw that the man at the end of the street had someone come and work on his car and I was about to tell him my husband could do it for free but my husband said not to because that man can afford professional folk, not family folk like us.” She went quiet for a bit. “My son was absolutely fascinated by the banker’s car, he said he wanted one just like it when he grew up. We would have never been able to afford that in a million years.” She stroked a photograph of her son and began to tear up. The officers left with another theory.

In the coming days they had tracked down the man who had cleaned the scuff marks from the car and asked him what the problem was that the banker had. “It was a scuff mark of blackish oil, the size of the mark was no bigger than a small child’s hand…” He laughed. “It was quite silly he needed me to come out to check it rather than just cleaning it himself.” The officers looked at each other and made their way to the banker’s house, handcuffs in their hands. At first, the banker was initially happy with himself for the fact that he had taken the right child when it came to the scuff mark, not knowing initially whether he did. Then, he became angry at being found out, his brows furrowing in madness rather than confusion.

“What happened to the children?” The officer was only asking questions he already had theories of answers to. He whispered in a quiet, reserved but a defiant way that meant there was no other way around this for the banker. It was come quietly or come by force.

The banker showed them inside and pointed to the statue of Atlas.

It was all of them.

The vase, the statues, the wind-chimes. All of them. Each item a different child.