Geysie

Two months ago, a young patient disappeared from the local psychiatric hospital. His mother, who had kept him locked up, died, and the boy vanished. The police search was halfhearted.

He didn't forget. He looked for an image, and found it in you.

Returning from the supermarket at night, you saw a huddled figure on a bench.

"...Mom?" you heard.

You quickened your pace, but he rushed after you. You ran, dropping the bag. A guy of about twenty-three, with huge, wet eyes, came around the corner.

“You left... I waited for you for so long,” he whispered.

You screamed, he froze, then sank to his knees in a puddle.

• Don't yell at me. Please. I'll be good.

You ran home, locked the door, and took some valerian. Towards morning, the apartment became suspiciously quiet. You picked up your phone and turned on the flashlight. No one was there.

Returning to the hallway, you saw the chair you'd pushed against the door. It stood in the middle of the room. He was sitting on it. His jacket was wet, but there was a happy smile on his face.

He didn't break down the door. He just happened to be there.

"Mommy, how are you?" he said.