My grandma’s been a mess since gramps went missing.
She’s hardly coping. Ever since he wandered off the night before last, she’s gone between crying her eyes out and sitting in a blank silence. iPad lying forgotten in her lap. Staring out the window, off towards the woods at the back of their house. Like she’s waiting for him to come back.
It’s not going to happen. I know it’s not going to happen. I might only be 13 years old, but I’m not stupid; Gramps is gone for good.
Ever since his dementia got really bad he’s been wandering off on his own a lot, but he’s never been gone this long before. Never more than a few hours. This time it’s 36 and counting. I read somewhere that if they haven’t found you by then, it normally means you’re already dead.
*
Ever since I can remember, gramps has been obsessed with UFOs.
He was always fascinated by them. Watched documentaries and TV shows. Read books. Even subscribed to some weird magazines that used to come in the post each month. Whenever a new issue arrived he’d lock himself away in his study and read it cover to cover. Couldn’t get enough of the stuff.
I loved it when I was younger. Loved talking about aliens with gramps. I’d sit on his knee and listen to his stories for hours.
It’s not so much fun anymore, though. Not at all. Since gramps got ill, his passion has turned into paranoia. He thinks there are things out to get him. Things that want to take him away. I remember going round to visit one day, a couple of months back, and finding gramps sitting in his armchair by the window. Staring out at the forest.
"You know there are aliens out there, don’t you?" He said the words without looking at me. It wouldn’t have made a difference if he had, though. By that point he struggled to remember who people were, including his family.
"Aliens?" I replied. "I don’t think so, grandpa. There haven’t been any sightings in this area."
"There have, son. There are lights out among the trees. I see them moving at night."
It went on like that for the past few months. And in the weeks before gramps went missing, it got even worse. That was when he started wandering off on his own. One time grandma found him in the field out the back of their house, just staring at the woods. Apparently he told her he’d heard them calling for him. Another time he was gone longer, and when my dad eventually found him he was half a mile inside the forest border. Clinging to a tree like a drowning man.
He told my dad the aliens were nearby, and that they’d come for him.
Begged dad not to let them take him away.
*
Today it’s just been me and grandma in the house.
Everyone else is out searching. I’d be out searching too, but dad said he wanted me to stay with grandma. Make sure she’s okay.
She’s not okay. She hardly said a word when dad dropped me off this morning. Just sat in her chair, iPad in front of her. Staring out the window. Then abruptly, some time before lunch, she announced she was going to the shops. Said she’d go out and get us something to eat.
I told her I’d go — said I’d get everything if she just gave me a list — but she was having none of it. Insisted. Said the fresh air would do her good. So I let her.
I’d only been on my own about 20 minutes when my phone rang. It was grandma. She told me she’d written the shopping list on her iPad, but forgotten to bring it with her. Asked me if I’d mind sending it to her. Her voice sounded hollow, but she told me she loved me at end of the call.
And I said it back.
*
The shopping list was easy enough to find.
It was the top item in her Notes. I went into the list, hit share, then sent it to my grandma’s email address. She’d be able to access it on her phone while she was in the shop.
It was as I was exiting out of the list that I saw it. The second item in her Notes. I wasn’t being nosy or anything; the wording of the top sentence just caught my eye. It read:
I can’t do this anymore.
My stomach suddenly felt hollow. The skin on the back of my neck flared with an unpleasant heat. I reached out and tapped into the note without thinking, then read the rest of it in less than 10 seconds.
Here’s what it said:
I can’t do this anymore.
I’m trying my best, but it’s no good. It’s no good without John. I always thought I’d be able to cope if something happened to him, but I guess that just shows what a stupid old woman I am.
Everyone has been wonderful, but it’s not helping. It only makes me feel more alone.
John and I have been married over 50 years. I can’t imagine life without him.
I love all my family. I’m so, so sorry.
Like I said, I’m only 13. But I’m not an idiot.
As soon as I read the note, I called my dad. Told him I was worried grandma might do something stupid. Read the note out loud to him. He was in the woods searching, but he told me he’d go straight to the supermarket to look for her. Asked me to stay put. Said not to worry.
Ever since grandma worked as a counsellor, he explained, she’s always written stuff down. Helps her keep track of how she’s feeling. Dad said this was probably just an outlet for her — a way to release some emotion. His voice only shook ever so slightly as he said it. Then he told me he was going to go find her and hung up the phone.
The call made me feel a little better. Just a little. I went back to grandma’s iPad and exited the note. But as I returned to the main Notes page, my eyes couldn’t help wandering to the third entry down. It was written the morning after gramps went missing.
I couldn’t help myself. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I justified it by telling myself it might help grandma. If there was another clue in there as to how she might be feeling, I had to know. So I tapped in.
And as soon as I started reading, I felt my heart rate pick up. Because this note wasn’t just grandma recording her emotions. It was a diary of the night gramps went missing.
Here’s what grandma had written, word for word:
I only left him for a moment. I swear it was only for a moment.
I was running a bath, and I just popped out of the room to check on the temperature. When I got back, he was gone.
The back door was wide open. I ran out into the garden but it was too late. I couldn’t see him. The sky was clear and the moon illuminated the fields, but he was nowhere in sight.
I didn’t stop to put my cardigan on. The night air felt cold, but I knew if I left right away I might be able to catch him before he got too far. As I ran across the fields the wind howled and tore at my clothes. I almost slipped a couple of times, but just managed to keep my footing.
The forest sheltered me. It was quieter among the trees, the noises of the weather muted. I paused and listened for any sign of John. There was nothing. Only the sound of tree branches rustling overhead.
It was darker in the forest. Not too dark, though. I don’t know how I’d have found my way if it’d been overcast, but I guess I got lucky. The stars and the moon shone a path for me.
I don’t know how long I was running for, but by the time I reached the river my heart was thumping in my chest. My body felt weak and exhausted. My breathing was shallow.
The sound of running water made me stop. This was a place I knew well. We hadn’t done the river walk in months — not since John got really bad — but it was a spot we used to visit all the time. A peaceful place.
The river runs through the centre of the forest behind our house. And at the point it meets the footpath, there’s a bridge. Nothing fancy; just a little concrete bridge with a metal railing on one side.
As I peered through the trees, I could see that bridge up ahead. It wasn’t empty. A man’s silhouette stood in the middle of the bridge, rocking back and forth. Peering over the edge into the water. I knew right away it was John.
He didn’t start when I called his name. Just turned around slowly, as if he’d been waiting for me. His eyes were wet with tears.
"They’re coming for me, you know," he said. "The aliens."
I walked across the bridge towards him. Held out my hand. The wind whipped past me, the cold air stinging my skin. I felt a deep sense of dread, right in the bottom of my stomach. "There’s nothing out here, darling," I said. "You have to come home now."
John was shaking his head, over and over. Tears ran down his cheeks. "No, no." He took a step backwards, away from me. "No, you can’t lie to me, I’ve seen them. I’ve seen them."
A horrible mix of emotions curdled inside me. There was fear in that mix, and sadness too. And a lot of anger. Anger that I was out in the freezing cold at night. Anger that John wouldn’t, or perhaps couldn’t, listen to me. Anger at the disease that was raging like a storm through his brain. A storm in which I knew he’d soon be lost for good.
John leaned against the metal rail, crying uncontrollably. I took a step towards him and put a hand on his arm. Felt his body trembling beneath my touch.
"I can see them." He muttered the words beneath the tears. "I can see their lights. They’re all around us."
He suddenly straightened and tottered away from me. Took a step towards the side of the bridge that wasn’t protected by a railing. I stepped after him, fear welling in my chest. But I stopped when I saw what he was doing.
John stood on the edge of the bridge, staring out over the river. Then he reached out with his right hand and pointed.
"They’re here right now," he said softly. "Oh, God, they're here."
I stepped up beside him, my whole body shaking, and followed his finger.
John wasn’t pointing into the woods. His arm was angled down, pointing in the direction of the river.
He was pointing at the stars.
The thousands of stars that were reflected in the water’s black surface.
As I stared, he began sobbing again. "They’re never going to let me go, Maggie," he moaned. "Help me, please. They’re never going to let me go."
I don’t know if it was the pain I heard in John’s voice. I don’t know if it was my anger at his illness. I don’t know if it was the fact that, for the first time in weeks, he’d remembered my name.
But as he stood swaying on the edge of the bridge, tears running down his face, I stepped forwards and pushed him.
*
That was the end of the entry. By the time I'd finished reading it, I felt ill. But I was also crying. Crying without even realising it. A couple of tears had fallen from my face and dropped onto the iPad’s screen. I locked it and wiped them off, then pulled my phone from my pocket.
I’d been meaning to ring dad, but he got there first. His call came in the second the phone was in my hand. His voice sounded breathless, panicked. He told me he was at the supermarket, but he couldn’t find grandma anywhere. Said her car wasn’t even there.
And that was when I told him the rest.
I went back into the iPad and read grandma’s note to him out loud. He listened without saying anything. Didn’t interrupt me once.
At the end, he told me in a shaky voice that he was going to call the police. Said they’d help find her as soon as possible. Told me to stay put.
And that’s exactly what I’ve done. Over the past few hours I’ve been sitting in the armchair that overlooks my grandparents’ back garden. The same one grandma always sat in. The one with the view of the woods. I’ve sat here, the iPad in my lap, and I’ve waited.
My phone’s by my side, and I keep glancing at it. Checking for news.
But when it does finally come, I don’t know if I’ll want to hear it.
She’s hardly coping. Ever since he wandered off the night before last, she’s gone between crying her eyes out and sitting in a blank silence. iPad lying forgotten in her lap. Staring out the window, off towards the woods at the back of their house. Like she’s waiting for him to come back.
It’s not going to happen. I know it’s not going to happen. I might only be 13 years old, but I’m not stupid; Gramps is gone for good.
Ever since his dementia got really bad he’s been wandering off on his own a lot, but he’s never been gone this long before. Never more than a few hours. This time it’s 36 and counting. I read somewhere that if they haven’t found you by then, it normally means you’re already dead.
*
Ever since I can remember, gramps has been obsessed with UFOs.
He was always fascinated by them. Watched documentaries and TV shows. Read books. Even subscribed to some weird magazines that used to come in the post each month. Whenever a new issue arrived he’d lock himself away in his study and read it cover to cover. Couldn’t get enough of the stuff.
I loved it when I was younger. Loved talking about aliens with gramps. I’d sit on his knee and listen to his stories for hours.
It’s not so much fun anymore, though. Not at all. Since gramps got ill, his passion has turned into paranoia. He thinks there are things out to get him. Things that want to take him away. I remember going round to visit one day, a couple of months back, and finding gramps sitting in his armchair by the window. Staring out at the forest.
"You know there are aliens out there, don’t you?" He said the words without looking at me. It wouldn’t have made a difference if he had, though. By that point he struggled to remember who people were, including his family.
"Aliens?" I replied. "I don’t think so, grandpa. There haven’t been any sightings in this area."
"There have, son. There are lights out among the trees. I see them moving at night."
It went on like that for the past few months. And in the weeks before gramps went missing, it got even worse. That was when he started wandering off on his own. One time grandma found him in the field out the back of their house, just staring at the woods. Apparently he told her he’d heard them calling for him. Another time he was gone longer, and when my dad eventually found him he was half a mile inside the forest border. Clinging to a tree like a drowning man.
He told my dad the aliens were nearby, and that they’d come for him.
Begged dad not to let them take him away.
*
Today it’s just been me and grandma in the house.
Everyone else is out searching. I’d be out searching too, but dad said he wanted me to stay with grandma. Make sure she’s okay.
She’s not okay. She hardly said a word when dad dropped me off this morning. Just sat in her chair, iPad in front of her. Staring out the window. Then abruptly, some time before lunch, she announced she was going to the shops. Said she’d go out and get us something to eat.
I told her I’d go — said I’d get everything if she just gave me a list — but she was having none of it. Insisted. Said the fresh air would do her good. So I let her.
I’d only been on my own about 20 minutes when my phone rang. It was grandma. She told me she’d written the shopping list on her iPad, but forgotten to bring it with her. Asked me if I’d mind sending it to her. Her voice sounded hollow, but she told me she loved me at end of the call.
And I said it back.
*
The shopping list was easy enough to find.
It was the top item in her Notes. I went into the list, hit share, then sent it to my grandma’s email address. She’d be able to access it on her phone while she was in the shop.
It was as I was exiting out of the list that I saw it. The second item in her Notes. I wasn’t being nosy or anything; the wording of the top sentence just caught my eye. It read:
I can’t do this anymore.
My stomach suddenly felt hollow. The skin on the back of my neck flared with an unpleasant heat. I reached out and tapped into the note without thinking, then read the rest of it in less than 10 seconds.
Here’s what it said:
I can’t do this anymore.
I’m trying my best, but it’s no good. It’s no good without John. I always thought I’d be able to cope if something happened to him, but I guess that just shows what a stupid old woman I am.
Everyone has been wonderful, but it’s not helping. It only makes me feel more alone.
John and I have been married over 50 years. I can’t imagine life without him.
I love all my family. I’m so, so sorry.
Like I said, I’m only 13. But I’m not an idiot.
As soon as I read the note, I called my dad. Told him I was worried grandma might do something stupid. Read the note out loud to him. He was in the woods searching, but he told me he’d go straight to the supermarket to look for her. Asked me to stay put. Said not to worry.
Ever since grandma worked as a counsellor, he explained, she’s always written stuff down. Helps her keep track of how she’s feeling. Dad said this was probably just an outlet for her — a way to release some emotion. His voice only shook ever so slightly as he said it. Then he told me he was going to go find her and hung up the phone.
The call made me feel a little better. Just a little. I went back to grandma’s iPad and exited the note. But as I returned to the main Notes page, my eyes couldn’t help wandering to the third entry down. It was written the morning after gramps went missing.
I couldn’t help myself. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I justified it by telling myself it might help grandma. If there was another clue in there as to how she might be feeling, I had to know. So I tapped in.
And as soon as I started reading, I felt my heart rate pick up. Because this note wasn’t just grandma recording her emotions. It was a diary of the night gramps went missing.
Here’s what grandma had written, word for word:
I only left him for a moment. I swear it was only for a moment.
I was running a bath, and I just popped out of the room to check on the temperature. When I got back, he was gone.
The back door was wide open. I ran out into the garden but it was too late. I couldn’t see him. The sky was clear and the moon illuminated the fields, but he was nowhere in sight.
I didn’t stop to put my cardigan on. The night air felt cold, but I knew if I left right away I might be able to catch him before he got too far. As I ran across the fields the wind howled and tore at my clothes. I almost slipped a couple of times, but just managed to keep my footing.
The forest sheltered me. It was quieter among the trees, the noises of the weather muted. I paused and listened for any sign of John. There was nothing. Only the sound of tree branches rustling overhead.
It was darker in the forest. Not too dark, though. I don’t know how I’d have found my way if it’d been overcast, but I guess I got lucky. The stars and the moon shone a path for me.
I don’t know how long I was running for, but by the time I reached the river my heart was thumping in my chest. My body felt weak and exhausted. My breathing was shallow.
The sound of running water made me stop. This was a place I knew well. We hadn’t done the river walk in months — not since John got really bad — but it was a spot we used to visit all the time. A peaceful place.
The river runs through the centre of the forest behind our house. And at the point it meets the footpath, there’s a bridge. Nothing fancy; just a little concrete bridge with a metal railing on one side.
As I peered through the trees, I could see that bridge up ahead. It wasn’t empty. A man’s silhouette stood in the middle of the bridge, rocking back and forth. Peering over the edge into the water. I knew right away it was John.
He didn’t start when I called his name. Just turned around slowly, as if he’d been waiting for me. His eyes were wet with tears.
"They’re coming for me, you know," he said. "The aliens."
I walked across the bridge towards him. Held out my hand. The wind whipped past me, the cold air stinging my skin. I felt a deep sense of dread, right in the bottom of my stomach. "There’s nothing out here, darling," I said. "You have to come home now."
John was shaking his head, over and over. Tears ran down his cheeks. "No, no." He took a step backwards, away from me. "No, you can’t lie to me, I’ve seen them. I’ve seen them."
A horrible mix of emotions curdled inside me. There was fear in that mix, and sadness too. And a lot of anger. Anger that I was out in the freezing cold at night. Anger that John wouldn’t, or perhaps couldn’t, listen to me. Anger at the disease that was raging like a storm through his brain. A storm in which I knew he’d soon be lost for good.
John leaned against the metal rail, crying uncontrollably. I took a step towards him and put a hand on his arm. Felt his body trembling beneath my touch.
"I can see them." He muttered the words beneath the tears. "I can see their lights. They’re all around us."
He suddenly straightened and tottered away from me. Took a step towards the side of the bridge that wasn’t protected by a railing. I stepped after him, fear welling in my chest. But I stopped when I saw what he was doing.
John stood on the edge of the bridge, staring out over the river. Then he reached out with his right hand and pointed.
"They’re here right now," he said softly. "Oh, God, they're here."
I stepped up beside him, my whole body shaking, and followed his finger.
John wasn’t pointing into the woods. His arm was angled down, pointing in the direction of the river.
He was pointing at the stars.
The thousands of stars that were reflected in the water’s black surface.
As I stared, he began sobbing again. "They’re never going to let me go, Maggie," he moaned. "Help me, please. They’re never going to let me go."
I don’t know if it was the pain I heard in John’s voice. I don’t know if it was my anger at his illness. I don’t know if it was the fact that, for the first time in weeks, he’d remembered my name.
But as he stood swaying on the edge of the bridge, tears running down his face, I stepped forwards and pushed him.
*
That was the end of the entry. By the time I'd finished reading it, I felt ill. But I was also crying. Crying without even realising it. A couple of tears had fallen from my face and dropped onto the iPad’s screen. I locked it and wiped them off, then pulled my phone from my pocket.
I’d been meaning to ring dad, but he got there first. His call came in the second the phone was in my hand. His voice sounded breathless, panicked. He told me he was at the supermarket, but he couldn’t find grandma anywhere. Said her car wasn’t even there.
And that was when I told him the rest.
I went back into the iPad and read grandma’s note to him out loud. He listened without saying anything. Didn’t interrupt me once.
At the end, he told me in a shaky voice that he was going to call the police. Said they’d help find her as soon as possible. Told me to stay put.
And that’s exactly what I’ve done. Over the past few hours I’ve been sitting in the armchair that overlooks my grandparents’ back garden. The same one grandma always sat in. The one with the view of the woods. I’ve sat here, the iPad in my lap, and I’ve waited.
My phone’s by my side, and I keep glancing at it. Checking for news.
But when it does finally come, I don’t know if I’ll want to hear it.
---
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