Mimic

Something is wrong with the new neighbor, and I was dying to find out. Now I'm trying to stay alive.

When I was little, I knew my place, children were not to be trusted. We were up to no good at all times. And my biggest fear was being unbelievable. Let me explain, before you wonder. I was scared that something would happen, something unexplainable, inconceivable, a tragedy, or an otherworldly being would arise and no one would believe me without proof. My family, friends, they all would be in danger, but I was a child, so my say didn't mean a hill of beans to anyone. And if I would have proof, if I would be so lucky, it would vanish mysteriously into thin air. It was an irrational fear, or so I thought.
Life was normal for me, I'd had just been given binoculars for my 14th When I was little, I knew my place, children were not to be trusted. We were up to no good at all times. And my biggest fear was being unbelievable. Let me explain, before you wonder. I was scared that something would happen, something unexplainable, inconceivable, a tragedy, or an otherworldly being would arise and no one would believe me without proof. My family, friends, they all would be in danger, but I was a child, so my say didn't mean a hill of beans to anyone. And if I would have proof, if I would be so lucky, it would vanish mysteriously into thin air. It was an irrational fear, or so I thought.
Life was normal for me, I'd had just been given binoculars for my 14th birthday from my Dad, who was a bird watching enthusiast. I didn't care for that though, I just wanted to see what everybody was up to, like any curious teenager with too much time to kill. And life was good until April 15th, 1995. A new neighbor had moved in. The funny thing about it all, is that he was a mime. I'm serious. He wore white face paint which glistened on his skin. Never said a word to anyone at first, just minded his own business. I wasn't sure if it was creepy or hilarious, but regardless, he caught my attention. After he unloaded everything, the truck left, and the sun was setting. I was still as curious as ever. Right then and there, I had decided. William Bell, the new neighbor, was the cure to my boredom and the star of my report. A man who's day job was being a street performing mime. I thought it was perfect. I had to do a report for English, and I was intrigued by William Bell, my newest neighbor and point of interest in the boring suburban purgatory we call, Hillcrest. One of the top rated safest communities in San Diego, California.
I was having fun at first, looking through my bedroom window blinds, documenting his habits and rituals, questioning his motives for moving. Making up stories in my own head. I was excited, allured by the mystery. I began spying on William daily, the bathroom sink, mirror, and kitchen were visible through my bedroom window. Never seeing his face due to the oily white face paint, I needed to know, so I waited for him to remove it. Finally, he washed it off, I saw his reflection in his mirror. He looked rough, he was aged to his mid sixties. Sadly, everything was normal after that night. Just brushing teeth, cleaning, washing dishes, taking out trash, normal human habits.
A week and a half later, I saw him removing his paint again, the usual, but for some reason, I kept watching. Something felt different this time. I ask myself to this very date, "Why didn't I stop?" William wiped his face clean, and he looked half the age he was before. 35 at most. Same height, same facial features. How was this possible? I was shocked. What could possibly, rationally, explain this?
Three days later, I was dozing off on my computer desk when I woke to a bright light flicker on. I quick grabbed my birthday present, staring silently through my blinds. I saw that his garage was open, and the light was beaming from it, he was carrying an absurd amount of toys out of his car, to the garage and into the house. He looked shady, he was moving stealthily, like he was hiding something. I was left confused and curious, just then my mom called for supper.
My parents gawked at me as I inhaled my dinner, I flashed a smile and explained how I was starving, laughing awkwardly. After doing the dishes, I finally retired to my room. Wondering what was going on, I took a quick peek.
"What could go wrong?" I thought to myself. Within seconds, my jaw dropped. Instant irony had sent chills throughout my entire body. William was in the kitchen cutting meat. It was pale, pasty, and seemingly... freckled. It was raw, rubbery, blood stained flesh. I tossed my binoculars onto the floor in horror. I was in denial of course, immediately. But I wanted to know more. Cannibalism seemed too far fetched for the suburbs. There has to be an explanation. These things don't really happen.
One week later, on a late afternoon, William got into his car, and left the house. I saw it as my best chance to snoop. So I snuck under the 6 foot fence dividing our yards, but I wanted to get a closer look, I kept wanting to see more. I needed to make sense of it all. While army crawling on the grass, I latched onto something accidentally, it lit up and I pulled it into sight, a shoe. A child sized shoe. I swear I saw these before. Then it hit me. Sam Perkins; he was no older than 8, but he lived a few houses down. "How did this get here?" I questioned myself, but I was baffled. I looked at the shoe once more, then peering behind it, I saw light reflect off of something. I was squinting, then it came into focus. It was a feint trail, little droplets of blood leading from only half a foot from me, to the cellar door. No sign of any children though. Dropping the shoe, I stood up, darted across his yard, and hopped the fence. I was scared out of my mind, running like the wind, I leapt into my house, slammed the door, ran to my room, and locked myself in it. I'm sure my parents were confused, but they were always too busy with work to notice. So they chalked it up to, "Boys will be boys."
Grabbing my pillow, I began screaming. Muffling my wild yells and sobs. I couldn't catch my breath. I was horrified, I was freaking out. This was not okay.
"What the hell?!" I gasped. I swear my eyes were bugging out of my skull. They were bloodshot from hysterically crying. Why is this happening? Why did I keep prying? What did I just see? I started to connect the raw meat I saw him preparing with the shoe and blood. And I could feel my dinner begin rising up my throat. I was nauseous, stunned, and my mind was seizing up with so many questions, but each one had the same answer, I don't know. I had no clue what to do, what I was doing. I was just me. I can't call the police, it could get worse. Would it? I didn't want to know anymore. I just wanted to play dumb, but I knew I couldn't. I couldn't pretend everything was okay. But here it was, my biggest fear, no one will ever believe me.
I was right, The Perkins' did put out amber alert, the night I found the shoe. Little Sam had been playing in the front yard, last time he was seen. He apparently wandered off, and the mime knew just how to lure him in, he was a clown afterall. All that mattered was that I had proof. Although the shoe was nowhere to be seen; mentally, in my own investigation, I had proof to myself that this was real, and I must take it seriously. I have to be careful, my life is at stake.
I kept watching. I needed to learn as much as I could while I researched my findings. I was putting it all together slowly. The local library had these old books I found on a table in the back, shoved to the side. It was about demons, beasts and monsters through history. I was looking for an ancient evil. It fed on, and used children to preserve it's life force. From what I read, nothing good has ever eaten children, so I was already weary of what I'd find. Then I read a description it. An evil that'd been around for thousands of years. It seemed to have different names in different countries around the world. It's Latin name was, "Puer devourering Corydon," and translated, it came out to, "child devouring clown." The closest English title was as horrific as it was ironic.
A mimic. What scared me was the abilities I found it to posses; it can recreate any voice, they are tricksters, crafty in nature. They hide their old, weathered faces, behind paint and hidden with gloves, until the eat. They thrive by slaying children, and devouring their flesh, restores their youth and vitality. They migrate often, and never settle in, alluding any suspicion. I started to panic, hyperventilate. "Is everything up to me?" Nervously laughing, I shouldn't have said that. Now I knew, it really was.
Two nights later, my parents went out to dinner. After my recent findings, I decided to stay in my bedroom, away from the window. My thoughts were racing, but what could I do? After lying awake in bed for awhile, I decided to take a quick look. I grabbed the binoculars and sat at the desk, slightly cracking the blinds. A coldness held me there, I was unable to move. In the kitchen, William met my eyes, and with a sinister grin, he winked at me. Suddenly, the lights shut off in the kitchen, then living room, then bedroom. I ran to my door, locked it, and jumped in bed. 45 minutes go by, I refused to move.
I hear the front door open and shut swiftly. Then I heard footsteps up the stairs, slow and light shuffling noises until my mother's voice is clearly coming from outside my door, "Connor, we're home, I wanted to talk to you," then the doorknob jiggled. She sounded agitated. "Why did you lock the door sweetie, open it please?" I was, of course, extremely skeptical of that being my mother, especially since they've gone out. It's only been a few hours. Also, I read of the mimic and knew it could just as well be him. I had to think of a plan, a way to know for sure who or what was behind that door. Then I had a brilliant idea, I've been allergic to peanuts since birth. My mom knows I cannot have even the tiniest amount or I break out in hives everywhere, swollen shut throat, the works. I muster up the courage to say, "I'm not feeling well, can you make me a PB&J?" Not knownig any better, he responds with a, "Of course honey, I'll be back in a sec."
I was hoping to god it wouldn't come to this, but it' happening. Immediately knowing it's the mime, I reach for the phone in my room, I can hear nothing, it's dead. I needed to find a working phone. Panicked, I jump out of bed, shoving my feet into my shoes; throwing on a jacket, grabbing a pillow to break my landing. Literally opening and instantly throwing myself out the window. Sprinting as fast as I could, I was trying to find anywhere to get help. Evidence. I need evidence though, or it's all pointless and he still wants to kill me. I make a run for his house. I have to find proof and call the police.
As I slinked into the cellar, switching on the light, I see piles of bloodied children's' clothing, toys, and shoes. Terrified, an involuntary yelp of fear escaped my lips. I instantly regretted it. I tried to slow my breathing, but I could hear him outside the cellar door, calling my name in my mom's voice. I had to keep moving through the house or I was next. I reached the top of the basement stairs, entering the kitchen, I needed protection. I looked for a weapon to ultimately kill this monster pursuing me right now. I found two large, sturdy kitchen knives, hiding one on my person and clutching the other, just to be safe and prepared. I reached for the phone on the hook and dialed 911. Quiet and mortified, trembling from shock, I began to explain what's happening, William, the address, and who I was. The dispatcher was confused, but she sent out two officers to check it out. When the police arrive, they begin to search the area, I assumed they saw the cellar door open and investigated.
I peek over the edge, down the stairs, silently listen to the cops step into the basement, I didn't know where William was. Officers Nathan Clark and Collin Perch. They were in their late twenties, they were partners. They were just following my footsteps, but William was lurking, and he was very aware of their presence. They both enter the cellar and flick on the switch to discover the bloodied clothes and toys. I see them appalled by the discovery, Officer Perch grabs his radio to call in backup. The lights shut off, and William appears from the dark, swiftly rushing into Perch, stabbing him in the throat with gardening sheers. Only inaudible, helpless gurgles escaped his lips. The remaining officer, Clark, shot rapidly at him. I heard them go off, seventeen shots were fired. He was out. The monster quickly absorbs the bullets with his partner's body. I had to get out of here, I needed to hide. I moved as fast as I could without making a sound. He was out of ammo, the officer flees for his life up the stairs, he quickly hid behind a couch in the pitch black living room, radioing for backup. Catching his breath, he saw me, wielding a knife. I slowly crawled up to him from behind a parallel love seat, cautious of noise. He looked at me, and he showed me the clip is out. I already had known. I liked guns. I read numerous books about war and weaponry throughout the decades. I handed the other knife over, we needed a fighting chance at least. I read his nameplate, I came closer to him, speaking almost too softly to hear I said, "Officer Clark, I'm Connor Jones, I called you. This thing... it eats children. I saw it, you saw it. Please help me kill it, or we're both dead, trust me." I saw him turning pale, but then Clark nods in agreement.
Sweating and scared out of our wits, we both listened to the approaching footsteps. Suddenly we heard a desperate weak voice, "...Clark, it's me, but I'm hurt bad, help, please help me." Clark's eyes lit up, he almost began to speak, I clamped my hand around the officer's mouth at that moment and sternly shook my head, looking him in the eyes, I mouthed the word, "Trap." Officer Clark was enraged and distraught, I watched him mutely inch toward the approaching monster's foot steps, he was wielding the blade tightly in his grasp.
A bare ankle appeared in front of him, in the middle, towards the back and between the bone the tendon, he slammed the knife straight through, right to the other side and out. William screamed in agony, a blood curdling screech. He pounces on Clark, gripping the officer by his throat, pinned him and kneeled on his chest. As he was strangling him, I hurdled up over the furniture and violently rammed the serrated kitchen knife into his back, all the way to the handle, ripping it out, then delivered another disabling jab. No blood escapesd, only a black, tar-like goo. I had gouged open his back, neck, and head, relentlessly I kept stabbing him. I then forcefully shoved him off of Officer Clark, who thrusted his nightstick deep into it's eye socket, assuring his death.
We honestly just stared at each other for a few moments, it felt like hours. We look at one another in disbelief; and now, relief. I started to tear up when the corpse of my once neighbor began fizzing and bubbling. Staring in shock, both gasping, we watched as the monster we had slain dissolved into the maroon shag carpet. Skin, muscle, then bone. All gone.
Back up finally arrived, Clark and I left the house together and physically unharmed. For William, there remained no bones, no hair, no blood, no DNA, not a single trace of anything. Just a sizzling puddle of whatever it once was, which the lab couldn't identify. Results were inconclusive. The clothes and blood in the cellar reacted the same. The evidence was destroyed, sizzling acid that left no explanation, no trace of anyone, gone just like that. Clark and I agreed to keep quiet for the sake of the grieving parents. The police had to say something to the worry-sick parents of the devoured, "missing", children. No one is sure what they came up with, but I'm sure it didn't involve demonic mimes or child cannibalism.
And for me, I never spoke to anyone about it. Why would I? I kept focused on my academics, friends, anything to forget, even to forget temporarily. The nightmares won't stop, but at least one person saw what I had. Even if he was just one person, he had to believe me. That was good enough for me.

> birthday from my Dad, who was a bird watching enthusiast. I didn't care for that though, I just wanted to see what everybody was up to, like any curious teenager with too much time to kill. And life was good until April 15th, 1995. A new neighbor had moved in. The funny thing about it all, is that he was a mime. I'm serious. He wore white face paint which glistened on his skin. Never said a word to anyone at first, just minded his own business. I wasn't sure if it was creepy or hilarious, but regardless, he caught my attention. After he unloaded everything, the truck left, and the sun was setting. I was still as curious as ever. Right then and there, I had decided. William Bell, the new neighbor, was the cure to my boredom and the star of my report. A man who's day job was being a street performing mime. I thought it was perfect. I had to do a report for English, and I was intrigued by William Bell, my newest neighbor and point of interest in the boring suburban purgatory we call, Hillcrest. One of the top rated safest communities in San Diego, California.
I was having fun at first, looking through my bedroom window blinds, documenting his habits and rituals, questioning his motives for moving. Making up stories in my own head. I was excited, allured by the mystery. I began spying on William daily, the bathroom sink, mirror, and kitchen were visible through my bedroom window. Never seeing his face due to the oily white face paint, I needed to know, so I waited for him to remove it. Finally, he washed it off, I saw his reflection in his mirror. He looked rough, he was aged to his mid sixties. Sadly, everything was normal after that night. Just brushing teeth, cleaning, washing dishes, taking out trash, normal human habits.
A week and a half later, I saw him removing his paint again, the usual, but for some reason, I kept watching. Something felt different this time. I ask myself to this very date, "Why didn't I stop?" William wiped his face clean, and he looked half the age he was before. 35 at most. Same height, same facial features. How was this possible? I was shocked. What could possibly, rationally, explain this?
Three days later, I was dozing off on my computer desk when I woke to a bright light flicker on. I quick grabbed my birthday present, staring silently through my blinds. I saw that his garage was open, and the light was beaming from it, he was carrying an absurd amount of toys out of his car, to the garage and into the house. He looked shady, he was moving stealthily, like he was hiding something. I was left confused and curious, just then my mom called for supper.
My parents gawked at me as I inhaled my dinner, I flashed a smile and explained how I was starving, laughing awkwardly. After doing the dishes, I finally retired to my room. Wondering what was going on, I took a quick peek.
"What could go wrong?" I thought to myself. Within seconds, my jaw dropped. Instant irony had sent chills throughout my entire body. William was in the kitchen cutting meat. It was pale, pasty, and seemingly... freckled. It was raw, rubbery, blood stained flesh. I tossed my binoculars onto the floor in horror. I was in denial of course, immediately. But I wanted to know more. Cannibalism seemed too far fetched for the suburbs. There has to be an explanation. These things don't really happen.
One week later, on a late afternoon, William got into his car, and left the house. I saw it as my best chance to snoop. So I snuck under the 6 foot fence dividing our yards, but I wanted to get a closer look, I kept wanting to see more. I needed to make sense of it all. While army crawling on the grass, I latched onto something accidentally, it lit up and I pulled it into sight, a shoe. A child sized shoe. I swear I saw these before. Then it hit me. Sam Perkins; he was no older than 8, but he lived a few houses down. "How did this get here?" I questioned myself, but I was baffled. I looked at the shoe once more, then peering behind it, I saw light reflect off of something. I was squinting, then it came into focus. It was a feint trail, little droplets of blood leading from only half a foot from me, to the cellar door. No sign of any children though. Dropping the shoe, I stood up, darted across his yard, and hopped the fence. I was scared out of my mind, running like the wind, I leapt into my house, slammed the door, ran to my room, and locked myself in it. I'm sure my parents were confused, but they were always too busy with work to notice. So they chalked it up to, "Boys will be boys."
Grabbing my pillow, I began screaming. Muffling my wild yells and sobs. I couldn't catch my breath. I was horrified, I was freaking out. This was not okay.
"What the hell?!" I gasped. I swear my eyes were bugging out of my skull. They were bloodshot from hysterically crying. Why is this happening? Why did I keep prying? What did I just see? I started to connect the raw meat I saw him preparing with the shoe and blood. And I could feel my dinner begin rising up my throat. I was nauseous, stunned, and my mind was seizing up with so many questions, but each one had the same answer, I don't know. I had no clue what to do, what I was doing. I was just me. I can't call the police, it could get worse. Would it? I didn't want to know anymore. I just wanted to play dumb, but I knew I couldn't. I couldn't pretend everything was okay. But here it was, my biggest fear, no one will ever believe me.
I was right, The Perkins' did put out amber alert, the night I found the shoe. Little Sam had been playing in the front yard, last time he was seen. He apparently wandered off, and the mime knew just how to lure him in, he was a clown afterall. All that mattered was that I had proof. Although the shoe was nowhere to be seen; mentally, in my own investigation, I had proof to myself that this was real, and I must take it seriously. I have to be careful, my life is at stake.
I kept watching. I needed to learn as much as I could while I researched my findings. I was putting it all together slowly. The local library had these old books I found on a table in the back, shoved to the side. It was about demons, beasts and monsters through history. I was looking for an ancient evil. It fed on, and used children to preserve it's life force. From what I read, nothing good has ever eaten children, so I was already weary of what I'd find. Then I read a description it. An evil that'd been around for thousands of years. It seemed to have different names in different countries around the world. It's Latin name was, "Puer devourering Corydon," and translated, it came out to, "child devouring clown." The closest English title was as horrific as it was ironic.
A mimic. What scared me was the abilities I found it to posses; it can recreate any voice, they are tricksters, crafty in nature. They hide their old, weathered faces, behind paint and hidden with gloves, until the eat. They thrive by slaying children, and devouring their flesh, restores their youth and vitality. They migrate often, and never settle in, alluding any suspicion. I started to panic, hyperventilate. "Is everything up to me?" Nervously laughing, I shouldn't have said that. Now I knew, it really was.
Two nights later, my parents went out to dinner. After my recent findings, I decided to stay in my bedroom, away from the window. My thoughts were racing, but what could I do? After lying awake in bed for awhile, I decided to take a quick look. I grabbed the binoculars and sat at the desk, slightly cracking the blinds. A coldness held me there, I was unable to move. In the kitchen, William met my eyes, and with a sinister grin, he winked at me. Suddenly, the lights shut off in the kitchen, then living room, then bedroom. I ran to my door, locked it, and jumped in bed. 45 minutes go by, I refused to move.
I hear the front door open and shut swiftly. Then I heard footsteps up the stairs, slow and light shuffling noises until my mother's voice is clearly coming from outside my door, "Connor, we're home, I wanted to talk to you," then the doorknob jiggled. She sounded agitated. "Why did you lock the door sweetie, open it please?" I was, of course, extremely skeptical of that being my mother, especially since they've gone out. It's only been a few hours. Also, I read of the mimic and knew it could just as well be him. I had to think of a plan, a way to know for sure who or what was behind that door. Then I had a brilliant idea, I've been allergic to peanuts since birth. My mom knows I cannot have even the tiniest amount or I break out in hives everywhere, swollen shut throat, the works. I muster up the courage to say, "I'm not feeling well, can you make me a PB&J?" Not knownig any better, he responds with a, "Of course honey, I'll be back in a sec."
I was hoping to god it wouldn't come to this, but it' happening. Immediately knowing it's the mime, I reach for the phone in my room, I can hear nothing, it's dead. I needed to find a working phone. Panicked, I jump out of bed, shoving my feet into my shoes, throwing on a jacket, I leapt out the first story window. Sprinting as fast as I could, I was trying to find anywhere to get help. Evidence. I need evidence though, or it's all pointless and he still wants to kill me. I make a run for his house. I have to find proof and call the police.
As I slinked into the cellar, switching on the light, I see piles of bloodied children's' clothing, toys, and shoes. Terrified, an involuntary yelp of fear escaped my lips. I instantly regretted it. I tried to slow my breathing, but I could hear him outside the cellar door, calling my name in my mom's voice. I had to keep moving through the house or I was next. I reached the top of the basement stairs, entering the kitchen, I needed protection. I looked for a weapon to ultimately kill this monster pursuing me right now. I found two large, sturdy kitchen knives, hiding one on my person and clutching the other, just to be safe and prepared. I reached for the phone on the hook and dialed 911. Quiet and mortified, trembling from shock, I began to explain what's happening, William, the address, and who I was. The dispatcher was confused, but she sent out two officers to check it out. When the police arrive, they begin to search the area, I assumed they saw the cellar door open and investigated.
I peek over the edge, down the stairs, silently listen to the cops step into the basement, I didn't know where William was. Officers Nathan Clark and Collin Perch. They were in their late twenties, they were partners. They were just following my footsteps, but William was lurking, and he was very aware of their presence. They both enter the cellar and flick on the switch to discover the bloodied clothes and toys. I see them appalled by the discovery, Officer Perch grabs his radio to call in backup. The lights shut off, and William appears from the dark, swiftly rushing into Perch, stabbing him in the throat with gardening sheers. Only inaudible, helpless gurgles escaped his lips. The remaining officer, Clark, shot rapidly at him. I heard them go off, seventeen shots were fired. He was out. The monster quickly absorbs the bullets with his partner's body. I had to get out of here, I needed to hide. I moved as fast as I could without making a sound. He was out of ammo, the officer flees for his life up the stairs, he quickly hid behind a couch in the pitch black living room, radioing for backup. Catching his breath, he saw me, wielding a knife. I slowly crawled up to him from behind a parallel love seat, cautious of noise. He looked at me, and he showed me the clip is out. I already had known. I liked guns. I read numerous books about war and weaponry throughout the decades. I handed the other knife over, we needed a fighting chance at least. I read his nameplate, I came closer to him, speaking almost too softly to hear I said, "Officer Clark, I'm Connor Jones, I called you. This thing... it eats children. I saw it, you saw it. Please help me kill it, or we're both dead, trust me." I saw him turning pale, but then Clark nods in agreement.
Sweating and scared out of our wits, we both listened to the approaching footsteps. Suddenly we heard a desperate weak voice, "...Clark, it's me, but I'm hurt bad, help, please help me." Clark's eyes lit up, he almost began to speak, I clamped my hand around the officer's mouth at that moment and sternly shook my head, looking him in the eyes, I mouthed the word, "Trap." Officer Clark was enraged and distraught, I watched him mutely inch toward the approaching monster's foot steps, he was wielding the blade tightly in his grasp.
A bare ankle appeared in front of him, in the middle, towards the back and between the bone the tendon, he slammed the knife straight through, right to the other side and out. William screamed in agony, a blood curdling screech. He pounces on Clark, gripping the officer by his throat, pinned him and kneeled on his chest. As he was strangling him, I hurdled up over the furniture and violently rammed the serrated kitchen knife into his back, all the way to the handle, ripping it out, then delivered another disabling jab. No blood escapesd, only a black, tar-like goo. I had gouged open his back, neck, and head, relentlessly I kept stabbing him. I then forcefully shoved him off of Officer Clark, who thrusted his nightstick deep into it's eye socket, assuring his death.
We honestly just stared at each other for a few moments, it felt like hours. We look at one another in disbelief; and now, relief. I started to tear up when the corpse of my once neighbor began fizzing and bubbling. Staring in shock, both gasping, we watched as the monster we had slain dissolved into the maroon shag carpet. Skin, muscle, then bone. All gone.
Back up finally arrived, Clark and I left the house together and physically unharmed. For William, there remained no bones, no hair, no blood, no DNA, not a single trace of anything. Just a sizzling puddle of whatever it once was, which the lab couldn't identify. Results were inconclusive. The clothes and blood in the cellar reacted the same. The evidence was destroyed, sizzling acid that left no explanation, no trace of anyone, gone just like that. Clark and I agreed to keep quiet for the sake of the grieving parents. The police had to say something to the worry-sick parents of the devoured, "missing", children. No one is sure what they came up with, but I'm sure it didn't involve demonic mimes or child cannibalism.
And for me, I never spoke to anyone about it. Why would I? I kept focused on my academics, friends, anything to forget, even to forget temporarily. The nightmares won't stop, but at least one person saw what I had. Even if he was just one person, he had to believe me. That was good enough for me.