I was walking through the car park when I spotted a little boy crying all by himself, barefoot, and no one seemed to know who he was.
He stood next to a black saloon, sobbing so hard his whole tiny body shook. His feet were bare, his neck red from the sun, and his little fingers clung to the car door handle like he believed it would open if he cried loud enough.
I glanced aroundno one running, no one calling for him.
I crouched down beside him.
“Hey, mate, wheres your mum or dad?”
He cried even harder.
“I want to go back inside!”
“Back inside where?” I asked gently.
He pointed at the car.
“The film! I want to go back to the film!”
I thought maybe he meant the cinema further down in the shopping centre. I tried the doorlocked. Inside, nothing: no car seat, no toys. Just empty.
I picked him up and headed towards the cinema, asking if hed come with anyone. He shook his head slowly.
“My other dad.”
I froze.
“Your other dad?”
He nodded.
“The one who doesnt speak with his mouth.”
Before I could ask more, a security guard rolled up on his buggy. I explained the situation.
We walked around with the boyfood court, play area, security office. Every parent we bumped into said the same thing:
“Sorry, not mine.”
Finally, staff checked the CCTV.
And then things got weird.
No one brought him in.
No one walked in with him.
He just appeared.
One framenothing.
The nextthere he was, barefoot beside the black car.
Then the guard pointed at the screen.
“Wait look at his shadow.”
I leaned in.
The little boys shadow was holding someones hand.
I went cold. On screen, the boy stared at the camera, but his shadow looked alive. Stretched out behind him, way too long for the time of day. Gripping an invisible figures hand.
The guard slowly backed away, pale.
“Glitch, you think?” I whispered, not believing it myself.
He didnt answer.
The boy just watched calmly, like he already knew.
“He came back,” he said simply.
“Who came back, kiddo?”
He looked at me.
“My other dad.”
He reached towards the screen, touching the pixelated face of his shadow.
Then he turned to the security door.
And right then the lights flickered.
For a split second, the aircon cut out, the neon signs buzzed. And in that near-silence came a metallic scrape from the corridor.
The boy smiled.
“He found me.”
The guard and I bolted up.
“Wait, wait! You cant”
But the kid was already walking out, barefoot, calm, like following a thread we couldnt see.
I ran after him, but in the corridor he was gone.
Just the black saloon. Parked in a restricted zone, engine still warm. And this time the door was slightly open.
The guard hung back, too shaken. I stepped closer.
On the passenger seat: one tiny trainer. Just one. Child-sized.
And even weirderthe inside of the window was covered in little handprints. But the car was empty.
I backed away slowly.
The guard called the police. But when they arrived, the car had vanished. No cameras caught it leaving.
The boy was never found.
But sometimes, in certain car parks people swear they hear muffled childlike crying and see a shadow reaching for a smaller one.
