The backyard was calm in that quiet, end-of-day way that only ever seemed to exist at Mom and Dad’s place. The grass was cut short and even, still holding the heat of the sun, and the kids were scattered across it, running, laughing, yelling nonsense that only made sense to them. Somewhere around the side of the house, a sprinkler ticked softly, and the smell of charcoal and meat hung thick in the air, comforting and familiar.

  I stood behind the grill with a cold Corona in my hand, just watching for a minute. Dad was beside me, flipping burgers like he’d done a thousand times before, relaxed and unhurried. He had his own Corona sitting on the little side shelf of the grill, sweating in the heat. Neither of us said much. We didn’t need to. It was one of those rare moments where everything felt settled.

  The back door creaked open behind us, slow and careless, and someone stepped out to join us. They also let Bubba out.

  Before I could even turn around to see who it was, a black-and-brown wiener-dog-shaped missile launched off the back deck. Bubba hit the ground running and somehow managed to get a solid ten feet of air like he was defying physics, legs tucked in, ears flapping, all majestic and shit. The moment his paws touched grass, he started barking; loud, sharp, and relentless.

  Bubba had always done that. The second he was free, he became a menace to the area.

  He stuttered to a stop at the chain-link fence across the street separating the neighbor's front yard from the street and immediately started raising absolute hell. The neighbors had two massive white dogs, bigger than labs, fluffy enough to look like walking clouds. They were huge in comparison to the little wiener dog, but Bubba didn’t give a damn. He ran right up to the fence, nose pressed through the chain-link, barking straight into their faces like he was hurling every insult he knew.

  Behind that fence, Bubba was invincible; six pounds of furry shaped like a loaf of bread. As long as that chain link stood between them, he might as well have been Superman.

  “Bubba!” Dad yelled across the way at the dog. “Get your ass back over here!” He flipped another patty. Then he huffed more to himself, “Stupid fucking dog…”

  I laughed and shook my head, watching him puff his chest out as he returned like he owned the entire block. That’s when a memory surfaced.

  One time, Bubba did this exact same thing. Same barking, same posturing, only that time, when he reached the fence, one of the big dogs wasn’t behind it. He was around the corner, looking like it was still in the fence from Bubba’s point of view. It was not. When the dog rounded the corner, Bubba’s badass attitude turned from “Fuck you-barking” into “Please don’t kill me-yelping.” Then he tore ass across the street like he was running for his life.

  I chuckled quietly at the memory.

  “Still not giving up that fight, huh?” Vicky asked as she walked up to an open seat near Dad. She, too, was laughing at Bubba.

  “No, still just as annoying as he’s always been,” Dad said with a tired expression.

  When Bubba scampered back up into the yard from the neighbors', all nonchalant, and he got kind of close to us, Dad stomped the ground in his direction as he yelled through gritted teeth.

  “Getcho’ ass back inside!”

  Bubba flinched the instant Dad’s foot stomped the ground, his badassery evaporating in a heartbeat. He spun on a dime and tore around toward the side of the house, legs moving faster than his body had any right to allow. He disappeared through the doggy door on the other side as he’d never been there at all.

  Vicky and I both lost it; real laughter, the kind that sneaks up on you and catches you off guard. Dad shook his head, that familiar half-smile tugging at his mouth. He always had a strange relationship with the pets; equal parts affection and barely restrained frustration.

  Watching Dad’s frustration sparked an old memory, clear as day.

  Sam and I were kids, standing in the yard while Dad absolutely lost his shit on Roscoe, the old black lab we had back then. Roscoe had “somehow” gotten into Dad’s boat and torn apart a couple of old life jackets, scattering chunks of white foam all over the backyard like it had snowed synthetic, floaty material. Dad came around the corner, took one look at the mess, and snapped.

  He chased Roscoe down, grabbed a fistful of that foam, and tried to shove it into the dog’s mouth while Roscoe struggled to get free. When the dog finally bolted, Dad shouted after him, “I thought you wanted to eat it, you little shit!”

  Sam and I had laughed so hard it hurt. Then we looked at each other, wide-eyed, and silently agreed to go back inside. We were pretty sure we were the ones who’d left those life jackets out in the first place… fucking around in his boat like we weren’t supposed to. Dad definitely didn’t need to know that.

  I laughed again at the memory, shaking my head. The good ones always came in waves like that, uninvited but welcome.

  Vicky smiled softly at Dad and me and took a sip of her Corona. She hadn’t liked them at first, back when she started coming around, but she’d grown into it over time. Sam used to tease her about that; said it was an acquired taste.

  After that, none of us talked for a while. Dad stood at the grill, flipping burgers slowly. Vicky leaned back in her lawn chair beside me. I rested my arms on the edge of the chair I settled into, beer bottle dangling loosely from my hand. The kids wrestled and ran through the grass, laughter drifting across the yard. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was… comforting. We didn’t have to say his name. We were all thinking it anyway.

  Watching the kids felt like watching an old home movie; new faces, but the same energy. The same kind of innocent joy Sam and I used to have when we were little. Everything had a way of circling back to him when we were all together. Some days it was easier than others to deal with. Some days, the weight of unanswered questions pressed down hard enough to make breathing feel like work.

  I knew Dad and Mom still carried a particular fear… the idea that Sam might still be alive somewhere, hurt, trapped, calling out while no one was listening. They never said it outright to me, probably thinking I couldn’t understand. But I did.

  They saw him as their child, whom they couldn’t save. I saw it as my other half… something closer than just a brother. Like one person split down the middle… and one side just… gone.

  The calm didn’t last forever. Out of nowhere, Vicky broke the quiet. Her voice was soft, careful.

  “Are y’all busy this weekend?”

  I glanced over at her and shook my head. Dad kept working the grill, flipping burgers, the soft hiss of grease filling the space between us. After a second, he looked up, thinking.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “I’m on call at the water office, but something will have to break for me to go in.”

  Vicky nodded, her fingers tightening slightly around the neck of her bottle. She stared out at the yard for a moment, watching the kids run, then took a breath as she ran her free hand through her blonde ponytail.

  “Well… it’s getting close to that time again,” she said quietly. “And I wanted to do something a little different this year. If y’all were open to it…”

  The way she said it, slow, measured… it made my chest tighten.

  “I’ve been thinking about maybe having a kind of… get-together. More like a ceremony,” Vicky hesitated, searching for the right words. “I want to do it in the backyard. At the house… where he… where he went missing.”

  The air shifted. Even the kids seemed quieter somehow.

  “It took me a long time to even consider something like this,” she continued. “So, I wasn’t sure if you or Tina would be willing to go there. I didn’t want to push if it was too much.”

  Dad nodded slowly, eyes still locked on the grill. I could see his jaw tighten, the muscles working as he thought. It wasn’t the idea that troubled him… it was Mom. Opening old wounds that had taken years just to scar over.

  We’d all been in that backyard after it happened. Days spent combing through the woods with friends, family, and neighbors. Hundreds upon hundreds of footsteps, miles of searching, and nothing to show for it. Going back there now would mean reopening everything… reliving those old memories.

  “I think…” Dad started, then paused. He flipped another burger, then finally looked up. “I think that’s a good idea.”

  Vicky lifted her blue eyes to him. I looked up slightly, surprised by his words.

  “It’s been a while,” he said. “And I think we all need something like closure. Tina and I… we’ve talked about it. About how we can’t keep living like this… Sam wouldn’t have wanted us to dwell. I know he’d want us to live, accepting that we can’t change what happened… that he’s truly gone.” His voice caught just slightly. “We’ve all been holding onto hope, I think. But maybe it’s time for something more real. Something that lets us say goodbye.” He hesitated. “Not like the memorial we did back then, when the cops stopped searching, said he had to be dead with how much of his blood they found behind the house. But… a real one. Is that what you’re talking about?”

  Vicky nodded, her eyes glassy, lips pressed together to keep them from trembling.

  “I’ll talk to her tonight,” Dad said gently. “After everyone leaves. I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

  Vicky gave him a small, grateful smile, then turned to me.

  “What about you?” she asked softly.

  I didn’t answer right away.

  I stared out at the yard, at the kids tumbling through the grass, at the way the sunlight caught in their hair. I knew they needed this. I knew Dad and Mom needed it. I knew Vicky needed it most of all. But something in me still refused to let go.

  There was a quiet voice deep inside that whispered to keep looking, to stay alert and open for a possibility. It was as if I closed that door, something important would be lost forever.

  They needed to move forward. I could do that for them. But it wouldn’t be the end for me.

  “We’ll be there,” I said finally, nodding like I was in complete agreement.

  Vicky let out a slow breath she’d clearly been holding. Dad glanced at me, a mix of gratitude and sadness in his eyes.

  And in that moment, I felt the shape of the coming weekend settle heavily onto my shoulders. Fearing the beginning of a goodbye I wasn’t ready to say.

  The following week slipped by the way the last few years had… quiet, blurry, and heavier than it looked from the outside. Work moved in fast-forward, each day ghosting past while my mind stayed fixed on the weekend ahead. That had become my normal since Sam disappeared: my body showing up where it was supposed to be, my head stuck somewhere else entirely. If I hadn’t been working for Ben’s family, I probably would’ve been fired a dozen times over by now. I ran on autopilot, did what was asked of me, and tried not to look as tired as I felt. Everyone noticed anyway. I think Ben had quietly told people to give me some slack, especially with what was coming up. Around town, everyone knew my family’s story.

  People were kind, at least to my face. They always were at first. In the beginning, grief buys you patience, sympathy, and understanding. But time keeps moving for everyone else, even when it stops for you. Eventually, people get tired of tiptoeing. They expect you to be better because enough time has passed for them. They don’t mean to be cruel; they just don’t know what it’s like to lose someone without answers. We don’t get closure. We don’t get to move on cleanly or pretend someone never existed. We carry them forward whether we want to or not. It took me years to learn how to look fine, to smile at the right times, to laugh when I was supposed to, to seem normal enough that people wouldn’t feel uncomfortable around me.

  Saturday came, and with it the weight I’d been pushing down all week. We were all meeting at Vicky and Sam’s house, though I couldn’t bring myself to call it anything but Vicky’s now. It sure as hell wasn’t Vicky and Ben’s, and it never would be. As much as Ben and I had reconnected, that place belonged to her and to Sam’s memory. Mom and Dad had helped them get the house when they married young, just like Shelly and I had. They’d paid for most of it themselves, acting as landlords in name only, charging rent with the intention of handing the whole thing over once it was paid back. That plan never changed, except now it was just Vicky. Part of me liked that, made me feel a little better that she still had the house and every intention of paying Mom and Dad back. Not for the money or anything, but just that it still meant something to her, even after all this time. Someone else could have just moved away from the bad memories. Vicky didn’t.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  We all knew Ben wasn’t the same guy he used to be. The womanizer, the loudmouth, the guy who never took anything seriously. That version of him had been worn down by time and circumstance. He’d shown up for Vicky in ways no one else really could, stuck around when things were ugly and quiet and heavy. I could admit that much. But even so, he was still just a friend of the family in my mind. That house would never be his. It was Vicky’s… always had been, always would be. The only way I could ever see him having any real claim to it was if they got married, and I didn’t think that was going to happen.

  I knew he’d asked her at least twice. She’d said no both times. He tried to play it off, act like it was no big deal, but Vicky told me the truth off to the side. She wanted me to hear it from her, not through word of mouth. She didn’t want me to think she was erasing Sam and moving on like he hadn’t mattered.

  She was with Ben in every practical sense of the word. They dated. They lived together. I already knew they’d been sleeping together for a long time. That part had eaten at me in the beginning more than I wanted to admit. Shelly was the one who helped me see past it. After about a year alone, anyone would want connection, comfort… something to hold on to. If Shelly ever went missing the way Sam did, I didn’t know that I’d survive it alone either. I knew I couldn’t just move on, and I’d probably feel extremely guilty… but eventually I would want to just… be with someone. So I couldn’t fault Vicky for being with Ben. Still, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t ease something inside me knowing she’d turned down his proposals. It felt like a line she refused to cross.

  At the same time, I had to admit… reluctantly, that I respected Ben more than I used to. He hadn’t walked away after being told no, not once… but twice. That said something about who he was now. He wasn’t the same young punk I grew up with. Grief had a way of forcing people to grow up, whether they wanted to or not, and Ben had grown in his own quiet, stubborn way. He cared about Vicky… really cared. Hell, you don’t stick around after two rejected marriage proposals unless you do.

  We didn’t do a cookout that night. Instead, Vicky made a big dinner for everyone before the ceremony. She pulled out all the nice stuff: the real plates, actual silverware, wine glasses instead of plastic cups. The kind of things you save for holidays or company, you don’t want to disappoint. We ate early, and the food was damn good, the kind of meal that made the house feel full and warm again, even if only for a little while. Afterward, we drifted out into the backyard before the sun had fully set, drinks in hand, talking about nothing and everything as the light slowly sank behind the tree line.

  Mom and Dad seemed happy, but sad at the same time. My sisters seemed good, but both Mitch and Jacob stayed close to them, as if they needed support at any moment. Shelly was quiet in her own way, but was helping Vicky with things as she was preparing something.

  All the kids stayed inside. Both my sisters had two each, only one boy among them: Mira, Sophie, Gretta, and Gage. Shelly and I had two as well, both boys: Rob and Todd. And then there was Caydee. Sam’s daughter. The youngest of the bunch, barely five years old now and going to start school next year. It hit me how much time had passed, how quietly it had slipped away. She was so much older than she should’ve been in my memories. It felt like yesterday I’d been sitting in that hospital room where Sam should’ve been, watching Vicky give birth without him there. The older kids, Mira and Gretta, handled babysitting while we were outside, Disney movies playing back-to-back, laughter drifting faintly through the house. Life was going on in the background, even as we stood on the edge of something we’d been avoiding for years. A true goodbye.

  Once the sun had fully set, the backyard settled into a calm, almost surreal quiet. The floodlights along the back of Vicky’s house cast long shadows over the grass, keeping the darkness at bay, while the small bonfire flickered and cracked, sending warm orange sparks into the cool evening air. The laughter had died down a while ago, leaving only the faint hum of cicadas and the occasional rustle of leaves. Everyone slowly gathered around the fire, moving with a mix of anticipation and hesitation, as though approaching something sacred.

  Vicky stepped forward, positioning herself so she could see each of us without anyone behind her. The firelight danced across her face, highlighting the tension and emotion she was trying to hold back.

  “Thank you all for coming out here tonight,” she began, voice tight but steady. “I truly am grateful for each and every one of you, especially after these last five years.”

  Her words hit like a quiet wave. I could see my sisters clenching their jaws, Mom swallowing hard, the muscles in her neck tight with restraint. It was the same with Dad, though he tried to hide it behind a practiced calm. The way grief could rise up so suddenly, even after half a decade, was jarring.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about this… about how we never really had a funeral for Sam. Not really,” Vicky continued, shaking her head as if to dislodge the memories that had haunted her for years. “We’ve all been just… waiting for something to happen… for the police to give us an answer other than what they told us backthen, something definitive.” She paused, letting the silence linger before adding, “For me… I’m starting to realize that if I don’t move forward, I’m going to drag down Caydee as she grows up, and I don’t want her to lose anything more than she already has.”

  She turned around something that had been hidden from view: a large board covered in pictures, letters, and small trinkets, each piece a fragment of Sam. Seeing it all in one place, so carefully preserved, made my chest tighten. Vicky’s voice wavered slightly, but she pressed on.

  “It’s kind of… eighth-grade sentimental, I know, but I went through everything I still had left of him, and I wanted to put together a memory board… for Caydee, and for me. This is everything I couldn’t get rid of. Everything else I’ve boxed up… and I think I need to donate it or give it away to you guys, because every time I look at it… everything comes back, all at once.”

  “You want to give away everything?” I asked, my voice cracking slightly despite my effort to stay composed.

  Vicky nodded, a steadying determination in her eyes. “I do. But I’m not getting rid of everything. Some things… some things I just can’t let go of. Not yet, maybe not ever. But this…” She gestured toward the board, “I want this to be the start of something. I’m giving it to you all. If you have pictures, letters, or anything you want to add, we can create a memorial. Something out here, outside, that can survive the weather, the wind… everything. But that’s later. For now, this is just the start.”

  I turned slightly and caught Mom rising from her chair, tears glinting in the firelight, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s a very good idea, Vicky. I think it will be good for all of us.”

  Everyone offered their quiet approval, though I could see the hesitation in their expressions. This wasn’t reluctance at her idea; it was the invisible weight of acceptance settling over them. The reality that Sam was gone, that he wasn’t coming back, was a final truth they were trying to meet head-on. We couldn’t believe it when they said too much of his blood was back here, where we all now stood, and trailing out into the depths of the dark woods. But now… it was a truth that we couldn’t look away from. They couldn’t… I was still staring at the darkness of those same trees… looking for a secret… holding out hope.

  Dad was the last to approach the board. He crouched slightly, running his hands over the edges as if measuring them. “We could build a box for this,” he said quietly. “Maybe some kind of stand to keep it off the ground. Something weatherproof… glass on top, wood treated for rain… we could protect it, make it last.”

  Vicky nodded, taking it all in, her tears now silent but unrelenting. I stayed on the fringe, watching them, feeling every moment like a knife in my chest. Everyone else was moving toward closure, toward something final.

  And me? I was still standing in the firelight, tethered to a half-life of hope and fear, unwilling to let go, unable to accept the end. Five years had passed, but in me, nothing had changed. Sam’s absence still burned raw and immediate. And even as everyone else took tentative steps forward, I remained frozen, staring into the flames one minute, and the darkness of the woods the next… waiting for something… anything.

  Vicky glanced over at me during the mixed conversations, realizing I hadn’t spoken much yet. She knew I’d be one of the last to release my grip on the past, holding onto Sam in ways no one else could. I gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod. I was happy for her… for everyone… that they were finally letting go of some of the grief that had hung over us for nearly five years. I truly was.

  But inside, I felt the weight pressing just as heavily as it had on that first night. Even if I told them I was moving forward, even if I contributed to the memorial and smiled at their efforts, nothing could erase the gnawing fear that he was still out there somewhere… and I couldn’t forget, especially since everyone else was moving forward. I’d keep the watch…

  As the night wound down, everyone began gathering up their kids. Half of them had passed out in the living room, eyes glued to cartoons, oblivious to the sharp emotions lingering outside. Sarah and Sidney coordinated with their husbands to round up their four children, while Shelly and I decided to leave our boys with Vicky. Rob, Todd, and Caydee had formed a bond I couldn’t explain; part innate, part something deeper tied to Sam’s memory and the connection twins share… who knows. But whatever it was… it was there. Whatever the reason, I liked it. I liked that we could keep this little family of ours close, honoring Sam’s memory in the way we all still lived. It was like he affected things… even still.

  Vicky and Shelly hugged goodbye, quietly arranging a time to pick up the kids tomorrow. I sat in the truck, letting the warmth of the engine and the night settle over me, trying to enjoy the calm after the emotional storm. But calm never lasted long with me.

  My phone buzzed on the console beside me. I glanced down and saw Trevor’s name flashing on the screen. He was one of the guys on an excavation crew for Ben’s company. It was late, and I frowned. I knew they kept running even into the night at times, Trevor rarely called this late unless something was off.

  I picked up quickly. “Yo, Trevor. What’s going on?”

  “Hey, Seth… uh… something came up here,” his voice was tight, uneasy, even a little frantic. “You might want to come take a look.”

  “At this hour? What are you guys doing?” I asked, trying to mask the unease creeping into my chest.

  “We’re digging the west side of that new property. Had to go deeper in one area because the elevation is higher on the east. We… we hit a void.”

  “A void?” I asked slowly, my stomach tightening.

  “Yeah… open space. Excavator hit it, started sliding in. We stopped it in time, but… somebody’s got to check it out. It’s… it’s serious. Could change the whole process. We can’t dig anymore without risking the guys or the equipment.”

  I let out a low, frustrated sigh. “Alright. I’ll get there. Let me drop Shelly off first.”

  “Sounds good… just… stay far from the excavator. Not sure how far this thing goes, we don’t want to risk it caving in if it’s a big area we’re driving equipment over. Whatever’s in there smells like shit, man,” Trevor said, his voice clipped. Then, there was a thud, like something plastic hit the ground, followed by a clatter.

  “Trevor?” I said, my tone sharper now, heart starting to race, but I didn’t know why.

  The line was filled with murmurs at first, indistinct shuffling, heavy breathing. Then there were noises. Strange noises I couldn’t place came through the speaker, mixed in with the growing roar of the men's voices. It was weird, warbly noises I couldn’t place.

  Then came a voice I couldn’t place over the chaos. It sounded scared, “What the fuck is…”

  And then… silence.

  The call abruptly ended. I stared at the phone, the timer flashing, the quiet hum of the truck suddenly deafening. The night that had been filled with emotion and remembrance felt… different now. Something cold and sharp had seeped in, cutting through the calm like a whisper in the dark.

  I clenched the wheel, stomach tight, and listened. For a moment, I thought I heard movement outside the truck, but it was just the wind… or maybe something else. I didn’t know anymore. All I knew was that whatever Trevor had stumbled onto, it wasn’t just another normal construction problem.

  Ben had made his way to the front door and was stepping out to say goodbye. I leaned out the window of the driver’s side door and yelled over to them.

  “Hey, something’s going on with the excavation crew,” I called after him, loud enough for Shelly and Vicky to hear. “They said they hit some kind of void… some empty space. I’m about to head out there and see what’s going on.”

  “I can go with you,” Ben said, stepping out from the house. “Let Shelly stay here. You can pick her up after.”

  I glanced at my wife. She gave a small nod, stepping back into the house and waving me on. She knew these things cropped up every now and then, and we’d have to get things sorted so we wouldn’t fall off schedule.

  Ben hopped into the truck, and without another word, we were off.

  The moment we got out of the truck, the smell hit us. It was pungent, almost corrosive, a mix of decayed flesh, damp soil, and the sharp metallic tang of blood. It burned at the back of my throat, clawed at my nose, and made my stomach twist. I couldn’t place it against anything normal. The closest I could think of was roadkill left out in the Texas sun for a couple of days, mixed with that musky smell of raw earth dug fresh from the ground.

  We doubled back to grab something to cover our mouths and noses… bandanas, anything, but even with fabric pressed over our faces, it seeped through, invasive and thick.

  The construction site was eerily quiet. The trucks were scattered across the rough-cut dirt, equipment left mid-task as though the crews had vanished into thin air. Not a single human figure moved. Trevor had called me frantic earlier, but now it was just me, Ben, and the oppressive silence that covered the whole area. Nothing moved.

  The floodlights from the portable generators cut sharp shadows across the site, but they didn’t touch the entire area. There were pockets of darkness that seemed to absorb the weak light, and the closer we moved toward the excavation zone, the colder the air felt.

  Then we saw it: the excavator parked awkwardly, just feet from a jagged, gaping hole in the earth. The opening was pure darkness, like the soil itself had been hollowed out to swallow everything. The foul stench was worse here, almost unbearable, and as we crept closer, my stomach turned violently. Blood… everywhere.

  It wasn’t a little smear or a trickle… it was a river. Dark, slick, glistening in the harsh light of the generator lights, and smeared in every direction from the hole. Clumps of what looked like bloody meat were smeared across the dirt, splattered on nearby rocks, staining the tires of the excavator. It looked as if the hole itself had regurgitated it… or worse… like something, or someone, had been torn apart… and dragged in.

  The silence pressed against us, heavy, suffocating. My teeth ached against each other; my legs felt like lead. I couldn’t speak, and neither could Ben. For a long moment, we just stood there, frozen in disbelief, in a scene that belonged in nightmares rather than real life.

  Finally, Ben pulled out his phone, his hands trembling. “We… we gotta call the cops,” he said, his voice low but urgent. He fumbled for the numbers and hit the dial, his fingers shaking visibly.

  I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the hole. Shadows pooled in the depths, swallowing any sense of dimension, and at the edge of the darkness, I could have sworn I saw something… a single work boot, half-submerged in the blackness, laced in blood.

  The smell was overpowering now, burning my lungs with every shallow breath. And my mind, the one I tried to keep clear for everyone else, immediately went to Sam. My twin brother. What if… whatever got him… was in that hole?

  Ben’s frantic voice cut through the fog of my thoughts as he spoke to the 911 operator, describing what we were seeing, trying to remain composed. I couldn’t focus on the words. All I could see, all I could smell, all I could feel was that dark, bloody hole, and the horrifying possibility that all of our guys were beneath the earth… down in that hole… dead. Then I thought something even worse…

  What if Sam was done there… as a rotting corpse…