"The stranger in yellow hoodie" - by Victoria Isaiah

Everyone in the neighborhood noticed him, but no one knew his name. He sat on the same bench every evening at 6 PM — hoodie up, head down, never speaking a word. Some said he was hiding. Others thought he was watching. Then one day, he wasn't there. The next morning, posters of a missing girl filled the streets — same time, same place she vanished. And suddenly, everyone realized they had been seeing him… but never really looking. The posters showed a bright-eyed teenage girl named Amaka. Last seen 6:05 PM, near the park — right where the man in the yellow hoodie always sat. Whispers turned into panic. Mothers called their daughters indoors early. Someone finally reported the man. But when the police checked the CCTV from a nearby store… they froze. The footage didn’t just show the girl walking past the bench. It showed her talking to him. Smiling. Handing him something small. And then—gone. The stranger hadn’t just disappeared… he’d vanished with her. The next night, the bench was empty again. Except this time, lying right on the seat, was a photo of Amaka… and written on the back: “One more, then I’m done.” The handwriting was rough, jagged — almost rushed. Investigators dusted the photo for prints. Nothing. Not a single smudge. The neighborhood plunged into fear. No kids outside. Lights stayed on all night. People began locking their doors during the day. Three nights later, he returned. 6 PM. Same bench. Same yellow hoodie. But this time, someone was watching. Detective Amina had been undercover for two days. She watched him from a car parked across the street. He didn’t move. Just sat, hood up, fingers tapping something in his pocket. Then, at exactly 6:08 PM, a second figure approached — a young boy, alone. Amina’s hand shot to her radio. “He’s moving. I repeat — contact has arrived.” But before backup arrived, the boy handed the man a folded note… and walked away unharmed. When the team swarmed in, the man was gone — again. Left behind this time? A phone.Unlocked. One message on the screen: “You're too late. She asked me to find the others.” Inside the phone was no contact list, no photos, no apps — just one folder named “Voices.” Detective Amina tapped it open. Dozens of audio files. Each one named with a first name and a date. She clicked the first: "My name is Ifeoma. If anyone hears this... I'm still alive. He said we were special. He said the world forgot us." One by one, the recordings painted a disturbing pattern — children and teens, all missing, all seemingly lured by the man in the yellow hoodie. But they didn’t sound scared. They sounded... convinced. As if they chose to go. The last file was new. Dated just hours earlier. Amaka’s voice."Don’t follow him. Not everyone will understand, but he’s saving us. From what’s coming." Detective Amina’s blood ran cold. Saving them? From what? That night, another note appeared under her door. No one saw who left it. Just five words, scrawled in that same jagged handwriting: “You’re looking in the wrong place.” The note haunted Amina. “You’re looking in the wrong place.” What place? She replayed every step, every clue. The bench. The kids. The recordings. The phone. And then it clicked. The audio files. She had been *listening* — but not *hearing*. Amina put on noise-cancelling headphones, maxed the volume, and filtered the background noise in Amaka’s voice recording. Under the words, there was a faint hum, almost like machinery… and a chime. Not just any chime — the kind heard in the old train station that had been shut down for years after a fire. That station was abandoned. No power. No tracks. No reason for any child to be near it.Unless... She called for backup. But by the time they arrived at the station, it was nearly midnight. The building was dark, quiet — too quiet. Just as they were about to turn back, one officer noticed something odd: the smell of candle wax. In a forgotten storage room, behind a rusted door, they found drawings on the walls, strange symbols, maps, and more photos of missing children — but with dates marked in the future. And in the center of the room, freshly burned into the floor: “The next will come willing.” And below it, scratched into metal: “8:08 PM. 7 days.” They had one week.To stop whatever was coming… or lose another. Detective Amina stared at the message on the floor: “8:08 PM. 7 days.” They had less than a week. She moved fast. The team dug into every missing child case, every odd sighting near the abandoned station. They pieced together something chilling — all the kids who disappeared were from broken homes or had histories of abuse, neglect, or being overlooked. To the world, they were "lost causes." But to him, they were chosen. Was he a criminal? Or someone with a twisted idea of salvation?Then Day 6 came.Amina couldn’t sleep. That night, she received a voice message from an unknown number. It was a child whispering: "He's not taking us. We're following. The world never saw us… but he did." Then silence. Followed by another voice — the man’s: "This is the last one. After her, it ends." Attached was a live GPS ping. Amina traced it. It led back to the train station. But this time… the doors were open. Inside, there were lights — dim, flickering, powered by A generator. And candles lit a path to the old ticket room. Amina moved in carefully, heart pounding. There, sitting on a crate, was Amaka Alive.Next to her — the man in the yellow hoodie. He didn’t run. He looked up at Amina calmly and said: "I told you. You're looking in the wrong place. It's not about me. It's about them." Behind him, a hidden door opened — inside were twelve children, quiet but unharmed. Each stepped out slowly, blinking at the light, clutching notebooks, drawings… journals. They had been writing their stories. The man stood up and said, "The world forgot them. I didn’t. I gave them something the world never did — attention." Amina raised her weapon. "You kidnapped them."He shook his head. "They followed. I just lit the path." Suddenly, Amaka stepped forward. "He saved us. Not from danger… from being invisible." The case rocked the country. Headlines screamed “Serial Abductor” — others called him a “Savior.” But there was no evidence of harm. The children were healthy, protected, and wanted to stay with him. Legally, it was a gray area. Emotionally, it was a storm.The man was arrested… but wouldn’t speak again.In his cell, he scratched five words into the wall before trial: “Another watcher will rise soon.”Then one morning, he was gone.Cell locked. No trace.

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