It started minor, with the woman who always sat at the park feeding the birds. One day she was there, and I waved to her like normal, then the next she was gone. I noticed because she had been there every day while I walked from work, but didn’t think much of it since she was probably just late. Not a big deal. Then, the next day after noticing her usual spot empty, again, I got to the cafe where I worked only to find that the other waitress who worked with me, named Sarah, hadn’t showed up so I would be working alone. My boss grumbled about how Sarah hadn’t even given him a call to let him know, but I couldn’t help feeling that something was wrong. Over the next couple of weeks neither Sarah or the woman at the park had reappeared. More and more people seemed to drop the face of the earth. Regulars who always came into the restaurant, familiar faces at the grocery store, and even fellow volunteers at the animal shelter all vanished. I finally asked my husband if he had noticed anyone going missing lately, but he only laughed. “You, dear, are the only person who would notice that a lady at the park wasn’t where she was supposed to be. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” I wasn’t so sure. The next morning on my way to work, I saw a frantic man approaching everyone on the sidewalk with fliers. All of them quickly waved him off. Finally, he reached me. “Excuse me,” he said, “I really don’t mean to take up any of your time but I was wondering if you had seen this woman?” I took the paper he was offering me. There was a picture of a young woman with a description of her and her clothing last time she was seen. “I’m sorry,” I replied, numb, “I haven’t. Who is she?” “My sister.” He seemed crestfallen. “She’s been missing for about a week.” “Have you spoken with the police?” I asked. He seemed like he was about to say something, but changed his mind. “Please, just give me a call if you learn anything.” He charged past me to speak with the next bystander. I shook my head before continuing with my day. When I got home, my list of strange coincidences turned into a nightmare. My husband was always home first. Always. But when I got home that night, he wasn’t there. I tried calling him, but he didn’t answer. After an hour of losing my mind, I finally rushed to the police station and begged the woman at the front desk to see someone. Half an hour later, I was sitting across a table from a detective with a kind smile on his face. “Hello,” he said, “can you tell me what is going on?” “I think my husband is missing.” I told him everything. “Alright,” he said, “it hasn’t been long since you last saw him so there isn’t that much I can do. But, how about this, I’ll run his name and description through the system and see if I can find anything.” A while later, he returned with a confused look on his face. “What’s wrong?” I asked, afraid of what he had found. “Ma’am, I’m afraid the name and social security number you gave me do not exist, so I’m not sure what you are trying to do here.” “What are you talking about?” I demanded. “Whoever you are looking for, doesn’t exist.” After being firmly warned about filing false reports, I was shown out of the station. Something was wrong here. There was only one other person who seemed to notice it. The phone only rang twice before he answered. “Hi, listen, I talked to you earlier about your sister.” “Have you seen her?” He cried. “No, but I think whatever happened to her, happened to my husband. When can we meet?”