Mike picked up a photograph from his memory box. Summer of ‘88 was written on the back, in big swirly letters (his mothers handwriting). In the photograph, his family was smiling. He was smiling. And yet, as he focused more, his eyes looked dead, as if the joy had been sucked out of them, and it had taken every painstaking ounce of energy still left in his soul to smile for that photo.

He thought back to that day. It had been unusually foggy for that time of year, although still warm. He woke with a sense of foreboding, like something bad was going to happen. It was a feeling in the air, despite it being the best day of the entire year for their family: their annual picnic trip.

He climbed into the car, a red Oldsmobile Cutlass that his father had been given from his place of work. His sister clambered in behind him with a frisbee in tow.

As they neared their regular picnic spot, Mike noted how quiet it seemed. The year prior, they had been playing tag and running riot with the local kids. Now it all seemed eerily quiet, almost too quiet, like all the children had been taken by some hidden entity that Mike couldn’t see.

They set up their picnic blanket, as per usual, under the big oak tree. It was a good tree, sturdy and defiant against the engravings that had been drawn upon its flesh over the many years of its life.

“Go and play while we set up the food,” his mother had said, pulling out a sandwich from the picnic basket and placing it on the blanket.

Mike looked around. The fog was clearing now, and he could see the park nearby. It was empty, save for two little girls on a swing set. The smaller of the two sat squarely on the swing, the other pushing her.

All of a sudden, the girls looked at him. Their eyes seemed to be dark, like they held the night and all the mysteries of the universe in them.

Mike sheepishly looked away, and decided to play with his sister for a while. They played with the frisbee, throwing it back and forth. Mike tried to enjoy it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of the girls staring into his soul.

Their mother called them over. They took their usual family photo. Mike smiled for the camera, but, looking behind it, he noticed that the girls had gone. He was sure just a moment ago they had been there. He could feel them boring their eyes into his head. But they weren’t there. Perhaps they never were.

They are their food and went home shortly after. It was the last picnic trip their family ever took. Mike forever wondered why. He supposed those mysteries would remain unanswered.