The old man at the bus stop always wore a gray overcoat, even in summer. He sat on the same bench every evening, his hands folded neatly in his lap, eyes fixed on the road as if waiting for something that never came. No one knew his name, and no one ever asked. The other passengers avoided him, not out of fear, but because he seemed to belong to another time, like a ghost from a forgotten story. One day, a young woman named Lila decided to sit beside him. She was a college student, studying folklore, and she had heard the stories about the man. They said he was the last living witness to an event that happened decades ago, something that had never been explained. When she sat down, he didn’t move. His face was pale, almost translucent, and his eyes were dark, like pools of ink. “You’re the one who’s been waiting for years,” she said, breaking the silence. He looked at her, then nodded slowly. “I’ve been waiting for the right person.” Lila felt a chill, but she pressed on. “What are you waiting for?” He leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper. “The boy who disappeared. He was my son.” She frowned. “But that was more than fifty years ago. Why now?” He smiled faintly. “Because the time has come again.” That night, Lila couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about the old man, about the boy who vanished without a trace. She began researching the incident, digging through dusty archives and old newspaper clippings. What she found was unsettling. In 1968, a 12-year-old boy named Daniel Hartley went missing after playing near the old railroad tracks. No body was ever found, and the case was closed due to lack of evidence. But there were strange details—people claiming they saw a shadowy figure near the tracks, and some even swore they heard a child’s laughter echoing through the woods long after the boy was gone. Lila started visiting the area where the boy disappeared. The town was quiet, almost abandoned, with broken streetlights and overgrown paths. As she walked along the railroad, she noticed something odd: a single red balloon tied to a tree, its string frayed and hanging loose. It had been there for years, untouched by wind or rain. She reached out to touch it, but before her fingers could brush the ribbon, a cold breeze swept through the trees, and the balloon floated upward, as if carried by an invisible hand. She gasped, but when she turned around, there was no one behind her. Days passed, and Lila became obsessed. She spoke to the townspeople, and each one had a different version of the story. Some claimed the boy had been taken by a spirit, others said he had been kidnapped by a local cult, and a few even believed he had become part of the land itself, trapped between worlds. One night, she returned to the site, determined to find answers. The moon was full, casting silver light across the tracks. As she stepped onto the gravel, the air grew heavy, and the temperature dropped. She heard a soft sound, like a child humming a lullaby. She followed the sound, heart pounding, until she reached the spot where the balloon had once been. There, in the middle of the path, stood a small figure. It was a boy, no older than ten, wearing faded clothes and holding a red balloon. He looked up at her, his face expressionless. “Are you Daniel?” she whispered. He nodded. “I’ve been looking for you,” she said. He took a step forward, and the ground beneath them trembled. The trees swayed, though there was no wind. The boy opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, a low, echoing hum filled the air, vibrating through her bones. Then, as suddenly as he appeared, he vanished. The balloon floated into the sky, disappearing into the clouds. Lila stumbled back, breathless. She ran home, but when she arrived, the front door was open. Her apartment was empty, as if she had never lived there. The lights flickered, and the walls seemed to pulse with a slow, steady rhythm, like a heartbeat. In the days that followed, Lila tried to return to her normal life, but the world felt different. People she once knew seemed distant, their faces blurred. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed inside her, something she couldn’t explain. One morning, she found a red balloon tied to her window, just like the one she had seen in the woods. She reached for it, but as her fingers touched the ribbon, she heard a child’s laugh—soft, familiar, and far away. And then, everything went black. When she woke up, she was back at the bus stop, sitting beside the old man. He was still there, his eyes fixed on the road. She looked down at her hands and saw a small red balloon in her grip. He smiled. “You’re finally ready.”