YOUR CHILD IS MISSING.
YOUR CHILD IS MISSING, PRESUMED DEAD.
YOUR CHILD IS MISSING AND YOU DO NOT KNOW WHERE TO FIND HIM.
THIS IS NOT THE PLACE TO FIND HIM.
YOU KNOW FULL WELL THAT THIS IS NOT YOUR HOME.
BUT YOU ARE HERE NONETHELESS.
SO WELCOME TO MAHOGANY.
TAKE CARE.

Oh! You’re the new couple, just come into town!

Sorry to stare. I know it’s rude. Ma says I got a bad habit of staring, especially at odd folk.

And you two are the oddest folk I’ve ever seen. Mister, do you know that your eyes have got great big bags underneath them like Santa’s sack? And ma’am, why is your face so red? Have you been crying? Has something made you sad?

Oh. I’m being rude again, aren’t I?

Gosh, I’m sorry.

I’m Susan, but everyone calls me Young Susan. When I was born, you see, there was already a Susan here in Mahogany and she’s quite well known. She’s old, way older than me, and everyone says she’s been here since before we came to the shore. She’s older than the boardwalk, older than the pier, older than that trash out on the ocean. She’s older than all of us. Older than everything.

If you’ve lost something, or you’re new to town, she might know just where you should go.

You’re not new? Well, apologies. I just presumed. You’re certainly not locals. Not one of us. But I guess it’s not so strange if you’ve been here before.

…Patrick?

No, I don’t think I’ve ever met a Patrick. I’ve only been around ten years, after all! Hardly enough time to know my own name! Let alone to know a Patrick.

What does your Patrick look like? Tell me that. Then I’ll run and find you, if I happen to spy him wandering along the water.

A loud, silly, squirrely little boy? Bright black hair? And about my age, too? Well, thank you, ma’am and mister. Good to know. That’s not much to go on, but I guess I’ll keep an eye out.

I gotta be going now. Mama’s making supper, and she hates it when I’m late.

You take care, the both of you. Mahogany’s not used to having strangers.


WELCOME TO DAYBREAK DINER. PLEASE TIP COURTEOUSLY AND KINDLY.
YOUR SERVICE STAFF WORK THREE JOBS. WE ARE ALWAYS TIRED.
WE ARE A SMALL, FAMILY-OWNED BUSINESS.
YOU ARE NOT YET PART OF THE FAMILY.
SO YOU SHOULD TIP AT LEAST 70% OF THE BILL.
HAVE A NICE DAY! TRAVEL SAFE.
TAKE CARE.

Welcome to Mahogany. A lovely day we’re having! No storms coming in over the water, and the weather report says we’ll have cool breezes on the evening tide.

We’re delighted to have new valued customers, here at the Daybreak Diner. I’ll be your waiter this evening. May I get you fine folk something to drink?

Ah. You’re looking for a…Patrick, you say? No, I don’t think I know a Patrick. Not sure I’ve ever heard the name...

A missing child? Well, that’s terrible! Mahogany has so few children, really. But all of them are treasures, just pure treasures. You met Young Susan, didn’t you? I saw you talking to her, right before you came in. Pardon my snooping, of course. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop…

Wait a minute. I do think I recall your lovely faces. If I’m not mistaken, you’ve been here before! You were house-sitting for the Lloyds one summer. Maybe three, four years ago? Or a bit longer?

You had a little boy with you back then. He was always wearing those big plastic floaties on his arms, as if he was about to go for a swim.

Oh, don’t tell me that’s the Patrick you’re missing? My, my! Well, that’s terrible, that’s just terrible. Not to be unhelpful, but I think you may have come to the wrong place. It seems unlikely that he wandered into our little seaside town. I can’t imagine where he could have gone…

But Mahogany sometimes has its miracles. Who knows? Maybe he’ll turn up after all. Odder things have happened.

Hmm. Now that I think about it, I could swear I saw a kid close to that description, a long time back. He was standing on the beach, poking the driftwood piles with a stick. I remember thinking how odd that was to do. After all — it’s the driftwood.

And all of us born and raised here know that you never disturb the driftwood.

I’ll keep an eye out for the little boy. And honestly, you might want to talk to Old Susan. She’s wise; she lives by the beach. She walks there every night. And she knows all the faces around here. She’ll be able to help you much better than I can.

You have a nice day now. Take care! And do come back if you’re ever feeling peckish.


WELCOME TO THE BEACH.
PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB THE DRIFTWOOD.
DO NOT MOCK IT. DO NOT TAKE IT FOR GRANTED.
ABOVE ALL ELSE: DO NOT TOUCH IT.
THE GIFTS OF THE SEA ARE NOT MISPLACED SO LIGHTLY.
TAKE CARE.

Yeah, these signs are interesting, right? Always think so myself. Such big block letters, and such ominous wording! It’s like they’re yelling at you. Gets in your head, after a little while.

This one’s the latest addition from the town council. Got five more of these to put up at intervals all along the boardwalk. Ugh. It’s probably gonna take me the whole rest of the day….

Oh, why is this sign going up? About the driftwood?

Well, that’s a fun story! Looks like you two are from out of town, right? In that case, makes sense that you wouldn’t know.

See those piles out there by the tide pools? Well, it’s driftwood. Lots and lots of driftwood. It gets washed in on the high tide, and left behind on the low. Then it gets taken out to sea again, next time the waves get high enough to reach it. A perfect, salty cycle of equal exchange.

All of us here in Mahogany have some special feelings about that driftwood. Hell, it’s in the name of the town, after all! Supposedly, our ancestors were on the run when they encountered that beach. It was strewn with enough wood to keep them warm and fed till they could settle down here for good.

And here’s the special part. For the month it took them to build themselves this town…the tides stalled. The waves were still. Even the moon didn’t budge in the sky. As they danced and hammered and hungered, some great intelligence out there saw fit to let them be. The sea didn’t come to claim the driftwood for its depths. It gave us a home.

Ocean wanted us to be here, if you ask me. It gave us a miracle, plain as day.

But the tides move apace these days. The moon goes through all its expected cycles. So we’ve all sworn a solemn vow to never touch the driftood. It’s clear, right? Sea doesn’t want us to have it. Fair enough. We’ve got this good already. We won’t get in the way.

We’ve had some problems these past few years, though. ’Cause tourists like to mess with the driftwood deposits all along the beach. They stick their fingers in it, toss it, throw it around — even add it to their stupid campfires as the sun sets in the evening.

Never ends well for them, though. Hah! After all, wood from the sea’s got all kinds of things living inside it. Small burrowing things. Things with claws and jaws and tongues, things that like warm people much better than cold dead timber.

And once you’ve dealt with those small and chitinous things…well. You still have to face the water. Sun setting down looks a lot like a sky full of blood. And try as you might to steer clear of the currents…they have a way of pulling people under.

Anyway. I’m rambling.

Point is — best not to mess with it. Especially for folks like you.

Oh! You want me to do….what?

Uh, I’m sorry to tell you this, but I don’t think I’m allowed to hang up unsolicited posters. Even if they’re Missing Person flyers….

Hey, I remember this boy! Patrick, right? Is this your son?

Now that you mention it, I do think I saw him sometime. Feels like it was a year or two ago? My memory’s fuzzy. But he was definitely around. Purple floaties and all. Looked just like this picture. If only I could remember where…

Of course. Silly me. Saw him down on the beach — over by the pier. He had been playing with the driftwood all day, sad to say. It was sunset, and he was running in the tide — chasing the waves as they went in and out, back and forth.

I did think at the time that he was getting a but too close to the water. But I just assumed he had a responsible adult nearby….

If you’re looking for answers, Old Susan often goes to the beach around sunset. She might be able to help you. More than the town council, even. They’re nice and all. But everyone knows who the real authority is in Mahogany. The kids like to believe that Old Susan was around even before the town, back when our ancestors first found this blessed beach.

Ahh, yeah, you’ll probably want to be getting along. Getting close to dark now, yeah? Bit of advice: you can’t drive on the dunes, you’ll get stuck. So find somewhere to park that vehicle for the night. Somewhere good and safe.

Would be terrible if anything happened to you, and no one found it…

Take care now. And please, do come and tell me if you find him.


WELCOME TO MAHOGANY HEIGHTS APARTMENT COMPLEX.
THIS IS A HOME. BUT THIS IS NOT YOUR HOME.
YOU WERE NOT BORN HERE. YOU WERE NOT BRED HERE.
YOU ARE A VISITOR HERE.
THESE WATERS DO NOT LOVE YOU.
THIS BEACH WAS NOT MADE CLEAR AND CALM FOR YOU.
SO MIND YOU TREAD WITH CAUTION AND RESPECT.
TAKE CARE.

Folks, your car is in my parking spot! I said, your car is in my parking spot! Ahh, damnit. Forget about it. I’ll just go ’round the…

Sorry, what? Patrick?

No, I don’t know any Patricks. What are you on about? Why are you loitering in front of our building? You’re certainly not one of the residents! I’m the landlord, after all. If you were from Mahogany, I would know your faces!

Wait. Wait, I do know your faces. You’re the folks that house-sat for the Lloyds four years ago, aren’t you? You and your little kid — the one with the crazy laugh and the big purple floaties…

Wait, is Patrick that kid?

Oh, lord. I’m sorry to hear that something’s happened, folks. Why’d you come seeking him here, though? Did you lose him back where….well, wherever you come from? Wherever you live that’s not Mahogany? How long has he been gone?

…a year? Oh, deary me. And you think he might have run back here, in that time?

That seems a little far-fetched to me. Not to presume, of course. Your son, your search procedures. But Mahogany’s a long way away from everyone and everything. Seems a strange place for a kid to come all on his own….

Huh, my memory’s jogging. I do think I saw him a couple months back. He was swimming out in the surf, just beyond the pier. Caught my eye because I could see the purple floaties bobbing out there. I thought someone’s trash had gotten caught in the undertow….

I do hope he’s all right. Would be terrible if something had happened to him, out there in the water.

Yeah, ’course you can leave the car here for the night. I’ll park ’round the back. Are you going to go check out the beach now? Seems only right.

If you see Old Susan, ask her what to do. She’s often there around now, when the sky is on fire and the tides are getting violent. Says it helps her remember what the town was like, way back when.

You take care now. I’ll be sure to put up your Missing Person posters.


WELCOME TO MAHOGANY PIER.
CAUTION: DANGEROUS CURRENTS.
RIPTIDES AND TIDAL WAVES MAY CREATE UNCONTROLLABLE SURGES.
THIS WATER MAY CHANGE AT A MOMENT’S NOTICE.
DO NOT LET YOUR CHILDREN PLAY TOO CLOSE TO THE WATER.
DO NOT LET YOUR CHILDREN PLAY TOO CLOSE TO THE WATER.
DO NOT LET YOUR CHILDREN PLAY TOO CLOSE TO THE WATER.
TAKE CARE.

I’ve always liked this place.

When I was a child, I walked onto this beach for the first time and felt…awestruck. I was in love with it. Adored it. All the wood. A forest in decay. Dark pieces, light pieces, hard pieces, soft pieces. Fragments rotten and swollen with water-weight. Scuttling sea creatures hid, unafraid to come out. Moss and lichen clung crazily to their crumbling homes.

Back then, when the tides were still and placid, this wood piled high into the sky. It grew so tall that it blocked out the sun. The limbs lay precariously together, like a ladder into heaven.

I was young. And I believed it was a ladder to heaven. After all, such things could not happen by accident. Such a sight could only have been made by some strange god.

You know who I am, of course. Only so many old women out in Mahogany at this time of the evening – let alone by the beach.

And no, you don’t need to ask.

I’ll tell you what happened to your son.

Most missing children never reappear. And all things considered, your son should have fared the same. But Mahogany is a strange place, and our sea remembers its grievances. Especially ones dealt by those from afar.

Look at you two. My goodness. Such a mother, and such a father.

Your grief is like a tidal wave. You know that, don’t you? You feel the thunder in your bones. It roars across your faces, plain as day. Your eyes drip with salt water. By now, you must have tasted the sting.

That force of want. Your hunger for an ending. Your unwillingness to accept the yawning mouth of loss.

That’s what washed your boy back to this town. Or at least a bit of him. Perhaps he was already somewhat-ghost.

We saw him, of course. Everyone saw him. The waiter, the sign-hanger, the landlord. Even Young Susan. We are not fools, and we know how to tell time. We are observant, and we have lived here all our lives. A stranger is a stranger, out here by the wood. You stick out like a particularly sore thumb.

Your Patrick spent all day running on our beach. His purple plastic armbands squeaked, a sad mouse-sound with every footstep. We watched as he disturbed the driftwood — the one thing we’re not supposed to do. In Mahogany, we have learned to live quietly beside the deep. But the sea does not like when we offend its gifts.

Your little Patrick, still energetic in the evening, went swimming as the sun set bloodily down.

I was sitting on the pier that night, just as I always am. I watched as his floaties punctured on a piece of sharp rock. I watched as he was swept out further and further. Air bubbled around him like the mouth of a great beast. And I watched, as he started to struggle and shriek and sink…

When it’s angry, there’s no way to fight the water.

This is the fate of so many silly tourists who come to stay. You think you know our customs. You think you own our beach. You think you can leave behind whatever traces you want.

But the water always wipes you clean.

It’s not our fault. It’s not our doing. We never kill anyone in Mahogany. That’s not our place. You have to understand that. We just watch as the sea makes its miracles known.

I watch most close of all, of course. To observe and witness is my final purpose. I know everyone around here, friend and stranger. I know what they have done, and what they may become.

I’ve told you what I saw. Now, look and listen. Let me tell you what I see.

Out there in the water, just beyond the pier. The sun is setting, and the tide is coming in. Something floats along with it. You see it, don’t you? A flash of purple. Bobbing, bobbing, bobbing. Something is out there, caught in the drift and flow of the perfect cycle. Held in the claws and jaws and tongues of the endless deep.

Do you understand? He’s out there, right now, at this very moment. You’ve found him. There is your Patrick. There is your treasure.

The tide is coming in.

The sea is returning him to you.

Ah. You cry because he has changed. Very well. That is the human instinct, of course. To cry for change we cannot understand.

But your son is in a bigger story now. And in its own way — this is a welcoming. You have been chosen. You are no longer a stranger to Mahogany. We know you, mother and father and son, as our own.

Go to him. Run to him. Out, out, far into the water. Plunge deep into the salt. Open your mouths wide. As air begins to bubble free — stretch out your hands. Your Patrick will know that he is no longer alone. He and the sea will greet you. He will love you. He will reach his hands back, and you will intertwine.

You can take care of him down there. Just as you have always longed to do.

Move along, now. I will wander the beach till you’re gone. I will watch the wood drift, and the moon rise. I will tell our town the outcome of your tale. I will safeguard your place in our minds. As the sea remembers us, we will remember you.

What are you waiting for?

You’d better hurry.

Your son won’t drift for long.

Isn’t it good, to finally be together?

Isn’t it good, to finally have a home?