It was every parent’s worst nightmare come true when the Wesenbergs lost their little son, Ted, one Sunday afternoon. It happened in the one place that should have been the safest—their home. But that day, everything went horribly wrong.
They found Ted floating lifelessly in their swimming pool, his small body still, as if he were just another pool float. Paul Wesenberg didn’t think—he just dived in. He pulled his son from the water, his heart pounding as he desperately tried mouth-to-mouth. But it was too late. When the paramedics arrived, their solemn faces said it all. Ted was gone.
Linda Wesenberg was shattered. At Ted’s funeral, she sat frozen, her face pale, her body unmoving. It was as if her soul had left her with her son. A week passed, but the grief in their home only deepened. And soon, their sadness turned into something darker—anger, blame, and fights so loud that even little Clark, their youngest, couldn’t bear it.
The Wesenbergs were breaking apart. Every night, Clark heard his parents yelling through the walls. His father blamed his mother for Ted’s death, and his mother blamed his father.
Their voices were sharp, filled with accusations, and always ended the same way—his mother crying, his father storming out. Clark would hide under his blanket, clutching his teddy bear, and cry silently. He wanted his big brother back. When Ted was around, things had been different. His parents were happy. His mother smiled. She kissed Clark goodnight.
But now, she barely left her bed. She stopped making breakfast. She told him she was sick. Paul tried to take care of things—he made them toast and eggs every morning and cooked dinner at night. But nothing felt right. Nothing tasted like Mom’s cooking. Nothing was the same.
Clark missed Ted so much it hurt. More than anything, he missed feeling loved. His parents were so caught up in their grief that they seemed to forget they still had a son. And one evening, it all became too much.
That night, the fighting was worse than ever. Clark couldn’t take it anymore. He ran into their bedroom, his face wet with tears.
“Mommy! Daddy! Please stop!” he screamed. “I hate it when you fight!”
Linda turned to Paul, her voice trembling with fury. “Look at what you’ve done, Paul! I lost Ted because of you, and now Clark hates you too!”
Paul’s face darkened. “Oh really, Linda? And what about you? You think Clark looks up to you right now?”
Their yelling started again. Clark stood there, his little fists clenched, but they had already forgotten about him. His heart pounded with anger.
“I hate you both…” he whispered. Tears ran down his cheeks. “I HATE YOU, MOMMY AND DADDY! I don’t want to live with you! I’m going to be with Ted! Because only he loved me!”
Clark ran. He didn’t stop, not even when his parents’ voices faded behind him. He grabbed a handful of dahlias from the garden—his and Ted’s flowers—and headed straight for the cemetery.
When he reached Ted’s grave, he collapsed onto the ground, his body shaking. The tombstone read:
In loving memory of Ted Wesenberg.
Clark sobbed as he traced the letters with his fingers. “Ted, I miss you,” he choked out. “Please ask the angels to send you back. Mommy and Daddy don’t love me anymore. They only care about who’s to blame. Nobody plays football with me. Not even Daddy…”
He poured out his heart to his brother, telling him about the burnt breakfasts, the silence, the yelling. And as the night deepened, he felt something he hadn’t in a long time—peace.
Then, a sound. A rustling in the leaves behind him. Clark’s heart pounded. Someone was there. The sound grew louder, closer. He turned and gasped.
Men in black robes stepped toward him, their faces hidden beneath deep hoods. They held torches, the flames flickering in the dark.
“Look who has wandered into our kingdom,” one of them sneered. “You shouldn’t have come here, boy.”
Clark’s breath hitched. “Who… who are you?” he stammered. “Please let me go!”
He tried to back away, but his legs wouldn’t move. The men circled him, their shadows stretching long in the torchlight. Just as Clark thought he was trapped, a booming voice cut through the darkness.
“Chad, back off! How many times do I have to tell you not to mess around in my graveyard?”
A tall man in his fifties appeared. He was dressed neatly and had sharp eyes that glared at the hooded figures.
“Mr. Bowen!” one of them groaned. “Where else are we supposed to have our rituals if not in a cemetery?”
“How about you stop burning your lousy report cards here and start studying instead?” Mr. Bowen snapped. “Get lost before I tell your mothers what you’ve been up to.”
The hooded boys groaned but backed off. Mr. Bowen turned to Clark and offered his hand. “Come on, kid. Let’s get you warm.”
Clark hesitated, but something about Mr. Bowen felt safe. He followed him to a small cabin near the cemetery gate. Inside, the man handed him a cup of hot chocolate.
“What were you doing here alone at this hour?” he asked gently.
Clark sniffled, staring into his cup. Something about Mr. Bowen made him open up. He told him everything—about Ted, the fights, the loneliness. Mr. Bowen listened without interrupting. When Clark finished, the old man sighed.
“I know what you’re feeling, kid,” he said. “I lost my wife and son in a plane crash years ago. I miss them every day. But you know what? You still have your parents. They love you, even if they’re lost in their grief. Give them a chance.”
Meanwhile, at home, Linda had just realized Clark was missing. Panic gripped her. She tore through the house, calling his name. When she found his bed empty, she screamed.
“Paul! Clark is gone!”
They rushed to the cemetery, praying they weren’t too late. When they reached Ted’s grave, Linda’s heart stopped.
“Clark!” she cried. But he wasn’t there.
Paul spotted the distant glow of fire and the shadows of figures moving in the dark. “Linda,” he whispered, “look over there.”
Terror flooded Linda’s veins. “Oh God… could they have… could they have taken Clark?”
They ran toward the group, but before they could reach them, Paul grabbed one of the robed boys by the collar. “Where is my son?!”
“Whoa! Whoa!” the boy yelped. “Your kid’s fine! Mr. Bowen took him!”
When Paul and Linda reached the cabin, they stopped outside the window. Inside, Clark was talking. They listened as Mr. Bowen gently helped their son open up.
“They still love you, kid,” Mr. Bowen said. “They’re just lost. But they need you, just like you need them.”
Linda broke down. She burst into the cabin and pulled Clark into her arms. “I’m so sorry, baby!” she sobbed. “We love you so much. We never meant to make you feel this way.”
Paul turned to Mr. Bowen, his voice thick with gratitude. “Thank you. You saved our family.”
“No problem,” Mr. Bowen said. “Hang in there.”
From that night on, the Wesenbergs started healing. And slowly, life found its way back into their home. What do you think of the story? Share your thoughts in the comments below!
