The Foundling+
in the midst of trying to make sense of what you lived through with hollis, you dig into his case and finally read the book he gave you. — his journal.
a/n: this is a short extra just to add to hollis' backstory and his case. it was something i almost added to the first part but i concluded it was better to end where it did for impact hehe
taglist: @magegodmode, @2lilaclace, @angelrazor6000, @elloweezrosey, @222foryou222, @sweet2sin, @jackkilmergf, @bambi-lia, @osx12-22, @m1ndless-thoughtsss, @7thstrunner, @misoeepy, @stellalaylas, @luvvconceal
⸸ part 1
How do you grieve someone you never met in life? How does the human brain make sense of losing someone who was already long gone? That was the question you'd been living inside of. And you'd been living inside it alone — because there was no therapist, no detective, no local preacher your mom called to come pray over you who could believe it for even a second.
To the therapist, you'd had a psychotic episode brought on by years of isolation and limited human contact. To the police, you'd been impressionable — a lonely teenager who'd fixated on an article or an old newspaper clipping from a history class. To the preacher, you'd simply lost your way. None of them could explain how you'd ended up asleep on the floorboards directly above where Hollis had been buried for thirty years. None of them could explain the fabric clutched in your hand, or why it hadn't decomposed — cotton took five years maximum, you'd looked it up.
You searched for explanations everywhere. The Catholic church. Spiritism. Folk beliefs, old texts, anything that called itself supernatural. Nothing made sense of what you'd lived. Nothing came close.
But you had lived it. With him. You didn't doubt that for a second. You remembered his cold touch. His lips. The particular smell of him, like pine and something older. His smile, his voice, that laugh. Those things were too specific, too real to have come from nowhere.
What you barely remembered was that night itself — or anything beyond Hollis. After falling asleep on his chest, your memories came in fragments: the lights, your mother's voice, the glimpse of rotted fabric beneath the floorboards. That was all. That, and the quiet fuss that followed — the careful conversations, the concerned looks, the people who talked about it in lowered voices. Thankfully few knew of your involvement. But you. You knew, and that was already hard enough.
You kept everything of him close — every memory, every story, every word he'd spoken in the dark. And of course, the book that you found out to be a journal.
Before you let yourself open it, you tried to find him another way.
You buried yourself in the public library, spent long hours at the internet café searching his name. Online there wasn't much beyond the recent news — the discovery, the identification, the brief coverage that faded within a week. So you turned to the archives, sat for hours at the microfilm reader scrolling through columns from 1969 and 1970 and finally 1975, until you'd pieced together everything the newspapers had chosen to say about him.
November 2, 1969
BOY MISSING AFTER HALLOWEEN NIGHT INCIDENT
By ×××××××××
Authorities are searching for 17-year-old Hollis Parker Frazier-Herndon, who was reported missing by his mother on the night of October 31. According to police reports, Herndon’s mother arrived at a neighbor's house shortly before midnight, accompanied by her younger son. She was reportedly hysterical and claimed her son had attacked her husband with a knife. "When we arrived at the residence, there was no one home," said Officer Daniel Reeves of the Lakewood Police Department. "The house appeared to be in disarray. There were signs of a struggle, but no sign of the boy or the husband." The husband, Arthur Crane, 42, could not be located. Mrs. Frazier and her son were taken to the station for questioning. Neighbors reported hearing shouting and screaming from the residence earlier that evening. "I heard a woman screaming," said Helen Porter, who lives two doors down. "I was going to call the police, but then everything went quiet. I thought maybe it was just kids fooling around. It was Halloween, after all." Anyone with information regarding the whereabouts of Hollis Frazier-Herndon is asked to contact the Lakewood Police Department.
✄┈┈┈┈
November 15, 1969
MISSING BOY'S STEPFATHER LOCATED
By ×××××××××
Arthur Crane, 42, the stepfather of missing 17-year-old Hollis Parker Frazier-Herndon, has been located at a motel near the state line. Crane was taken into custody for questioning but was released the following day. He claims he left the residence on the night of October 31 following a confrontation with his stepson. "The boy threatened me with a knife," Crane told investigators. "I left for my own safety. I had no idea he'd run off." When asked about the injuries his wife sustained that night, Crane claimed she "fell" while trying to break up the fight. Mrs. Frazier has filed for divorce and is seeking full custody of her younger son. Authorities have not named Crane as a suspect but confirm he remains a "person of interest" in the investigation.
✄┈┈┈┈
December 10, 1969
SEARCH FOR MISSING BOY CONTINUES
By ×××××××××
Despite extensive searches of the Lakewood Forest area and surrounding regions, there is still no sign of Hollis Parker Frazier-Herndon, who has been missing since Halloween night. Authorities have conducted multiple ground searches and canvassed the area, but no trace of the boy has been found. "Without a body, we can't confirm what happened," said Officer Reeves. "We're treating this as a missing persons case, but we're also investigating other possibilities." Mrs. Frazier, 36, has publicly pleaded for her son's return. "I just want him to come home," she told reporters. "Whatever happened that night, I just want him safe." The search is ongoing.
✄┈┈┈┈
February 15, 1970
NEIGHBORS SPEAK OUT IN MISSING BOY CASE
By ×××××××××
As the search for Hollis Parker Frazier-Herndon enters its fourth month, neighbors are coming forward with accounts of the family's troubled home life. "I've heard shouting from that house for as long as they've lived there," said Margaret Hensley, a neighbor of three years. "Arthur Crane had a temper. Everyone knew it." The family moved to the neighborhood in 1966. According to multiple sources, the relationship between Hollis and his stepfather was strained from the beginning. "Arthur never treated the boy right," Hensley said. "He was always yelling at him, putting him down. And Hollis was so protective of his little brother. He'd take his brother to the park almost every day, just to get him out of the house." Another neighbor, Robert Blake, recalled seeing Hollis with his brother the day before Halloween. "He was pushing his brother on the swings," Blake said. "He seemed like a good kid. Quiet, but good. It's a tragedy what happened." Despite the growing public pressure, police maintain they are continuing their investigation. "We're aware of the neighbors' accounts," said Officer Reeves. "We're following every lead. But without evidence, we can't move forward."
✄┈┈┈┈
October 31, 1970
ONE YEAR LATER: THE DISAPPEARANCE OF HOLLIS FRAZIER-HERNDON
By ×××××××××
It has been exactly one year since Hollis Parker Frazier-Herndon vanished from his home on Halloween night. Despite extensive efforts, his whereabouts remain unknown. Arthur Crane remains the primary focus of public scrutiny. While he has not been formally charged, rumors about his involvement continue to circulate throughout the community. "I know what people say," Crane told reporters in a brief statement. "But I didn't do anything. The boy ran away. He was always a troubled kid." Mrs. Frazier and her youngest son have relocated to another state. She declined to comment. The case, once front-page news, has faded from the headlines. There is no new evidence. No new leads. Just the same questions, repeating.
✄┈┈┈┈
November 5, 1975
CASE CLOSED: MISSING BOY PRESUMED RUNAWAY
By ×××××××××
After six years, the case of Hollis Parker Frazier-Herndon — the 17-year-old who vanished from his home on Halloween night, 1969 — has been officially closed. The Lakewood Police Department announced this week that the case has been classified as an unresolved disappearance. In the absence of new evidence, the boy is presumed to have run away from home. Arthur Crane, who was investigated for several years, was never charged. The case against him was ultimately dropped due to insufficient evidence. "Unfortunately, without a body or any physical evidence, we were unable to move forward with criminal charges," said Officer Daniel Reeves. "The investigation will remain open if new evidence comes to light, but for now, we are closing the file." The decision has been met with frustration from members of the community. "I don't understand how they can just stop looking," said Margaret Hensley, a neighbor at the time of the disappearance. "That boy didn't run away. Something happened to him. And everyone knows it." The family of Hollis Frazier-Herndon could not be reached for comment. The case of Hollis Frazier-Herndon is now officially inactive.
✄┈┈┈┈
It was harder than you expected, reading about him like a name in a side column. Harder than you expected to sit with the image of all those years passing without anyone finding him, without anyone knowing. That wasn't Hollis — not the one you knew. He wasn't that victim, wasn't defined by what he'd suffered. He was the boy who'd pushed you on a rusted swing and walked into a tree branch because he was too busy being smug about it. He was the one who'd told you about a pig-keeper who learned how to be brave.
Reading about him like that only made you miss him more.
So you finally opened the journal.
It changed you completely. It was like having him back — like sitting down to another conversation each time you turned a page, hearing his voice in every line. He wrote about his books — you finally got the title, the one he'd been telling you about all along, 'The Chronicles of Prydain' series by Lloyd Alexander — and about the things he loved and the stupid things he'd done. His friends had names now: Zachary, Bob, Tom. You read about his first high school sweetheart, the reckless things he'd pulled just to feel something. He had been so full of life. Between those entries, woven through everything, were the other pages — the ones about his stepfather, the abuse, the constant low-grade fear for his mother, the way he'd positioned himself between his brother and everything that wanted to hurt them.
You tried to read slowly. The ache of him made that impossible.
You turned pages until you reached October 31, 1969, and then you stopped.
You sat with those pages for a full month before you could read them.
October 31, 1969𓂃✍︎
It's Halloween. I finally got my costume finished. Took a while — I asked Zach's mom to make the blouse and I did most of the armor myself. I also helped my little brother with his. He wanted to be a ghost. Lame. So much for Halloween night. Of course he'd ruin it. I can't stand him anymore. I really can't. I hate his guts, and I swear if it wasn't for Mom I would've done something by now. That pig. He's disgusting, and last night he threatened me again — said one of these days he'd teach me a lesson. Thing is, Mom always gets between us before I can do anything. She sees my brother crying, he's twelve years old, he doesn't deserve to see this, so I just take him outside. I always just take him. But I swear. One of these days. Earlier today when he laughed at my costume I almost had enough. Almost.
He didn't write anything more that day. The pages that followed had no date.
I don't know how long I've been sleeping here. I used to come to this cabin with my dad when I was little. I don't know how I got back here. I don't know how long I've been here. I keep waiting for my mom. I keep waiting for anyone. There's nothing. Just the woods.
𓂃✍︎
It seems like I can't leave. I walk and walk and it's just fog and trees. I hear voices sometimes, hear animals, but it's always daylight here. It never rains. There's no wind. I feel no hunger. No thirst. I think I'm dead.
𓂃✍︎
Today I heard kids playing nearby. Just like I used to when I was little. It's less lonely like that. I wonder what my mom is doing now. How grown is my brother. I wonder how much time has passed. I wonder if that pig is already dead.
𓂃✍︎
Today I heard the kids again. Some girl was screaming with her friends. They give her a hard time — she's always the one crying.
Something tightened in your chest.
Today I saw a figure for the first time. Just a shadow, but I'm sure it was someone.
𓂃✍︎
It happened so fast. I followed the little girl when she started running and she wasn't looking where she was going. I called out to her but she didn't hear me. Then her friend screamed and it was already too late. She fell through the ice. I stayed, hoping she'd be alright. I reached for her hand but I couldn't grab her — I couldn't do anything. They found her quick enough. I was relieved. She's fine, I think. I hope so.
I wish someone would find me too.
The remaining pages were blank. White, one after another. But something told you to keep turning, and in the very last page you found it.
I don't remember much of my living life anymore. I remember my mom's voice. My brother's face. Four years ago when I got out of the woods for the first time I didn't know it would go like this. I wandered the streets and tried to talk to people but no one could see me. I thought that seemed about right. I'm not really here. I might as well not be real. But then she saw me. She saw me and she frowned at me. I recognized her right away — the girl from the lake. The one I'd have liked to save. She kept me feeling alive these past years. I didn't even know I had it in me to leave the woods, but whenever I saw her standing in her yard I just did. And every Halloween I got to live a little more. I got so caught up in it I forgot this diary entirely. I don't know why I'm writing now. It'll probably be the last time, old diary. And the last she'll see of me. Her mom saw me today. Or saw the lack of me beside her. And only then did I realize the path I'd been leading her down. Whatever happens after this Halloween, I won't come back.
And then, after that — same handwriting, but looser, like it had been written quickly, without thinking, like it couldn't wait:
October 31𓂃✍︎
I just can't be the kind of person who disappears on you. I didn't have it in me. I saw you standing at the lake and I went after you. Once I promised I'd always come running, and I did. Easy as that. I'm writing this while you sleep on my chest. I hope when you wake up and read this you understand. Whatever that was — it changed me. I'm forever grateful for it. I love you, I truly do. Keep making me proud, my princess.
Tears ran down your face without stopping. Not an ugly cry — something quieter than that, something that had joy threaded through it even as it hollowed you out. Relief, and underneath the relief, something you were still learning the shape of.
You looked out your window at the tree line for a long time.
He wasn't there. You could feel it — the woods standing empty in a way they hadn't been in four years, quiet in a way that had nothing to do with silence and everything to do with absence. Someone had found him. That was what he'd needed. He'd sailed away at last, into wherever the west led, into somewhere new.
You hoped it was everything Taran got, and more.
𓇢𓆸
