That day, I took my son out for a walk. It was a pleasant, early spring afternoon. My son was smiling happily in his stroller. He was in such a good mood that I thought about walking a little further than usual… That was my first mistake.
Pushing the stroller and talking to my son, I felt truly happy. Before I knew it, I had reached a park a bit further away than the one we usually go to.
Some small children, maybe around two to four years old, were playing in the sandbox. Right beside them, women who appeared to be their mothers were sitting on a bench, chatting away. It was a completely "normal" park scene…….
A "normal" park scene?
In the hands of the children playing in the sandbox… I caught a glimpse of something. They were burying something with their toy shovels. What was it?
I strained my eyes to look. I couldn't see well from where I was. I pushed the stroller forward again, this time approaching slowly to get a better look.
A man's… hand…? It looked like… but no, I must have been seeing things, right?!
Telling myself that, I got closer.
It really was a man's hand… I felt like I was about to faint.
My son's crying made me snap back to reality. When I turned around… the mothers of the children from the sandbox were standing right next to my son's stroller, smiling. They were pressing drawing pins into my son's hand…
My son's hand healed, but I never want to go to that park again. Just remembering it gives me the chills.
When I looked into it a bit later, I found out that the father-in-law of the woman who had pressed the drawing pins into my son's hand—while squeezing his little hand shut—is still missing to this day…