The day Luka disappeared had been ordinary. He played soccer with his friends, came home for dinner, then ran outside one last time before bedtime. He never returned.
His mother, Jelena, searched frantically, screaming his name. The police questioned neighbors, friends, even strangers passing through town. Nothing. No footprints, no witnesses. It was like Luka had vanished into thin air.
Years passed. The grief was unbearable. Jelena kept his room untouched, hoping one day he’d return.
Then, a phone call changed everything.
“We found a boy,” the officer said. “He says his name is Luka Petrović.”
Jelena’s heart nearly stopped. She rushed to the hospital, where a thin, pale teenager sat on the bed. The moment their eyes met, she burst into tears.
“My baby…” she sobbed, hugging him.
At first, things seemed perfect. Luka moved back home, neighbors welcomed him with open arms, and news stations called it a miracle.
But as days passed, the doubts crept in.
He didn’t remember his favorite food. He barely spoke about his childhood. When she showed him old photos, he hesitated, as if seeing them for the first time.
His laugh was different. His handwriting had changed.
And then, there was the incident.
One night, Jelena woke up to the sound of whispers. She followed the voice to Luka’s room. The door was slightly open.
He was speaking in a language she had never heard before.
A deep, guttural voice—nothing like the soft boy she had once known.
The next morning, she checked under his bed.
There, wrapped in an old cloth, was a passport.
A passport with a different name. A different birthday. A different face—one that looked exactly like Luka, but wasn’t him.
Jelena stepped back, shaking.
Who was this boy?
And more importantly…
Where was her real son?
Her hands turned cold.
She slowly stepped back, careful not to make a sound. The wooden floor creaked beneath her, and in that instant, she heard movement behind her.
She turned.
Luka—or whoever he was—stood in the doorway, watching her.
His face was calm. Too calm.
“What are you doing, Mama?” he asked, his voice eerily soft.
Jelena forced a nervous smile, hiding the passport behind her back. “Nothing, sweetheart. Just… cleaning.”
His eyes locked onto hers, unblinking.
For the first time since his return, she realized something—his eyes weren’t warm like Luka’s. There was no innocence, no familiarity. Only something dark. Something calculating.
Jelena swallowed hard and took a deep breath. She had to get out of the house.
“I’m going to the store,” she said quickly. “I’ll be back soon.”
She grabbed her coat, her purse, and rushed outside. The moment the door shut behind her, she ran.
She didn’t stop running until she reached the police station.
“That is not my son.”
The officers exchanged uneasy glances. “Mrs. Petrović, you’re under a lot of stress. Perhaps—”
“No!” she cut in. “I found a passport under his bed! A different name, a different birthday! He speaks in a language I don’t understand! He isn’t Luka!”
Something in her voice made them hesitate. Finally, an officer sighed. “Alright. We’ll investigate.”
Two officers accompanied Jelena back home. She expected to find the boy waiting in the living room, his unreadable gaze fixed on her.
But the house was silent.
Too silent.
They searched the house. The bedroom, the kitchen, even the basement.
He was gone.
But in Luka’s room, something was waiting for them.
Jelena screamed.
Pinned to the bed, right where Luka used to sleep, was a photograph. A real photo of Luka—her Luka. But his eyes were hollow, darkened by decay.
And beneath it, scrawled in shaky handwriting:
“He is never coming back.”
The police launched a full-scale investigation. The DNA test results came back within days—the boy who had returned was not Luka Petrović.
He was the son of a convicted murderer who had escaped from a psychiatric facility two years prior.
He had studied Luka’s disappearance.
He had memorized Luka’s features.
He had become Luka.
But the real question remained:
What had he done with the real Luka?
They never found the answer.
And Luka Petrović?
He was never seen again.