There were no children in Hamelin.

No footsteps pattered against the cobblestones in a rush to leave the schoolhouse. No laughter rang through the market. No cheers of merriment soared above the fields soon to come to life with the year's harvest.

In the midst of the silence stood a towering oak tree. None save the squirrels braved its twisting branches anymore, although it still carried countless mementos from the children. A kite's tattered remains flapped near its peak, impaled there when the wind had nearly carried little Peter Farnsworth away. Below that, pale nicks in the bark marked Jennifer Baker's climb to the top. Only the shoe ensnared in the gap between a pair of branches marked her fall to the bottom. The rest of her was long gone, but that fragment of who she once was remained.

So too did the memories of the other children Hamelin had lost. They lingered in the stuffed animals piled at the base of the tree, their matted fur musty with mold. They lingered in the candies left by older siblings, long since lost to the ants.

Most of all, the memories lingered in the minds of those who had been left behind.

William knelt beside the makeshift memorial. He was the youngest person in Hamelin now, yet the dark circles under his eyes showed the full weight of his fourteen years. His little sister's absence rang in his ears as he added a bouquet of dandelions to the pile of mementos. She'd loved them even before they bloomed into fuzzy puffs of wishes, yanking up fistfuls to put in her hair every time they were in bloom. He'd thought it was ridiculous to shower love onto a weed.

Now, he'd blow on a billion dandelions if it meant he could have his sister back.

With his contribution added to the memorial, William had no excuse to keep delaying the inevitable. After one last lingering look at the tree, he adjusted the guitar strapped over his shoulder and dragged himself into the church.

Even amid the sea of black clothes, it didn't take the other townsfolk long to realize William had arrived. He slunk to his seat between his parents with his head bowed, but that didn't shield him from the stares pressing down on him along with the oppressive heat. He was there, and the children were not. Hamelin's other adolescents carried that burden too, but not as heavily.

They hadn't heard the song.

It came to him in a dream, or at least part of it had. Scattered notes tugged at his consciousness as if they were tuning his soul like a guitar string. He'd longed to follow the melody's promises of eternal contentment, but he wouldn't. Couldn't. Not when that would mean leaving Emma and Mother to face Father alone.

Mother's hand found his on the seat of the pew. "Are you alright?"

She certainly wasn't. Unshed tears choked her voice until it was little more than the faintest whisper, and in the year since Emma had disappeared, she'd gotten so thin William was afraid he'd snap her in half if he hugged her.

He settled for giving her a shaky half-smile. "I'm still here."

What he'd meant as reassurance left his lips as a hoarse statement. He was here, and Emma wasn't.

William released a shaky breath. He couldn't let anyone see how much he was hurting, not when they had already lost so much.

"Quiet," Father hissed. "It's bad enough you brought that blasted guitar. We don't need you drawing any more attention to yourself."

"Yes, Father," William whispered. He wished nothing more than to join the children wherever they were, but all he could do was wait to be called on to honor their memory with his music.

Pastor Abrams approached his podium with his head bowed, silencing hushed conversations as surely as autumn snuffed out summer's warmth. The Book of the Lord sat unopened before him. No words, holy or otherwise, could hope to capture the depth of their loss, but he still faced his congregation as solemnly as he did every Sunday. "We are gathered today to honor the lost lambs who wandered from our pastures," he began, his voice crackling like fallen leaves. "Though we do not know where they are, I have faith our Lord will return them to us or else welcome them into His kingdom."

A chorus of amens rippled through the crowd. The word caught in William's throat, deadened by hundreds of unanswered prayers.

"Though they are no longer with us in body, they remain with us in spirit," Pastor Abrams continued. "Who else but little Peter Farnsworth could fill our hearts with joy over something as simple as a breeze?"

"He'd get so excited whenever the wind started picking up," his mother said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "He just about tripped over his own feet every time he ran to get his kite, always skinning his knees."

"Yet he still kept running," Pastor Abrams said with a chuckle. "And who could forget Matthew Cunningham? Well do I remember how he would share his pockets full of candy with his classmates once they'd finished their lessons for the day."

"Hard to forget when he'd always leave my store with sticky fingers," Mr. Stein grumbled good-naturedly. "By the time he was done rummaging through the bins, he'd fill his pockets more than my till!"

"Can't fault him too much," Mr. Cunningham said with a shrug. "Not when he'd spend hours smelling your caramels when he helped you haul in firewood all winter."

With each child the town reminisced about, guilt struck William as strongly as Father hammered iron in the forge. He'd been asleep. Every single child in Hamelin had disappeared overnight, and he'd been asleep. If he'd just woken up sooner, maybe he could have stopped them from leaving. Instead, all anyone had found the next morning were empty beds and trails of footprints leading to the Tantalus River.

Father squeezed William's arm. "Pay attention," he hissed as he tightened his grip.

"Yes, Father," William whispered. He met his father's eyes for only an instant, just long enough to show he'd been listening. Any longer than that, and the anger burning in Father's gaze would singe his soul.

That moment of distraction was enough to catch the pastor's attention. "Would you like to say a few words about your sister, William?"

William sank into the pew as everyone stared at him. "Emma was one of the kindest people I've ever known," he began, casting his gaze to his hands as he blinked back tears. "When the rats forced us to ration our food, she wouldn't say a word against them because she thought they must have been starving to eat so much."

The congregation murmured, shifting in their seats at the mention of the vermin that had plagued the town years ago. The swarm had left as quickly as it had come, but not without devouring that year's harvest. None could forget the sea of squeaking, the barren fields, or the cold bite of winter gnawing on their empty stomachs.

"We were truly fortunate to have such a compassionate child who cared for all the Lord's creatures," Pastor Abrams said. His smile stretched thinly, straining at the edges. "And we are also fortunate to still have you, William. Have you decided which song you will play to honor the children?"

"Yes." The word escaped William's lips as little more than a squeak. His back ached with the memory of how Father had reacted when he told him he'd been practicing instead of delivering horseshoes to Mr. Farnsworth. One false note, and he'd both dishonor his sister's memory and earn his father's ire. "But may I please go outside to tune my guitar?" he asked hoarsely. "I meant to do it earlier, but..."

"In times such as these, it's natural for some things to slip through the cracks," Pastor Abrams said gently. "Take all the time you need to prepare. There are still plenty others who wish to speak today."

William mumbled a quiet thank you before rising from the pew. Father shifted in his seat, forcing William to tiptoe around his feet and mutter apologies the whole way to the aisle.

The church door shut behind him with a deafening thud. Finally outside once again, William released a long, slow breath. He shouldn't be here. Not at church, not in Hamelin. He belonged wherever Emma had gone. Now she was lost, alone, and scared.

Probably dead.

William shook his head. He couldn't let himself think like that. They'd find her and the others. They had to.

Sweat stung his eyes alongside his unshed tears as the September sun beat down on him. He couldn't let himself cry, not where anyone might find him.

The Tantalus River lured him to the edge of town. Surrounded by rows of cattails on both sides, the water promised a cool respite from the heat.

Like the rest of Hamelin's residents, William knew better than to trust that temptation.

Greedy undercurrents threatened to yank swimmers beneath the surface. Though the bottom was visible from the shore, any feet stepping into the water would meet not a carpet of pebbles but the river's relentless hunger.

While it wasn't well suited for swimming, the Tantalus was perfect for anyone seeking solitude. William lowered himself onto the shoreline with a grunt, wincing as his back throbbed in protest. Neither his aching muscles nor the mosquitos feasting on his arms could dampen his relief. Out here, no one but the bugs could see him cry.

Whatever coolness his proximity to the river brought him faded as hot tears ran down his cheeks. Finally far from everyone's stares, his shoulders shook with the force of his sobbing. The river swallowed the sound, as deep and insatiable as the grief gnawing on his heart.

If he'd just woken up...

No. He sank his teeth into his bottom lip. Feeling sorry for himself wouldn't bring Emma home. Maybe nothing ever would.

William eased his guitar off his back. The worn wood had once belonged to his grandfather who'd spent years traveling with nothing to his name but his guitar and a heart full of songs. He'd lingered in a handful of hamlets, but only William's grandmother and her gorgeous voice that was even more intoxicating than the town's ale had convinced him to settle down.

With Mother favoring knitting needles rather than her father's strings, the guitar had gathered dust until little William's nonsense songs had given way to something more purposeful. Almost a decade later, William's calloused fingers danced over the guitar strings as easily as the sun reddened the backs of his hands. Not even the promise of peeling skin could stop him from strumming.

The song haunted his dreams too much for that.

It began as a slow, steady rhythm, like a rat twitching its whiskers as it sniffed for predators lingering near its burrow. William tapped his foot in time with his thrumming, each brush of his fingers on the strings building toward something stronger. Faster.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he chased the song. The tempo quickened in time with his heart, a frantic staccato beating against his ribcage. This broken melody was the last thing he'd heard before losing Emma. If he could fill in the gaps, perhaps he could find a clue...

Something splashed into the river.

William's fingers stumbled over the strings as he lost his place in the song. He still wasn't even close. He'd been practicing for months, yet he could only manage a pale imitation of what he'd heard that night. Hopefully he'd be able to put on a better performance for everyone back in the church. As it was, Father would not be happy he'd taken so long to return.

"No use dawdling," he muttered before giving his guitar one last caress and slinging it over his shoulder.

Another splash answered him. Then another and another until they drowned out the rushing river.

"What in the Lord's name...?" Raising his gaze, William swore.

A crowd of children stared at him from the opposite shore. Others flailed against the Tantalus as the current threatened to drag them downriver. Panting gasps filled the air as kids crawled onto the shore and collapsed in a sputtering heap.

Emma stood among those waiting to cross.

Much had changed since the last time William had seen her. Her blond hair stuck to her scalp in matted tangles, and her dirt-caked dress clung to her small frame as tightly as William wished to. Gone was her warmth-filled gaze, leaving her bright blue eyes as cold as a grave.

Not all of her was unfamiliar. Freckles still speckled her cheeks, and her high-pitched giggling peppered the air as she marched toward the water.

"Stop!" William screamed as he remembered something else that likely hadn't changed since Emma had disappeared.

She didn't know how to swim.