There were at least eleven adults, plus three little ones.

After dinner, I casually asked, "Do any of you know what Gael is doing for work lately?"

Uncle Dominic took a sip of wine and replied, "Isn’t he running long-haul trucks out west? I heard he’s about to finish his training and will be able to drive on his own soon."

Uncle John looked puzzled. "Isn’t Gael working as a programmer in the capital?"

Aunt Micah put down her fork. "Huh? I thought he was working in a factory down south?"

Everyone exchanged confused glances.

Squinting my eyes, I pressed on, "Well, you can just ask Gael! Whoever has his number, give him a call!"

Everyone pulled out their phones and started searching their contact lists. After a while, voices began to rise.

"I’m sure I had his number, but now I can’t find it."

"Same here, I don’t have it either."

"This doesn’t make sense, I talked to him just last week."

Not one of the eleven relatives had Gael’s number.

At this point, even the most oblivious person could tell something was off.

Uncle Dominic put down his glass, his tone serious. "Let’s all sit down and discuss what kind of person Gael is."

Everyone fell silent. Aunt Micah and cousin went upstairs to put the little ones to bed.

The men cleared the table downstairs and set out eleven cups, pouring tea.

Half an hour later, everyone had gathered again.

Uncle Dominic raised his cup and took a sip, his expression one of worldly wisdom. "I’ll start. This is for sure, Gael should be about thirty-five this year. He’s tall and drives a truck. Last year during the Spring Festival, we specifically talked about running the northwest routes. He said the road conditions were bad and that it consumed a lot of fuel."

Uncle John pushed his glasses up and frowned. "That doesn’t add up. Gael is definitely not over thirty. He’s a programmer, wears black-framed glasses, and is thin. Just a few months ago, he complained to me about working too much overtime, saying something like '996'."

Aunt Micah shook her head, looking certain. "My goodness, you’re all mistaken. Gael is thirty-two, and he works as a workshop supervisor in an electronics factory in Nashville. He’s fair-skinned and chubby, really good at talking and getting along with people."

I silently recorded these contradictory descriptions, my heart racing.

How could the same person have such different ages, professions, and appearances?

It was now Aunt Nerissa's turn. She thought for a moment before speaking. "I remember Gael as being very introverted when he was young. He’d always sit alone and quietly read books, never causing trouble."

Dad immediately countered, "That’s impossible! Gael was so mischievous when he was little! He’d climb trees and raid bird nests, there wasn’t a place in the village he was afraid to go to."

"I thought he was an only child," Sheena chimed in.

Uncle Dominic waved his hand dismissively. "No, he has a younger sister."

Aunt Isabella corrected him, "A younger brother!"

The atmosphere was growing more and more bizarre.

I looked around, and everyone’s face was filled with confusion and unease.

"Who are his parents?" I asked, dropping a crucial question.

"Well..." Aunt Micah began, then suddenly stopped, her brow furrowing. "His parents are... your third aunt’s relatives."

Aunt Nerissa immediately contradicted her. "No! He’s not from our side of the family!"

No one could answer.

The eleven relatives exchanged bewildered glances, the air thick with tension.

I broke the silence and asked, "Can anyone remember the last time they saw Gael and where?"

Dad thought for a moment, then said, "It was during the Spring Festival. He came to our house to teach Florence how to make sweet and sour ribs. We spent the whole afternoon together in the kitchen."

I immediately retorted, "That’s impossible! I was traveling abroad during the Spring Festival, and I didn’t come home at all."

Dad was stunned, clearly recalling this fact.

Uncle John spoke up, "He came to my house last weekend to fix my computer. We even had some drinks together."

I looked at Aunt Micah. "Is that true?"

Aunt Micah shook her head, confused. "Last weekend, we went to Mom's house. We weren’t even home."

Uncle John's expression shifted to panic. "No, I clearly remember..."

I interrupted him. "Let’s try this—let's all draw Gael. Everyone draws what you think he looks like."

Soon, eleven sheets of paper were filled with various depictions of people.

Some were tall and muscular, others short and lean; some wore glasses, others were bald; some had beards, others had delicate features. These portraits had no common features, as though they were drawings of eleven completely different people.

"This can’t be," Uncle Dominic muttered, staring at the wildly different images. "How could we all have such different memories of the same person?"

Suddenly, Uncle Meldrid’s eyes lit up, and he shouted, "I remember! Gael could do magic tricks. Every year during the New Year gathering, he would perform magic tricks for everyone!"

"Yes! He could do magic!" Several people echoed in unison.

This seemed to be the only characteristic that everyone agreed on.

As the eleven adults fell back into stunned silence, a sound came from the staircase.

Sheena's daughter shakily walked down, holding a bag of chips.

Sheena immediately stood up, "Sweetie, weren't you asleep?"

The little girl waved the chips in her hand, "Uncle Gael woke me up just now and gave me these chips. Mommy, do you want some?"

Gael came... and was upstairs?

Everyone was shocked.

I glanced around. "We need to check on the kids."

Aunt and Sheena nodded, quietly following me upstairs. As we rounded the corner, we heard laughter coming from the children's room.

We pushed open the door to find two little children sitting on the floor, playing with toys that neither belonged to them nor should have been in that room.

"Where's Gael?" Aunt Micah asked, picking up her grandson.

"He went to the bathroom," the child answered, still holding onto a toy.

Sheena and I exchanged a look and quickly made our way to the bathroom at the end of the hallway.

The door was slightly ajar, and the bathroom was empty.

We checked every room upstairs, but there was no sign of Gael.

The three of us had no choice but to take the three children back downstairs. The other relatives were still deep in discussion about Gael in the living room.

"Did you find Gael?" Dad asked, looking up.

Sheena shook her head. "He’s not upstairs. There were just some new toys in the room that we didn’t recognize."

That was when I noticed the cups on the coffee table.

I counted them once, then again.

My voice trembled. "Twelve! We only have eleven people. Why are there twelve cups on the coffee table?"

What was even more unsettling was that each cup showed signs of having been used, including the "extra" cup.

I looked toward the sofa and saw twelve distinct indentations where people had been sitting, arranged in a circle, just like when we were discussing things earlier.

"Gael... was he here the whole time?" Aunt Micah’s voice quivered.

No one answered, because no one remembered.

Panic began to spread.

We scattered around the ancestral house, desperately searching for any sign of Gael.

In the study, we found an open book with fresh notes written in unfamiliar handwriting.

In the kitchen, there was a freshly washed coffee cup in the sink, but no one in our house drinks coffee.

In the backyard, there was a clear set of footprints on the grass, leading toward the wall, then abruptly stopping.

The most chilling part was when we returned to the living room—the "extra" cup was gone, and only eleven indentations remained on the sofa.

"What the hell is going on?" Uncle Dominic yelled, his voice nearly breaking.

In the midst of the terrifying atmosphere, the front door was gently knocked on.

"Who is it?" Aunt Nerissa asked sharply.

"It's me, Gael..." came the response from outside.