ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʜᴇʟᴠᴇ.

| 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎 |

The clock read '4:12 am'.

There you stood at the end of the fluffy bed, surrounded by milk white blankets and snacks. The house was quiet, apart from your dad's faint snores from the end of the hallway. You tip toed around your bedroom to pick up the most important things, such as clothes, food, toothbrush, and carelessly throw them inside your bag pack. It was an old one, stuck with you since your high school years, the dark green already wore off in some corners.

You had promised dad to not go on this camping trip with the Scott twins, but your teenage years had long passed and you were a nineteen year old capable of making your own choices.

THUND!

One of the books fell from the white, wooden old shelf right as you took the one who was holding it straight in your hands.

One, two, three.

Silence. You could do this without waking up dad, and without letting anymore books fall to the ground like rocks. Your shoulders dropped of relief and you made your way back to the bed, pushing the bag pack towards you with a bit too much strength. It didn't have to be this way, hiding away like a criminal and disappearing in the night like a ghost, but dad never allowed you to go camping as you grew up. He said it was 'too dangerous'. You knew he was right, it was dangerous, but one time certainly wouldn't kill anybody right? After all, Vivienne had taken self defense classes like you had. No cryptic held the upper hand against two angry gals.

"What are you doing?"

You must've woken the neighbours with how loud you shouted. Turning to face the door, there stood your dad with a sleepy frown on his face, holding a gun in his hand and his phone on the other.
You should've mentioned he was quite paranoid too.

"Cleaning my bedroom." You waved around dramatically, "See? Clean."
You could see, with the help of his phone flashlight, the sweat dripping from his forehead and the way his grayish t-shirt clinged to his torso and armpits. It was your turn to frown this time, did he have another nightmare?

Dad lowered his gun and sighed, a very, very long sigh. A sigh you were acquaintances with, as you had heard it plenty of times before, while growing up. You knew since a very young age that you were adopted, that your father wasn't actually your father. Sometimes he would tell you glimpses of the past, of your origins, and how sweet your mother was - but also how brave your real father was. He'd make sure you knew how alike you were to him, but you could see it was not the most pleasant of memories.
However, you never questioned him about it. But it doesn't mean your heart never ached.

"You're going on that camping trip, aren't you?" You could feel the disappointment lingering from his voice, "I won't stop you. You're not a kid anymore." A small smile formed on his lips as if he was recalling a fond memory. Dad proceeded to turn around to walk down the stairs, for a glass of water, you presumed. "Don't forget to get your gun from the attic." You couldn't help but squeak in excitement.

The next morning, dad had already left for work. He worked at a convenience store for as long as you could remember, but also had side jobs to help pay for the expenses. You never had anything missing - always clean and fresh clothes and properly fed. Though you didn't grow up spoiled with toys, which probably influence your grateful attitude, you couldn't complain either - you never had an empty Christmas tree or a missing birthday cake. It was just you and him against the world, and he had made sure you never fell throughout your path.

Vivienne was thirty minutes away from arriving to pick you up. You all still had to go grocery shopping for the weekend and time was running stray. None of you were experienced in camping so one could only imagine the mess it will be to set up a single tent, let alone three. In the meantime, you were reaching out for the attic stairs on top of your little creaky chair.
The attic was forbidden grounds, you had learned that after dad had found you wandering around inside when you were ten. Nine years later, you thought he had changed his mind since you were now legally an adult and wise enough to take care of yourself, but once your phone started ringing and the bright 'DAD' popped on screen, you knew he hadn't. You swiped red and turned off your phone, placing it in your jackets pockets.

The stairs went down smoothly and the lock on the hatch was nowhere to be found. Had dad been there recently? It would be odd, you haven't seen him going up there in nine years. Lifting yourself up from the ground, placing one foot in front of the other, you cautiously climbed up the dusty-clean stairs.

Just like your prediction, the attic smelled of dust and old books, maybe a tint of memories as well, locked away from prying eyes. It was different from the last time you saw it, much smaller, but it made sense since you were no curious child anymore. The faint light that the ceiling lamp provided showed you a portal to another world; boxes of papers, an old TV, shelves of albums and things that you swore your dad had thrown away. Were was he keeping  his gun? You didn't have thirty minutes to look for it.

Ignoring the almost constant ringing from your phone, you began to scanvage the attic boxes like a stray kitten searching for food. A weird comparison, but with true sticking to it, if you play close attention. At first, you didn't know where to begin - there were so many options to look, and that TV was staring at you menacingly. You were half expecting it to turn on and Jigsaw to appear, mocking you for prying in your dad's stuff.

There were two boxes laying in the corner furthest from you, insignificant at best, but you couldn't take your eyes off of them. You checked your phone, and couldn't help but curse under your breath when the screen lighted up.

11 MISSED CALLS FROM DAD📸
1 CONVERSATION OPEN WITH VI🌱

A part of you felt bad for doing this to your old man, but whatever he was hiding here, you had a feeling it had to do with your family. You had to know the truth, and you knew you wouldn't get it from him. Surely it couldn't be that bad? You told yourself countless of times, but from the way things were looking, it could be an Avengers level threat by all means.

The gun now forgotten in the back of your mind, you kneeled down in front of the outcast boxes and pulled the smallest one to your lap. It didn't have any sort of warning of what it was for, so you were ready for anything - maybe a human hand? A dragon egg? No, it was just an album of pictures under a videocamera and a cap.

So much for the mystery.

You reached out for the stack of pictures. They didn't look very normal, anyone could see that. Whoever took them had an obsession with the woods and abandoned train rails - but that was not all they were, you noticed as you held a particular one in your hands. The photo was yellowish in the sharp corners, most of the right had been burned off and the smiling group of men were not very familiar to you.

Starting from left to right, there was a boy with an emo-looking brown haircut wearing glasses. He smiled like an excited kid. Next to him was a tall giant - an exaggeration by your end - with a sheepish smirk and blond hair. His eyes were devoid of any emotion whatsoever. In the middle was a guy, very odd looking and bearing a forced smile - probably not a photogenic person, you thought - with dark hair and sideburns. Alright, maybe it was in trend back then.
You frowned.
Then your finger ran over the last person in the photograph, right before it was burnt. A frail guy compared to the other three, wearing the same blackish cap from the box, with soft lighted hair. He seemed tired, but he still smiled for the picture. There were more besides him, but they were lost to ashes now.

You knew this man, didn't you? You surely had seen him before and it certainly wasn't on the street.

You turned the picture around in hopes of it telling you something more about its origins - and ta-da! There it was; four names written by a black marker. They were faded out but you could still read them.

alex brian tim jay

"What?" If betrayal was an image, it would be this photograph. This forgotten, yellowish photograph that lingered in your hands. That man, "Jay", looked exactly like your father - or was it a twin brother? It could be, as far as you know you could have an uncle you're unaware of. Your heart knew the truth, however.

Your father's name was a lie. What else could he have lied about? You thought as your eyes fell on the largest box in front of you. It was duck taped all over, as if someone was afraid something would come out of it like a zombie from their grave. It read two single words;

Marble Hornets