𝙄𝙉 𝙒𝙃𝙄𝘾𝙃 --≽ 10 summer camp counselors must survive two months and their last night at Hackett's Quarry summer camp amongst creepy kids, otherworldly creatures and vicious locals.
𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝟓𝐓𝐇 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑
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⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙
[DYLAN, (NAME), NEAR THE RADIO HUT AND THE CABINS, 24TH OF JUNE 8:03PM]
''Eh, why not?''
Dylan spoke, walking closer to the door. He paused, looking back at (Name), before pondering something.
''Hey, just incase the spooky ghost voice placed a booby trap in here, go back to the others. I'll be right there, okay? I'm just going to check what's inside.''
''Yeah, okay. Uh.. Be safe?''
Dylan hummed, before putting the radio on the table and looking around, his hands to his sides. He slowly stepped closer to the box, inspecting the lock which looked very sturdy.
''Holy shit. What's Mr. H trying to lock inside of here? It looks like a lock for a vault or something.''
He flipped the box on its side, so the hinges were exposed. It was very thick, and he'd need to get a strong weapon to break it open. Thankfully, he's in the Radio Hut, which is also used to store tools. He looked at the wall, where multiple different said tools hung.
''No screwdriver? Not even a lockpick? Really?''
He then turned his gaze to a hammer on the wall, with a little red spot on the end. He couldn't tell what it was, but he could only hope it wasn't what he was thinking.
''That looks like it could hammer this open.''
He walked over to it and unhooked it from the wall, taking it in his right hand and distributing the weight through his fingers.
''Well duh, Dylan. It's a hammer.''
He walked over to the box and got on his knees. He turned the hammer around in his hand, so the claw end was facing towards the box, and raising the hammer above his head.
He struck the hammer down directly on the hinge, piercing it slightly and making a loud bang, silently hoping he isn't getting anyone, or anything's attention. He huffed, raising the hammer upwards again.
Again he struck, with a loud bang, and then again. And again, and again, not noticing the old woman creeping up behind him. And again. And again. He then stopped, panting slightly.
PATH CHOSEN
''Okay, that should be good now..''
He had smashed both hinges to pieces, and pulled the two sections of the chest apart from each other with a loud, uncomfortable squeak of wood. He looked inside, confused.
There was a thick stack of newspapers, with a vibrant, orange post-it note stuck on it, and a torn, loose page of what looked to be an old book with something written on it. There was also a box of matches, which he stuffed in his pant pocket.
