Fort Oakley | Part One

15 | Why Did The Trout Leave The Cult? They Were Too Sacrifishal

The house was too quiet after I locked myself inside. Knowing I was all alone inside didn't calm me down like I had hoped it would.

Before I even knew what I was doing, I found myself heading towards the attic. If there was anything else up there that could give me some sort of answers, I needed to find them.

The space was just as dim and cluttered as the last time, the thick dust hanging in the air making me cough.

Every creak of the old floorboard beneath my feet freaked me out. I wrapped my jacket tighter around me, breathing through my nose as I started going through the boxes to avoid inhaling the dusty air.

Ar first, all I found were ordinary things. Old clothes, stacks of yellowed documents, random trinkets that seemed meaningless to me but probably held some value for Claire.

There was an ornate locket in one box and a brittle bundle of letters tied with a faded piece of ribbon in another, but nothing stood out.

Frustration bubbled up in my chest as I sifted through the clutter. My hands moved faster, the cold air biting at my fingers, but I kept going. I wasn't leaving this attic empty handed, even if that meant reading through that bundle of letters dressed to Claire.

All the way at the back of the attic, buried under multiple other boxes and old blankets, I spotted a box with the words "Mom and Dad" scrawled across the side in Claire's handwriting.

Even though Alma and Linden Rowe didn't like me, it felt wrong going through their things.

Muttering an apology to them, I brushed off the dust and opened the box.

The first things I came across were several old journals which were stacked neatly inside, their leather covers cracked and worn. They were all tied shut with thinner pieces of leather, so I took them out and set them aside.

I wasn't going to read through them—whatever was written inside of them could not give me the answers I needed.

Next, I found a small wooden token. It was polished smooth and carved with small runes. I turned it over in my hands, tracing the intricate carvings with my fingertips.

What did the runes mean?

I set the small wooden circle on top of the journals and continued my search.

The next thing I came across in the box made my heart skip a beat.

A knife.

It wasn't an ordinary pocket or hunting knife either. It was entirely made of bone, with the thicker handle being wrapped in what felt leather. It was smooth and cold to the touch, the sharp blade engraved with the same runes as the token. It felt heavier than it should have, and I set it aside quickly, not wanting to hold it any longer than I had to.

It was weird, and I've had enough of that for one day.

Finally, at the bottom of the box, I found a photo album.

Its cover was worn and frayed, like it had been paged through many times before.

I opened the album to the first photograph, and my breath caught in my throat.

The picture showed a group of people standing in a room of sorts. They were dressed in long, dark robes, their edges embroided with symbols—the same runes that was on the token and knife.

Their faces were hidden by masks and my stomach twisted as I quickly flipped through the rest of the album.

Page after page, the photos grew more unsettling. A young Claire appeared in several of them, no older than nine, standing stiffly among the robed figures.