Trip.

(AGAIN NOT MY ART ALL CREDIT OF THE ART GOES TO ARTISTS)

Trip.

I was playing Subway Surfers on my phone when my mom barged into my room, excitement written all over her face. "Come on, up up up, let's go! Get a bag ready; we're going on a road trip," she said hastily. "Wait, what? Why? What's going on?" I asked, my curiosity clear on my face. "Nothing, darling. I thought you said you wanted to visit California, maybe even Disneyland. Let's take the opportunity," she replied quickly. Still questioning, I agreed, "Alright, but you have to explain in the car. Where's dad?" "Your father had a work emergency. He's already left and won't be back for a while," she explained as she headed for the door. "Be ready in 5 minutes."

The car ride began quite strangely with a mix of confusion and excitement. My mom seemed to want to keep our destination a secret, her eyes were focused on the road and she seemed to be thinking deeply. The radio played soft music, creating a strange feel with the mysterious vibe in the car.

After what felt like forever, my mom suggested we stay somewhere for the night. We found ourselves at a dingy motel, unease settled in my stomach as we walked into the dark room. The air was heavy with uncertainty, and I couldn't shake the feeling that our little road trip had a deeper purpose.

Writing in my notes app, I wrote down the weird stuff that was happening, from annoying noises to maggots in the mini-fridge. As I lay on the crusty, musty, and of course dusty bed, thinking about the events that had happened recently, my mom's behavior became much more wild and desperate. Late into the night, around 1 am, the thumping noises continued. Unable to ignore them, I decided to investigate. The motel hallway was dimly lit, making big shadows that moved with every weird floorboard. The source of the noise seemed to be the room above ours. after a lot of contemplating, i knocked on the door. The thumping stopped, and after quite a while, it swung open. A disheveled-looking man in his forties stood on the other side, his eyes worried yet urgent. "Keep quiet," he said quietly. "You're in more danger than you realize." Confused and freaked out, I went back to our room. The realization that we were in something far more dark than a family road trip left my mind racing with fear. The motel's creepiness now felt like a warning, pushing us to escape the danger.

The next morning, my mom appeared unfazed. She suggested we continue our family trip, promising to tell me everything when the time was right. I agreed(reluctantly tho), a sense of unease staying with me as we left the musty motel behind. Days turned into nights, and our nomadic existence became weirdly normalish. The landscapes outside the car window changed from huge cities to empty farmland. My mom seemed to relax a bit, a smile coming out now and then. Yet, an underlying tension stayed present, a constant reminder that danger was not far behind.

One evening, we pulled into a shaded spot for the night. My mom stepped outside to make a call, her voice hushed. I caught parts of the conversation mentioning a contact, a meet-up point, and urgency. In the quiet of the night, I heard footsteps coming over to our car. A figure came out from the shadows, and my mom returned, her eyes, a mix of relief and anxiety. The stranger, a man in his thirties, exchanged a few thingd with my mom before leaving again. Their strange conversation left me with more questions than answers. As we continued our journey, I couldn't stop the feeling that we were being watched.A chill ran down my spine. The road stretched ahead, seemingly endless, leading us further into the darkness. I looked over at my mom, her eyes focused on the road, hands on the steering wheel. "Mom, I need to know. What are we running from?" I said anxiously, my voice with desperation. She hesitated, glancing at me with an unreadable expression. "I can't tell you now. I need you to trust me a bit longer. We're almost there, and then I promise, I'll explain everything."I nodded, reluctantly accepting her promise.