❀ જ⁀➴
In a small little town named Home, amongst all of the residents, there is the You. Y/n Ellen, the happy, brightly colored neighbor. Everything was going great, everyone's lives were happy and cheerful. Why- no. How did You...
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「 CHAPTER ONE 」
❀ જ⁀➴ ✉
⤿ stepping into the small little house, he didn't have an ounce of a positive reaction. how could he? all he remembers is the confusion, the hope they would come back, the hope that he could find even a small bit of an answer to all of his questions. Though, he never got any.
sure, this house brought back happy memories but it wasn't exactly happy anymore after their disappearance. It just reminded him of how he took advantage of their friendship and how he didn't value the time they had together.
it's okay though. He already went through the five stages of grief so this shouldn't make too much of an effect on him. After he had stood there for a good moment thinking, he finally decided to get to work. But where would he start?
Their house was packed with art projects, letters, books, everything. They were always known for having an active mind.
Speaking of letters, there was a whole pile of them stacked onto the kitchen island. Eddie must've put them there just in case they came back. After they disappeared, everyone didn't seem to mind when the cameras were on— not like they could show worry or grief anyways, she wouldn't have that.
It was harder to show much negative emotions since she brought in more eyes.
enough speaking of her, he needs to get back on track. He didn't have much time to do this so he should really get started. He started taking out a trash bag, dumping all of the letters into the bag.
Some of the letters fell onto the floor as he did this. He was a little annoyed, but he could get over it. He was easy to piss off but he could never take his anger out on them. He loved them too much for that.
He started throwing all the papers and art projects and books into the trash bag. It's not like he wouldn't see them again, they would remake the same projects they always made. It was the same every restart. he wished he could see something new for once, but everyone couldn't take a hint to keep their mouths shut.
Though, he left some of the important stuff they always had in their house. He didn't have to throw away the food. They've been gone for so long so he already cleaned out the rotten and spoiled stuff.
Grabbing more trash bags, he threw away anything he could find. It would've hurt if he hasn't done this so many times.
Soon enough, time started to pass and it was around 30 minutes later. He still had a neutral expression on his face. Now, the last room he had to clean out was their bedroom.
He didn't exactly like this part, usually the neighbors like to keep personal items or special things in their bedrooms. That was normal for people to do but he respected You.
And with that respect, he didn't want to go through their personal things. That just felt wrong to him.
Hesitating to go into their room, he was thinking of things. He knew he shouldn't be questioning things, he knew that was just asking for trouble.
But how could he not? He's been living the same way for so fucking long— how much longer can he deal with this?
He needed to stop and get it over with. He opened the door and walked in, trying not to think of this too much. He start cleaning, or more so trashing everything.
Throwing out the art supplies, throwing out the art tapped up on the wall, throwing out gifts. He tried to keep a blank mind.
Though, he made sure to check under the bed for any forgotten trash or checking in the drawers. He learned from one of the first few times he had to do that.
When he was digging through the closest, a small messenger bag fell to his feet and dumped everything inside out.
He immediately stepped back, he wasn't trying to break anything. He stared at it for a good moment. He's never seen this bag before, where did they get it?
Lord, if she ever found this she would blow her roof off.
He slowly crouched, glancing out the window to make sure one of that damned clock's faces didn't pop in to check if he was doing his job. He gently lifted the bag, seeing everything pour out.
There was a journal, a book, a small sketchbook, colored pencils, pens, papers that looked awfully important. This seemed like what they would have in a bag but they never exactly carried around a bag before. So then what was this?
Looking through the bags pockets, he only found empty candy wrappers that he's never seen before. Mostly because Howdy never sold anything like this type of candy. There was also lip balm that was strawberry flavored. That wasn't too unusual so he disregarded that.
He looked through the papers first. They were a bit crumbled because they've been in the bag for so long where items would get put and taken out.
They looked like documents but he couldn't really understand them. He's never seen a document before so he didn't exactly know what he was looking at. he decided to move on, he wasn't going to get anything out of those.
He opened the journal since the sketchbook and book didn't really interest him. The cover was black but with paint on it. An eye in the middle of the cover with yellow, red, and blue lines spiralling all about the cover and into the back.
This was definitely their doing. He opened the first page, seeing a lot of cursive writing. Like a lot. On top of the page was the date along with the time stamp of how long it took to write.
There was little drawings of flowers throughout the page, but there was one with a heart next to the first line of the page, drawn beside "My Dearest, Trixie,"
Huh. Isn't that— there is sudden static and then there is a distorted beep, indicating that the connection was lost.
