Is That Mom

Part 1 of Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

Into the Unknown

—

Part 1:

A New Beginning

Ethan’s car rumbled along the cracked road as he neared the outskirts of the town. He squinted through the windshield, trying to make out the buildings obscured by the dense fog. The GPS on his phone was frozen—another reminder of how cut off he was from everything familiar. He hadn't heard from anyone since leaving home, and that silence seemed to stretch endlessly around him, as thick as the mist that now blanketed the landscape.

The town of Cargill, population 732, was even smaller and more desolate than he'd imagined. A few haphazard streetlights flickered in the distance, their weak glow barely cutting through the fog. Old buildings, their wooden frames sagging under the weight of time, lined the narrow streets. Some of them looked abandoned, their windows cracked or completely shattered, while others gave the impression of life—faint lights inside, movement behind the curtains—but barely.

The car sputtered as Ethan slowed to a stop outside a rundown building with a worn sign: Riverside Motel. The neon letters flickered ominously. Only the word “Motel” fully glowed, and even that was dim, like it hadn’t seen proper maintenance in years. Ethan sighed and turned off the ignition, staring at the sign as it buzzed faintly above him. This was it—the first step on a path that could lead him closer to the truth about his mother, but for the moment, it felt like stepping into a waking nightmare.

The weight of his decision finally started to settle in as he stepped out of the car. His grandmother’s face flashed in his mind, her teary-eyed plea for him to stay, to stop searching. Ethan had brushed her off, desperate for answers, but now, as he stood alone in the middle of a ghost town, guilt gnawed at him. Had he abandoned her? Had he made the right choice?

A gust of wind blew through the street, carrying with it the faint smell of damp wood and something faintly metallic. The cold wrapped around Ethan, seeping into his bones. He grabbed his backpack from the back seat, slung it over his shoulder, and walked towards the motel’s front door.

Inside, the air was stale, thick with the scent of mildew. The lobby was cramped, the walls lined with faded floral wallpaper peeling at the edges. A small desk sat in the corner, behind which a heavy-set man in his sixties sat reading a newspaper. He didn’t look up as Ethan approached, his hands fumbling with the bell on the counter.

Ding. The man grunted but still didn’t raise his head.

“Uh, I need a room,” Ethan said, shifting his weight from foot to foot, feeling awkward and out of place in the silence that followed. The town, like the man, seemed to regard him with quiet suspicion. No one was expecting him. No one was welcoming him.

Finally, the man lowered his newspaper and gazed at Ethan with dull, watery eyes. “How long?” His voice was gruff, barely a question.

“Just… just a night or two. I’m, uh, passing through,” Ethan lied, feeling a strange need to explain himself, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Room twelve,” the man muttered, reaching under the desk and pulling out a key attached to a plastic tag. He tossed it onto the counter without another word.

Ethan picked it up, the cold metal pressing into his palm, and nodded before walking down the narrow hallway to his room. The floor creaked under his feet, and each door he passed was more weathered than the last, the paint chipping away like the town itself was trying to disappear. The place felt frozen in time, stuck in some forgotten era.

He reached Room 12 and unlocked the door, pushing it open with a low groan of old hinges. The room was as drab and worn as he had expected—two small beds with threadbare covers, a single lamp casting a weak yellow light, and a tiny bathroom that looked as though it hadn't seen a proper cleaning in years. The wallpaper here was the same, faded and curling at the edges, adding to the overwhelming sense of decay.

Ethan dropped his backpack onto the bed closest to the window and sat down, staring at the floor. The weight of everything he had left behind seemed to press harder on him now that he was truly alone. His grandmother, his friends back home—he had cut ties with them all in his search for the truth. For the first time, he wondered if the decision had been foolish, if he had overestimated his ability to handle this journey on his own.

The quiet in the room was oppressive. Outside, the fog clung to the windows, distorting the faint outlines of the street. He felt isolated, not just physically, but emotionally. The thought of what lay ahead, the potential danger, gnawed at him, but so did the uncertainty of what he might—or might not—find here.

Despite the eerie atmosphere, a flicker of excitement stirred in him. This was it—he had taken the leap, and now there was no turning back. The town, the motel, the mystery—it was all in front of him, waiting to be uncovered. Somewhere in this desolate place was the next piece of the puzzle. He felt it.

Yet, that excitement was quickly smothered by the overwhelming loneliness. His grandmother’s face flashed in his mind again. She had been his rock since his mother disappeared, always there, always steady. He had never felt more cut off from her than he did now. The guilt twisted in his gut, though he told himself, over and over, that he was doing this for her too, that finding his mother would bring them both peace. But doubt lingered.

Ethan sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, exhausted. He lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, where a single crack ran through the plaster like a wound. The quiet of the town pressed in around him, and as the minutes ticked by, he began to wonder whether anyone even lived here. The whole place felt like it was teetering on the edge of oblivion, just waiting to be forgotten.

His phone buzzed faintly in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts. A message—no signal, but the notification still appeared. He opened it, the screen casting an eerie glow in the dim room.

It was from an unknown number: "Stop searching. You won't find what you're looking for."

Ethan’s heart raced, the isolation suddenly more suffocating. Someone knew he was here. The fog outside felt like a living thing, watching him. And for the first time, doubt began to creep in—not about his quest, but about his own safety.