Chapter 4 — It’s Starting
1954 Words
Ethan stared at the photograph.
For several seconds, he forgot about everything else.
The red notebook remained open on his desk, but he no longer cared about the drawings or the stories inside it. His attention was completely fixed on the old photograph resting between his fingers.
His father.
Ethan had almost forgotten what it felt like to see his face.
The photograph was old, slightly faded around the edges. It had probably been sitting inside the notebook for years without anyone touching it.
In the picture, Ethan was much younger.
Maybe six or seven.
His hair was shorter, his face rounder, and his smile was wide enough to show several missing teeth.
His father stood beside him with one arm around his shoulders.
They were both smiling at the camera.
Ethan stared at his father's face.
Then something inside him shifted.
He remembered.
Not everything.
Just small pieces.
His father's laugh.
The sound of his voice when he called Ethan's name.
The way he used to pat Ethan on the head.
The feeling of sitting beside him while watching television.
The smell of his old jacket.
The way Ethan used to hold his hand whenever they walked somewhere together.
The memories came slowly at first.
Then faster.
Ethan closed his eyes.
For years, his memories of his father had felt like photographs themselves—faded, distant, difficult to focus on.
But now they felt strangely clear.
He could almost hear his father's laugh.
Almost feel his hand resting on his shoulder.
Ethan opened his eyes again.
A small smile appeared on his face.
It was a genuine smile.
He hadn't realized how much he had missed him.
“Dad…”
The word barely escaped his mouth.
He looked down at the photograph again.
He remembered the day his father disappeared.
He didn't remember everything about it.
He was too young.
What he remembered most was waking up and realizing his father wasn't home.
Then waiting.
And waiting.
At first, Ethan had believed he would come back.
His mother had told him that everything would be okay.
But days became weeks.
Weeks became months.
Eventually, people stopped talking about it.
Except Ethan.
He had never really stopped wondering.
Where did he go?
Why did he leave?
Was he coming back?
And most importantly—
Why had his mother never given him a real answer?
Whenever Ethan asked about his father, she always found a way to change the subject.
Sometimes she said he was gone.
Sometimes she said she didn't know.
Sometimes she simply told Ethan that he was too young to understand.
But Ethan wasn't a child anymore.
He was old enough to know when someone was hiding something.
And lately, he had begun wondering whether his father's disappearance and the strange things happening around him were connected somehow.
Ethan shook his head.
He didn't want to think about that tonight.
For once, he just wanted to remember his father.
He carefully placed the photograph on his desk.
Then he heard footsteps approaching.
“Ethan?”
His mother's voice came from the hallway.
Ethan quickly picked up the photograph.
He didn't want her to see it.
Not yet.
He slipped it underneath his pillow just as the bedroom door opened.
His mother stood in the doorway.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
She looked at him for a moment.
“You've been quiet.”
“I’m fine.”
His mother glanced toward the desk.
“What are you doing?”
“I found my old notebook.”
She smiled slightly.
“The red one?”
“Yeah.”
“I haven't seen that in years.”
Ethan looked at the notebook.
“I forgot I had it.”
“You used to write in that all the time.”
“I know.”
“You used to draw everything too.”
Ethan smiled.
“I wasn't very good.”
“You were a child.”
“That doesn't make the drawings better.”
His mother laughed softly.
For a moment, everything felt normal.
Just the two of them talking in his bedroom.
No secrets.
No strange incidents.
No questions.
Then Ethan's smile faded.
His eyes moved toward the pillow.
His father was underneath it.
“Mom?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you ever think about Dad?”
The smile disappeared from her face.
Only for a moment.
But Ethan noticed.
“Sometimes,” she answered.
“Do you miss him?”
His mother looked at him.
“Of course I do.”
Ethan hesitated.
“Do you think he'll ever come back?”
His mother didn't answer immediately.
She walked farther into the room.
“Why are you asking?”
“I found the picture.”
His mother's eyes moved toward the pillow.
Ethan noticed.
“You knew about it?”
“I knew you had pictures somewhere.”
“Why don't we talk about him?”
His mother sighed.
“Ethan…”
“I just want to know what happened.”
“I know.”
“You always say that.”
His mother sat on the edge of his bed.
For several seconds, she looked at her hands.
“There are some things that are difficult to explain.”
“Because I was young?”
She looked at him.
“Yes.”
“But I'm not young anymore.”
“I know.”
“Then why won't you tell me?”
His mother looked away.
“Because some answers don't make things better.”
Ethan frowned.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“I know.”
She stood.
“I wish I could make everything easier for you.”
Ethan didn't respond.
His mother walked toward the door.
“You can tell me if something is bothering you.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“I'll always be here.”
Ethan looked at her.
“Thanks, Mom.”
She smiled.
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
His mother stepped into the hallway.
Then she tried to close the bedroom door.
It wouldn't move.
She frowned.
“What's wrong?”
Ethan stood.
“The door?”
“It won't open.”
She tried the handle.
Nothing happened.
She pulled again.
Still nothing.
“Maybe it's stuck.”
Ethan walked over.
“Let me see.”
His mother moved aside.
Ethan grabbed the doorknob and tried turning it.
It didn't move.
He pushed the door.
Nothing.
He pulled.
Nothing.
“That's weird.”
“Try again.”
Ethan turned the knob harder.
Still nothing.
His mother reached for it.
“Maybe the lock is broken.”
“It's not locked.”
She tried pulling the door toward her.
It remained firmly in place.
Ethan looked at the hinges.
“Maybe something is caught.”
“I don't think so.”
He tried pushing the door again.
Nothing.
His mother sighed.
“I'll get something to open it.”
She turned around.
Ethan looked at the door.
Something about the situation was beginning to irritate him.
It was just a door.
Why wouldn't it open?
He grabbed the handle again.
“Wait.”
His mother turned.
“Ethan?”
“I can do it.”
He wrapped both hands around the doorknob.
His fingers tightened.
He pulled.
Nothing happened.
He pulled harder.
The muscles in his arms tensed.
His jaw clenched.
“Ethan, don't—”
CRACK.
The sound was sharp and violent.
Ethan stumbled backward.
The door suddenly moved.
Not opened.
Moved.
The entire door came away from the frame.
The hinges tore free with a loud splintering sound.
The door crashed onto the floor.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Ethan stared.
His hands were still raised.
His breathing was heavy.
He slowly lowered them.
“What…”
He looked at the broken door.
The hinges were hanging from the frame.
Pieces of wood had splintered around them.
Ethan stared at the damage.
Then at his hands.
Then at his mother.
“I…”
His voice trembled.
“I didn't mean to.”
His mother didn't answer.
Ethan looked at her again.
“Mom?”
She was pale.
Her phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor.
Ethan flinched at the sound.
“Mom?”
She didn't seem to hear him.
Her eyes remained fixed on the broken door.
“Mom, I wasn't pulling that hard.”
Nothing.
“I swear.”
His mother finally looked at him.
And Ethan saw something in her eyes that frightened him more than the broken door.
Fear.
But it wasn't fear of him.
At least, Ethan didn't think it was.
She wasn't backing away.
She wasn't looking at him like he was dangerous.
She was looking at him like she had just witnessed something she had been afraid would happen.
Something she recognized.
Ethan felt a cold sensation move through his chest.
“You knew.”
His mother blinked.
“Knew what?”
“You knew this could happen.”
“No.”
“You're lying.”
His mother looked away.
Ethan stepped closer.
“Mom.”
“Ethan…”
“You weren't surprised.”
She said nothing.
“You saw what happened and you weren't surprised.”
“I was surprised.”
“No.”
Ethan shook his head.
“You were scared.”
His mother looked at him.
“I am scared.”
“Why?”
She couldn't answer.
“Why are you scared?”
Silence.
Ethan looked back at the broken door.
He couldn't understand how it had happened.
He hadn't felt like he was using much strength.
He hadn't even thought he was pulling particularly hard.
Yet the entire door had come out of the frame.
He looked down at his hands again.
They looked completely normal.
No blood.
No injury.
Nothing different.
But something had changed.
Something inside him.
“Mom…”
His voice became quieter.
“What is happening to me?”
His mother closed her eyes for a moment.
“Nothing is wrong with you.”
“Then how did I do that?”
“I don't know.”
“You do know.”
“Ethan—”
“You do.”
His mother's expression tightened.
Ethan's heart was pounding.
“Is this why Dad disappeared?”
The question seemed to hit her harder than anything else.
She looked at him.
For a moment, Ethan thought she might finally answer.
Instead, she looked toward the broken doorway.
Then back at him.
“I can't.”
“Can't what?”
“I can't explain this.”
“Why?”
“Because you're not ready.”
“Ready for what?”
She didn't answer.
Ethan stepped closer.
“Mom, please.”
His mother stared at him.
The silence between them felt heavier than before.
Ethan could see that she was fighting with herself.
There was something she wanted to say.
Something she had kept hidden for years.
Finally, she whispered his name.
“Ethan…”
“What?”
Her eyes remained fixed on him.
And when she spoke, her voice was barely audible.
“It’s starting.”
Ethan froze.
“What is?”
His mother said nothing.
“What are you talking about?”
Still nothing.
“Mom?”
She looked away.
Ethan stared at her, waiting for an explanation that never came.
He looked at the broken door again.
Then at his hands.
Then back at his mother.
For the first time, Ethan understood that whatever had just happened wasn't an accident.
And judging by the look on his mother's face, it wasn't something new to her.
She had been waiting for this moment.
Perhaps for years.
And now that it had finally happened, there was no going back.
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