[its Halloween here's update yay]

By four the next morning, we were all out on the field again. I was paired with Dallon, and everyone was with their respective partners. Spare Patrick, who was searching through his tent for photographs because he'd sworn on his life he had more. Ryan said it was fine, that it didn't matter, but he'd insisted.

"I'm scrubbing dirt," Dallon huffed, "I've been scrubbing dirt for like, an hour."

Everyone was. We hadn't found a thing since we found all the skeletons in a circle. Pete was beyond frustrated with himself and the lack of results - he'd resorted to testing the dirt and funneling it out into empty water bottles. Ryan played cards with either a rock or he competed with Josh and Tyler. I'd found Dallon just liked to talk.

"It's alright. Me too." Like I'd said; we hadn't found anything.

"What's your favorite movie?"

"Ratatouille," I said, and he snickered, "why? What's yours? I doubt it's better than a rat chef cooking in a high end restaurant in Paris."

"Actually," he sat up and wiped dust from his shirt and fixed his bandana. I couldn't tell if the black marks were shadows or the same thing I'd seen a few days prior, "I like Finding Nemo the best. I like fish."

"Lame. What's your favorite animal?"

He thought about it for a moment. I watched Spencer in the background with his forehead pressed to a shovel, spinning a hole in the ground. Everyone was around him, cheering quietly while he stood up, took a few bumbling steps forward, and fell sideways on the dirt. He didn't get back up, but he rolled around a few times. "I like dogs."

Before I could say I did too, Patrick came sprinting across the terrain with a single slip of paper in his hand. Everyone turned to look, except for Spencer. He just reached for the shovel and tried to stand without doubling over and clutching his stomach.

When Patrick was close enough to holler and be heard, Dallon shuddered and glanced over his shoulder with a sneer and a glare in his eyes. It was a strong contrast to the quiet 'I like dogs' he'd just mumbled.

"I found a photo! I did it, it was buried at the bottom of my shirt drawer," Patrick held it up between two fingers, careful not to touch the film, "It's the last one. I-I couldn't find any others."

I caught a glimpse of it in the rising sun. It was of a cluster of bird skulls, a few bones scattered about. The orbit rings were captured too, curving from the right top and bottom corners. Pete's two fingers formed a blurred peace sign in the corner.

Josh scratched the name of his neck and leaned down to stare at it too. "That's the last one I think we'll ever take until we get supplies from John in a week or two. I can't find any film, and the camera disappeared into thin air last night."

Josh and Tyler had been screwing around with the camera that night, photographing the other doing handstands or rolling around in the dirt until their heart's content. I wouldn't have been surprised if they'd wasted all the film and broken the camera as well.

We'd all turned to stare at Tyler. He was the one with both items last. His hands went up instinctively. "Hey, it wasn't me. I put it back in the trunk of the car, and when I went to get it this morning, it was gone."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dallon's eyes transfixed on the photo. Malice sparked in unblinking icy blue, a glint nobody else saw but me. I hadn't brought it to anyone's attention, because I couldn't tear away my own gaze to notify them. It looked like he was frozen, and shaking from cold even though it was well over ninety degrees outside.

"Holy shit-" Patrick hissed, and the picture fluttered to the ground. Black dripped from his fingers and to the ground.

The film leaked from the paper. It was ruined - melted right in front of our eyes.

_________

[Freaked myself out writing this part. It's not too bad but. Yknow.]

Nearing the end of the day, I found myself in the backseat of the car with Ryan's laptop. He'd let me borrow it after I'd shown him mine, and how it barely powered on let alone allowed the cursor to twitch around the screen. I guessed it was a side effect of what'd happened to my computer.

I'd searched up Dallon. It was an innocent action, I'd just wanted to learn more about him. Maybe there was a reason behind everything happening that connected back to him in some crazy loop.  There had to be a reason why the picture melted after he'd been glaring at it intently. I couldn't just continue without a reason. There had to be one.

The blue bar at the top of the tab zipped to the edge of the screen, and up popped a Wikipedia page, a personal website, and a few other links.

While the Wikipedia page loaded, I watched Pete dump half a bottle of water into a bowl filled with dirt, mix it with his bare hands, and flip the plate upside down to make a dome. He stuck a twig on the top as soon as it retained the shape he wanted, while Tyler and Ryan clapped slowly. Dallon sat in a lawn chair with an unsolved Rubix cube in his hands, Josh sat on the dirt beside him while spinning a ring packed with various keys on his finger.

The page didn't lead to Wikipedia. It sent me to an online store for hiking equipment. I refreshed and refreshed, I tried at least ten times, only to achieve the same results. There wasn't even the opportunity for me to click on a different link to hiking gear.

The other website led to the history channel page, specifically a video about pyramids in Egypt. I repeated the actions again and again until my hand ached, but I got the same answers every time.

I gave up and closed all the tabs, and just before I shut the laptop, I finally noticed a figure in the window, towering over the window, hunched over to peer into the vehicle. Wide and unblinking icy blue eyes, watching me with an expression as blank as paper. He was just sitting down a few seconds ago, and I hadn't even noticed him get up. He was still holding the Rubix cube in one hand.

"Can I help you...?" I said with a raised voice and he shuddered again. The toy fell from his grip to the dirt, knocking the side of the car on its way down. He genuinely looked surprised, terrified and lost, even, when I met his eyes again.

Dallon bit at the inside of his cheek, and tapped on the window once more. I rolled it down and asked the question so he could actually hear me, a sheepish blush spreading across his cheeks. It was strange, considering he'd just been staring holes through my skull without me noticing. I could've sworn he was possessed.

"A-actually, do you think you can go to my tent a-and grab the book on my bed? I-I-I don't think we're doing anything anytime soon, and I don't wanna solve my Rubix cube yet. I've had it for too long to finish it now."

I nodded and clambered over the armrest between the passenger and driver seat and started the Range Rover with the quick flick of the keys in the ignition. On the way down to the tent circle, I couldn't shake the thought that he just wanted me to quit searching for him online, or that something else wanted me to stop.

I'd glanced over my shoulder when I reached his tent, to see if he was still staring at me or if I could take my time and sift through his things for any type of explanation, even a discovery alluding to something gone wrong.

Everyone was gathered in a circle, with one in the middle. It was Pete, I assumed. I'd caught a flash of a red first aid box and the rest fell into place.

His tent was clean, at least at first glance. The posters were tacked to the fabric drooping to the stakes bolted in the ground, his drawers were shut, bed made. But his book wasn't sitting on his bed, Hell, I didn't even know which book he was talking about, so if he grew defensive about learning I'd searched his tent, he couldn't get mad.

His nightstand was full of the goodies; in the second drawer I found what I was looking for. First was his book, Ten Little Indians by Agatha Christie. I'd read that in middle school. And I found a small journal hidden underneath another book about learning to read and write hieroglyphics.

July twelfth, two thousand twelve —

I slammed the book shut. It was like a diary, dating back five years ago. And it was bound to give some explanation, it couldn't not hold an answer.

So I ran back to my tent, shoved the journal under my blankets, and drove back out to the field as if nothing was wrong.