[hi. This whole thing. Creepy.]

I'd curled up under the covers as soon as I heard something outside. Eyes as bright as a lighthouse flashed through my tent, and it'd taken all my effort to not grab the closest thing to a weapon and start swinging at whatever I could reach.

I didn't. I didn't move. I barely took a breath in between the ones feet away from the entrance flap. My entire body fell still when a claw tore another gash into the material. My heart resumed beating when it finally stalked off, but it never resumed again after hearing the taunting sounds of shattering objects off in the near distance. 

I didn't sleep.

Surely it was just my imagination.

I was full of shit, like Ryan had said.

It was just my imagination.

It wasn't even real.

__________

That morning, I woke from a whole two hours of broken sleep to Dallon shaking my shoulders. It took a moment to realize, but he was gone before I could confirm he was afraid. I thought I'd caught a glimpse of fear in his eyes, but it could've easily been my own mind playing a cruel trick on me. I wouldn't have doubted it for one second.

In the light of the sun peeking over the mountains skewing the horizon, I saw everyone gathered in a circle, a few leaning in closer to the middle than others. Josh was one of the more noticeable ones, staying in the outer space of the cluster with a hand over his mouth like he was going to hurl at any second.

"...Look, when Dallon comes back, we can ask him then, he's gotta know what it is. Problem solved." Tyler hissed. He was crouched over a bronze rod with the head of a funky looking dog placed at the end, decorated with intricate carvings up and down the sides.

When I got close enough, it became obvious all of the bones of the animals in the rings had been crushed beyond both repair and recognition. A shudder ran through my entire body — maybe last night wasn't my imagination running wild. It would definitely explain the second gash in my tent, and reassure the fact that I wasn't slowly spiraling into insanity like it seemed.

Dallon came jogging up behind me, adjusting the red bandana around his neck. All I could think about was the journal entry I'd read about how he'd acquired it and what he'd done that night. His actions years ago had left me to shape him in my own imagination, but I couldn't let him know that. I wasn't even sure he knew it was missing from his drawers.

"I'm sorry, I was finishing up some important business — John contacted us. He's sending more supplies out in two weeks," he said, out of breath. His fingers rubbed carefully against his neck, brushing at terribly blended concealer that was a shade too light, "but I have the feeling that that was the least of our concerns right now."

"Hell yeah it is," Pete sneered and snatched the mystery object from Tyler, holding it away from his body with two fingers like it was on the verge of exploding, "what the fuck is this? And why is everything smashed to bits? When did the Incredible Hulk get here?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Patrick's lips twitch up in a smile before they returned to a solemn and concerned pout. "He's right. When we let John know that he has to deliver more supplies than usual, it's not going to reflect well on us and our priorities or here. We need at least twice the equipment; half of the stash is either missing or malfunctioning."

"What do you mean? There's no way — I built all this, and the ones I didn't, I supervised." Dallon muttered. His fingers returned to playing with the bandana, instinctively, I assumed.

Josh shrugged. "I dunno, man. The radio's glitching. Drills won't stop buzzin'. It either spins and whirs, or it does nothing at all, and now this bullshit," he gestured to the scepter Pete was holding, "what the hell is going on?"

Dallon frowned and took it from him carefully. He didn't even take a minute to examine the markings or the caved in metal dog head before clutching it tighter in his hands. "I-It's a Sekhem Scepter."

Everyone was quiet for a moment until Pete spoke up in the confused silence.

"What the fuck is that?"

He seemed to ease a little of the tension for a moment, but it hadn't lasted long. The air fell heavy again, crushing, suffocating. Unless it was just me that couldn't breathe properly.

"It's an Egyptian item used to represent an exceptionally high position of power," Dallon muttered, and everyone scooted in closer to hear, "uh, i-it's usually associated with royalty, like, gods and goddesses, but only a select few have been depicted with it. More deities from the underworld than any other ones."

Again, the group was dead silent. The only sound echoing across the terrain belonged to a few tumbleweeds scurrying across the ground due to a slight breeze.

"We're in Montana," Josh narrowed his eyes skeptically, and rightfully so, "how did that even get here? How does that relate to what we're doing out here? None of this makes any sense, whatsoever."

"I feel like I'm in algebra all over again."

"I'm so confused."

Ryan made eye contact with me from behind Spencer. His expression was unreadable, but the corner of his lip twitched downward, and I took it as a sneer relating to the discussion we'd had prior. I decided to not accuse Dallon of weird shit right then and there. I had to wait it out and see if my suspicions were correct.

"Whatever," Spencer waved a dismissive hand at the scepter and rolled his eyes, "it doesn't matter. That could've come from anywhere, anyone, anything. That thing is at the bottom of the list of our concerns right now." He huffed and walked off with his hands in the pockets of his plaid pajama pants.

"You all know he's right." Ryan said, and followed behind him a few paces. Then Patrick, then Tyler, then Josh.

Pete sniffled and wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. I'd heard he'd been feeling under the weather for the past few days, but something in the back of my mind said it wasn't a cold that was causing his runny nose. "A-As much as I'd like to stay on this topic and figure this shit out right this second, I think we should drop it like everyone else is. For now, I'd really like to focus on not dying, if that's okay with you guys."

It was just Dallon and I after that. He was still holding the scepter in his hands, just a little closer to his chest in a protective manner. He looked worried. Terrified. Tears were pooling in his eyes, his cheeks were colored a blotchy pink. He stared at the ground for a minute in silence before tossing the scepter to the dirt and fumbling for my hand to walk with me back to camp.

"It's probably, like, a coyote," he mumbled, in a tone so low his voice was almost lost, "they're always bringing around weird shit. They're fearless up here; always snatching things from the museum when we're unloading for a new exhibit. One of them must've stolen it when we weren't looking — y'know, I saw a couple just last night. They were right outside my tent."

I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. It was the best I could've done for the time being. "Don't worry about it. We're all going to be fine, there's nothing to fuss about. None of this is your fault in any way, shape, or form."

He nodded and paused a dozen or so yards away from the first tent to pull me in for a quick hug and press his lips to my hair.

__________

[freaky? Definitely. Watch out]

August first -

Something happened. I don't know what it is. I keep seeing things, like a shadow with a mind of its own always sneaking off behind my back. I feel watched. I don't feel safe anymore. Everything else screams that I am, but then I see it again and all of a sudden it's like I'm being watched with a million eyes on every breath I take. I don't know how much longer I can stand it.

It stupid and unimportant compared to the news I got earlier though. Jack is dead. He'd gone looking for me in the pyramid, apparently, and they found his body this morning. That's what I'd been told. I couldn't remember anything past the point when I found the hieroglyphics on the wall. There was no clear cause of death. He just dropped dead, from what I was told. The only health issue he had was asthma, and even then it was a mild case. There were no signs of a heart attack or a stroke, nothing similar either.

I can't write about what happened down there. Not yet. It's connected, he's dead because of what I did. It's my fault.

Returning to the museum tomorrow. I don't know if I should tell John everything or tell him there wasn't anything in Cairo for me. That would be lying to his face, but it would be the least of my worries for the time being.

I can see it.