⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ the poor chicken ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

PLEASE DONT BE A GHOST READER!
COMMENT AND VOTE! IT HELPS US WRITERS STAY MOTIVATED:)

the reason i always say "please don't be a ghost reader" this isnt just because i want votes, i mean i do, but ive been writing on this app for 3 almost 4 years and it helps me stay motivated because that means people are reading my stuff. and unlike other people, they have so many views on their books and i know my writing isnt the best but i love to write and it just helps me stay motivated. and i know i unpublish and republish my chapters and i get thats really annoying

【 SEASON EPISODE 2 PART 2 】

As they approached the locked door, John B's voice filled the quiet air with a nervous energy. "We used to laugh at him like he was gonna find it. But now that he's gone, I've just kinda... I just left it as he kept it." His words came out quickly, as if he needed to explain the mess of memories and secrets left behind by their father. Kie, walking beside Clara, elbowed her gently, giving her a knowing look. Clara, a blonde with sharp features and a quick wit, groaned softly but nodded in agreement. "Yeah, for when he gets back," Clara muttered, echoing John B's sentiment. She couldn't help but feel a strange attachment to the way things were left, as if touching them would make everything real again.

John B nodded and unlocked the door. As it creaked open, Pope's voice broke the silence with a hushed awe. "I've slept over here like 600 times, and I've never seen this door opened." His eyes scanned the room like a treasure hunter stepping into an ancient tomb. Clara and John B exchanged a knowing glance. Their father had always been secretive about his office, never letting anyone inside. As they filed in behind John B, the air felt thick with a mixture of anticipation and old memories.

John B wasted no time. He grabbed the bulletin board from the table and laid it down for everyone to see. "Here, look. This is the original owner, right here. Robert Q. Routledge, 1880 to 1920." He pointed at the faded picture of a stern man with a compass. Clara stepped forward, pointing at the same photo. "There's the lucky compass, right there," she added, her finger tracing the outline of the object.

"Actually, um... he was shot after he bought it," John B added, his voice grim. Clara blinked, startled by the revelation. She had heard most of the family stories, but this part was new.

"He was shot?" Clara's voice was quiet, a little shaken.

"Yeah, then the compass was shipped back to Henry. He was killed in a crop-dusting accident when he had the compass. After he died, the compass was given to Stephen. Stephen had the compass with him when he died in Vietnam," John B explained, laying out the unsettling history. Clara felt a cold shiver run down her spine. She slowly looked up, locking eyes with JJ, who had been listening in silence, his brows furrowed.

"Let me guess," JJ said with a smirk, "he died in action, right?" His voice had that sarcastic edge, but there was concern in his eyes.

John B glanced at Clara and then back at JJ. "Sort of. Uh, actually, he was killed by a banana truck. In... in country." His words hung in the air awkwardly before Clara jumped in, finishing the explanation. "Anyway, after that, Stephen passed the compass down to him. To us... John B and me."

Pope, standing nearby, chimed in, shaking his head. "I'm sensing a recurring theme here." His voice dripped with sarcasm, but the tension was real.

"Death compass," he muttered, pointing at the object. "You have a death compass."

John B rolled his eyes. "I do not," he protested. Clara gave her brother a knowing look, one eyebrow raised. "We have a death compass," she said louder, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

"Get rid of it," JJ added with a grin. "It's cursed. And it's made its way back to you."

Ignoring the jokes, John B quickly refocused. "Look, my dad used to talk about this compartment in here. Soldiers used to hide secret notes." He fumbled with the compass, twisting off the cap. Kie, who had been observing quietly, pointed suddenly. "What's that?"

Everyone turned to see what she was pointing at. John B's eyes went wide. There, etched into the back of the compass, was writing. "That wasn't there before," Clara said softly, stepping closer. She recognized the handwriting immediately. "This is my dad's handwriting."

Pope leaned in, skeptical. "How can you know that?"

John B was quick to respond, flipping the compass over to show him. "Because he does these weird Rs with the... See it?" He pointed at the intricate letter, and Pope squinted before nodding in agreement.

JJ, who had been hovering over Clara's shoulder, spoke up. "Can I see it?" His curiosity was piqued, eyes narrowing as he tried to read the inscription. "Red... Rout... No, I think that's an A."

Kie sighed loudly. "It says Redfield," she corrected, clearly tired of JJ's guessing game.

JJ nodded, pressing his lips together in resignation. "Right."

Clara crossed her arms, turning to her brother. "Okay, well, what's Redfield?"

Pope muttered from behind her, his voice thick with sarcasm. "The most common name in the county." Clara shot him a look, silencing his comment before he could say more.

John B was quick to jump back in. "Oh, maybe it's a clue, alright? Maybe it's a clue to where he's hiding."

Pope groaned slightly. "A clue? Come on, that's-"

Clara cleared her throat, cutting Pope off mid-sentence with a look that told him to stop. Pope sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "But if it is a clue," Pope suggested, "maybe it's an anagram?"

John B's eyes lit up. "Yes! Perfect. Anagram. You need paper." He quickly handed Pope and Clara a sheet of paper as they huddled around the table.

The tension was interrupted by the crowing of the rooster outside. Pope groaned, throwing his head back. "How can you concentrate with that thing crowing at you?"

John B shrugged. "JJ and Clara love the rooster."

"We love the rooster," JJ confirmed, nodding in agreement as Clara gave a small smile.

Pope rolled his eyes but leaned over the paper with them, scribbling ideas. "Dedfiel... Colors... That's stupid," Pope muttered.

"What about Ritalin?" Clara offered, her eyes glancing up at Pope.

JJ snorted. "Dreidel? Fiddler?" he suggested, half-joking.

Pope sighed deeply. "Let's stick with what we're-"

"Wait!" Clara exclaimed, sitting up suddenly. "Defile. Does that mean anything to any of you?" She looked around the room, but they all shook their heads, none of them recognizing the word.

"Guys?" John B called from behind them, his voice urgent. None of them heard him, too caught up in the puzzle.

"Guys!" John B yelled louder, making them all jump. "Somebody's here," he said, his voice filled with alarm. Clara's heart skipped a beat, and a bad feeling settled in her gut.

The tension in the room thickened as Clara, John B, JJ, and Kie quickly rushed to the window, hearts pounding in unison. Outside, a black van idled ominously by the roadside, its doors swinging open to reveal two men stepping out with a purpose. Clara's breath hitched in her throat as she caught sight of their grim faces, illuminated by the fading daylight. "Guys, guys, is that them?" Kie whispered, her voice barely above a tremor.

JJ sighed deeply, frustration evident in his movements as he turned away from the window, starting to pace the room. "John B, I told you. Why does it always-" His voice trailed off as John B interrupted, urgency creeping into his tone. "JJ! Hey, look at me. Where's the gun?"

JJ's face paled. "Gun? I, uh, I can't... I don't..." His words stumbled out, a mix of fear and panic. Clara felt her heart racing, a wild drumbeat echoing in her ears as she pressed her hands against her temples, trying to steady herself. "The gun? The gun from the boneyard? Wh-What?" Clara stammered, her voice tinged with disbelief.

JJ's eyes darted between his friends, anxiety evident in his shifting gaze. "It was in my backpack, and then I..." he faltered, remembering too late. "On the porch. It's on the porch." John B mumbled, the realization hitting him hard.

Without wasting another second, John B shoved JJ towards the door. "Go, go!" he urged, pushing him out of the room. The urgency in John B's voice rang clear, desperation fueling his movements.

Just then, a booming voice echoed through the air, shattering the frantic atmosphere. "John Routledge! Clara Routledge! Come on out now!" One of the men shouted, and Clara gasped, the breath stolen from her lungs. Kie instinctively grabbed her hand, a silent promise of solidarity in the face of danger. They weren't just looking for John B-they were looking for Clara too.

JJ burst back into the room, slamming the door behind him, but Clara's heart sank when she noticed he wasn't carrying the weapon. "Where's the gun?" she breathed out, her voice barely a whisper.

JJ looked to her, shaking his head, regret etched across his face. "They're on the front porch," he revealed, panic tightening the atmosphere further.

"Routledges! Where you at, kids?" the second man shouted, the impatience in his tone palpable.

"We gotta leave!" Kie mumbled, her eyes darting around the room. Clara, adrenaline surging, spotted the window and pointed urgently. "Guys, window. Window."

Pope and JJ rushed to the window, their movements frantic as Clara jumped back, her heart racing. Glass shattered as the door took a blow from the outside, making Clara flinch and turn to the boys. "What's wrong? Why is it taking so long?" she urged, her voice rising in fear.

"It's painted shut!" Clara exclaimed in realization, frustration creeping into her voice.

Kie, determined and quick-thinking, began to circle the room, her gaze landing on a small knife resting on the table. She dashed over, grabbing it before running back to the window. "Okay, guys. Guys. Here, I got it," Kie said, panting with the exertion of the moment.

"Come on, Kie! We don't have time!" John B urged, his eyes wide as he glanced at the door, knowing they were running out of time.

Clara felt the panic rise again as she watched Kie fumble with the scissors, trying to pry the window open. JJ's frustration grew as he saw Kie struggle. "Come on!" he mumbled to her, urgency lacing his words. Kie shot back, her voice tinged with anger. "I'm going as fast as I can!" she snapped, a little too loudly, prompting John B and Pope to shush her.

The door Clara, Pope, and John B were leaning against began to rattle violently, sending adrenaline coursing through their veins. They jumped away as the wood started to splinter. "You better not be in there!" the man yelled, his voice a dark promise.

Kie gasped, her breathing becoming shallow as JJ finally pried the window open. Without a second thought, he pushed Kie through the opening before following her himself. "Come on! Come on!" he whispered urgently.

Pope was next, crawling through the window with all the speed he could muster. Clara felt a moment of hesitation grip her. But there was no time to lose; she had to jump. Taking a deep breath, she climbed through, hopping out just as Pope caught her, steadying her as her feet hit the ground. The fall was slightly higher than she anticipated, but Pope's grip was reassuring.

Once John B joined them outside, they all took off towards the chicken coop, adrenaline propelling them forward. Clara pulled her knees up to her chest, instinctively hiding her head in her knees as the roosters continued their incessant crowing. The noise grated on her nerves, heightening her sense of panic. JJ groaned in frustration, his eyes darting around for something-anything-to quiet the commotion.

"Do something, Pope. Shut him up," Kie urged, her voice a frantic whisper.

"What do you want me to do?" Pope whisper-yelled back, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and disbelief.

"Pet it, or talk to it. I don't know!" Kie hissed, clearly at her wit's end.

John B leaned against the wall of the coop, glancing over at the approaching threat, one of the men scanning the area. Clara shut her eyes tightly, shaking her head, trying to drown out the chaos around her. The rooster, oblivious to the danger, clucked loudly, running around the coop and brushing against their legs, heightening Clara's anxiety.

"You do something!" Pope whispered fiercely, exasperated.

In a moment of desperation, JJ lunged towards the rooster, tackling it to the ground with surprising agility. Clara's heart dropped as she shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. A sickening crack echoed through the coop, silencing the bird's clucks and leaving a heavy weight in the air.

"The poor chicken," Clara mumbled, her voice barely audible as she slowly lifted her head. JJ was hunched over the rooster, his hands gripping its neck, and Clara felt a shiver of dread wash over her.

Just then, she felt a hand clasp around hers, and she looked down to see Pope squeezing her hand tightly, a comforting gesture amidst the chaos. "Ratter! What the hell are you doing? Let's go!" one of the men screamed, pulling Clara's attention back to the window.

Heart racing, Clara cautiously peeked out through one of the cracks in the coop, her breath hitching in her throat as she spotted the man walking back to his car, momentarily distracted. A fleeting moment of hope ignited within her, but the fear of being discovered still lingered, thick and suffocating. They had to move, and they had to move fast.

ASH SPEAKS!

clara needs a hug rn cause her fav chicken just died :(

PLEASE DONT BE A GHOST READER!
COMMENT AND VOTE! IT HELPS US WRITERS STAY MOTIVATED:)