It all started when Dad came back from his solo fishing trip up north. No one thought much of the heavy, suspicious-looking duffel bag he hauled into the kitchen—until he unzipped it.
The smell hit us first. A wave of salty, sharp stench filled the room. “Dried fish,” he said proudly, like he’d just brought home gold. “Traditional. Real stuff. No chemicals.”
We all exchanged nervous glances.
But it wasn’t the smell that shocked us.
Inside the bag, beneath layers of newspaper and fish tails, was a sealed envelope. Dad didn’t notice it until my little brother pulled it out. It was marked with an odd symbol and stamped in red wax.
Inside? A map. Old, brittle, hand-drawn.
With coordinates.
And a note: “Find the others. Before they find you.”
The dried fish were just a cover.
Dad didn’t just go fishing.
He was running from something… or toward something.
And now, we were in it too.
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Update: We followed the map. What we found in the abandoned lighthouse changed everything. Want Part 2? 😳🔥
