Don't let them know you can see

15

In my haste to leave the basement, I accidentally knocked over an object. Initially indifferent, the sight of a fallen notebook piqued my curiosity. Perhaps it held the answers to Ethan's enigmatic behavior and, more importantly, could provide evidence of his guilt, justifying my actions as self-defense.

Kneeling, I cautiously picked up the notebook, dusting off its cover before eagerly flipping it open. The first page bore a title written in a familiar hand – my own. "The Family of Shannon," it read, sending a jolt of recognition through me. Inside, a photograph labeled "Mother" depicted a woman unlike any I remembered; elegant and poised, not at all like my own mother known for her vices.

Turning the pages, I found more photographs, each more disturbing than the last, labeled "Father," "Brother," with each figure unnervingly familiar yet foreign. The realization that these were not mere photographs but something far more macabre sent me reeling.

My mind raced with fragmented memories, each more painful than the last, painting a picture of a life filled with neglect and abuse. I am the killer. In desperation, I clung to the notebook, finding solace in the idealized family it represented – a refuge from my harsh reality.

The final pages hinted at a sinister conclusion with the words "Long Nail and Shannon" unlocking the floodgates to my lost memories. With clarity came a decision, and I prepared, setting up a camera with a sense of foreboding purpose.

But amidst this turmoil, a nagging question lingered: Why was there no mention of Ethan in these recovered memories?