📹Marble Hornets: After Entry 35

Chapter 3

Masky was still awake when Hoody returned.

One of the water bottles was knocked over, and Hoody realized it had been pointless to offer a closed drink to someone whose hands were tied behind their back. But Masky needed to drink in order to stay physically able. Hoody reached for a water bottle.

"What are you doing?" Masky croaked. He sounded like a mess, but Hoody could only imagine what their own voice would do after countless months of not using it. They unscrewed the water, but when offered, Masky leaned away in distrust. Hoody shrugged and capped it again, then reached for their pocket and withdrew something that they tossed gently onto the floor between them.

It was a blank white mask, almost identical in shape to the cracked one lying beside it. Next, Hoody produced a thick black marker and waggled it at Masky, head tilted. Waiting to see his response.

Masky glanced at the blank mask, then back up at that melancholy red frown watching him. What was this hooded person trying to say? Then he realized.

"You... know me?" Masky managed to cough out. His leg flared and he growled. He shouldn't be surprised. A lifetime of memories had already been claimed by the tumultuous static in his mind. This stranger may not really be a stranger.

Hoody nodded once, and Masky narrowed his eyes at them, his face contorted by pain. It was rather surreal to see Masky emote visibly. Hoody fought the urge to laugh.

"Who are... you?" Masky paused to hiss through his teeth at his leg again. "How d'you know who--or what I am?"

Instead of answering, Hoody reached once more into their pocket for the folded paper tucked inside. They spread the paper on the floor, brushing away enough debris for a relatively smooth surface. Hoody uncapped the finer tipped side of the marker and began to draw.

For some brief, timeless period, they were huddled in silence as Hoody was absorbed in their message. Words, most of the time, were useless at conveying true intent. It was impossible (as far as Hoody knew) to exchange thoughts and feelings directly. So drawing had been Brian and Hoody's language of choice since youth. It was a way they were still connected to this world. A way to find the Ark. Or escape from it. Or whatever.

Hoody stopped. They had become lost in their work, etching bark and leaf details into a drawing that was already finished enough to convey what was needed. Hoody quickly shoved the paper into Masky's view.

It was a forest at night, with particularly large stars and trees. Three figures stood in a clearing; one with a hood and a frown, another with a mask, and the last had a dog's head. There were Xs and Os all over the page. Hoody pointed at the hooded figure then to themself. They then drew their finger slowly from the masked figure to Masky, and to the blank mask on the floor.

Masky was pulling a hilariously confused face, but Hoody was too irate to be amused now. It would be so easy if Masky could just remember why they first met at all. This, perhaps, was a time when words were necessary.

Hoody leaned in to spell out "ALEX" in messy letters on the paper. Then they circled and crossed it several times.

Alex. The name sparked anger in Masky again, and a part of his mind once sleeping began to stir. He shook his head, trying to maintain control, but Tim persisted, not fully awake but drawing just close enough that Masky felt his shadow appearing in the fog. He won't remember. He can't remember.

Masky's eyes darted over the page before falling on the three masked figures scrawled in the center. Three fragmented souls brought together under a common goal, a common hatred. The fog shuddered. He regarded the hooded person above him, detecting urgency behind those drooping red eyes.