Zombie Survivor's Hideout

When the night falls

2012-02-10T20:17:00.000+01:00

Pale eyes staring,
the world no longer caring.

Ripping flesh and spilling blood,
crimson red coming down like a biblical flood.

Bullets flying and guns jamming,
people asking out loud how their loved ones are faring.

Reports of cannibalism and walking dead,
panicking people grabbing their head.

A club to their head or torch them is the way,
it's however not as easy as they say.

Detaching yourself from emotion and humanity,
you watch as the other members of your group flee.

Arguments and fights will never see the day,
as long as you do what the television will say.

No matter what profession you once had,
everyone is the same once dead.

Working together is the key,
but when you're running,
never think 'they can't get me'.

One scratch or bite is enough,
some go down easy,
others go down rough.

Even if you reach the police or the army,
you are not the first or last they will see.

Choice have to made on who stays in and who stays out,
this is what the new world will be about.

Trust must be earned and you have to pull through,
because when you're a bastard they'll soon have enough of you.

Remember these rules and remember them well,
for one day you'll be the one to tell:

"Death is no longer the end,
resurrection can befall to each family member and friend."

A memory to cherish

2012-02-10T19:56:00.001+01:00

When I close my eyes,
It’s still the day before yesterday.
The day where you said you’d be my wife.
The day we cherished each other,
The day we loved each other.
The world as we knew it would end
And a new life would begin.

We went to the park that day.
You said that you enjoyed the scenery.
I only smiled as sunlight danced on your face.
The sounds of laughing children playing slowly faded.
Footsteps started to quicken around us
and faint screams filled the air.
You turned around and gasped in terror.

Big columns of smoke rose in the distance
And sirens drowned everything you said to me.
I wish I knew what you said,
I only felt you squeezing my hand as people started to run towards us.
More rumbling in the distance as people started to grab their phones,
Calling their loved ones.
We were already together.

A cold hand suddenly grabbed my shoulder
And people screamed as they pointed to the man behind me.
The man’s face was partially chewed off,
Only a hole remained where his lower jaw once was.
I tried to release from his grip,
But he was strong.
His eyes were milky white,
His skin ashen grey.
You punched him against his head,
Knocking him over.

You grabbed my wrist,
Snapping me out of my shocked state.
Your eyes were bloodshot,
But your tear streaked face was hard.
We ran with other people as far as our feet could carry us.
More wounded people crowded the streets,
Attacking each other.

I saw a man chewing on the intestines of a dog,
His eyes were missing,
His hands slick with dark,
crimson blood.
He never saw us.
Those that did see him,
Puked
And screamed.

Fire raged around us,
Panic
And anarchy reigned supreme.
Looters systematically broke windows
And carried their prized towards their cars.
The police could only watch as each store was pillaged.
I could only stare at your bravery as you guided us through the masses.

We finally reached out apartment,
Out of breath,
Unsure what to think about this.
The screams outside were only multiplying,
More bloodcurdling than before.
You stared out of the window,
Sighing
And wondering what we should do.

Your eyes were telling me:
“run while we still can”,
But your heart was weary and
Your legs trembled.
I embraced you,
Savoring your warmth,
Shielding you from the world that started to collapse around us.
I would have caught everything that came at us.

The news anchor said they were dead,
But walking.
You only shook your head
And laughed at the absurdity.
It was a beautiful laugh without worry,
Without fear.
I just gave you a kiss,
Which you returned without hesitation.

The following day,
They were everywhere,
Shuffling
And
Killing everything on their path.
Police
And army tried to dwindle their numbers,
But to each one killed,
Ten replaced it.
They were multiplying too rapidly for them to handle.

We stayed inside,
Listening to the moaning
And the silence outside.
You tried the phones,
But no one answered.
You were so strong,
But as the setting sun bathed everything in glowing orange,
You fell on your knees screaming at the world,
The television
And even me.

You apologized,
Said you loved me,
But your eyes never were the same again.
When I woke up,
You were gone.
Only a letter explained that you searched for your parents
And that you would be back some day.

I have read the letter numerous times,
Searching for hidden clues,
Something that might’ve put my mind at ease,
But I found nothing.
Only more sadness.
I know you’ll never return to me,
But if I close my eyes,
It’s still the day before yesterday.

Nothing Left

2012-02-05T01:02:00.000+01:00

To the poor bastard that reads this,

If you’re reading this, you must be the person that is responsible for cutting me down from the ceiling or for disposing my body. Believe me when I say that hanging myself was not how I imagined my death. Like most, I thought that I was going to drift away peacefully in my sleep. But that hope, like so many others with me has been taken ever since that day.

When I finish this letter, I will leave this world, but my body will remain, enslaved by its desire to wreak death and destruction on those still alive. I hope that you’ve given me a good headshot or at least whacked my head off with a shovel. Both of those methods seem to be doing the trick. Like many others, I envisioned a bright future for me and my wife. We’d raise our little girls in a world that was going to take its first steps into a new age.

A manned space flight to another solar system, can you imagine the breakthrough? As a kid I often fantasized about traveling to the stars, visiting other worlds and meeting all kinds of life that was without a doubt waiting for us. I continued to have this child-like fantasies, this fascination if you will throughout out my adolescent and adult life. That is, until that shuttle exploded in the atmosphere, spreading an alien contagion throughout the world in only a matter of days. I can still remember the light, the debris spreading through the sky like fireworks. I heard the largest pieces fell into the ocean, but I’m not sure. Not that it matters now.

Hell, why am I telling you this, unless I’ve been hanging here for more than a decade, you’ve experienced it all for yourself. The outbreaks, the riots, the mass hysteria, it was something out of an ultimate worst case scenario. They say things will remain abstract unless you’ve experienced it first hand. I guess they were right. I’ve seen a lot of calamities on the television and even though they were horrible, there was not a single one of them that made me burst out in tears or tore me apart inside. Until one of my girls became infected.

She was just playing with her sister like she always did on those lazy Sunday afternoons until she started coughing and sneezing uncontrollably. This continued until she began spitting blood. I first heard her sister screaming that Mary needed help. Mary… … When I got to her, it was too late. Her heart had stopped beating and I held her lifeless, cold body in my arms, cradling it like I did when she was just born. She was so beautiful. So smart.

My wife was still hanging on the phone, blissfully unaware about the tragedy that befell on our family. She also didn’t know that we were not the only one facing similar crises. You’ve probably lost a few loved ones or friends. You must recognized the feeling of helplessness and despair. Suddenly, Mary started to shake and twitch. Her sister ran towards her mother saying that she was going to be alright, but by the time she got to her, Mary was lying on top of me, trying to claw my eyes out.

I avoided Mary’s snapping jaws and I was amazed that such a petite body could possess such enormous strength. She moved, she snarled, but her skin was still cold to the touch and I had yet to feel a pulse. Her eyes were unfocussed. My god, her eyes. No matter how deep I looked in them I saw nothing! Not a flicker of life. Nothing resembled the sweet little girl with an uncanny affinity for starfish and dolphins. With tears in my eyes, I kicked her off me, sending her flying across the room.

Mary smacked with her head against the coffee table, creating a large diagonal wound on her forehead. But the wound wasn’t bleeding, only a small dribble of coagulated blood oozed out of the tear, rolling down her once innocent face. My wife screamed at me, cursed me, but I managed to shove her out of the room as Mary regained her footing. The moment she got back on her feet and stared at us with those hollow eyes, staggering clumsily on her feet… it’s something I will never forget. I’ve tried every kind of liquor we have in the cabinet, but I can still see whenever I close my eyes. I closed the door of the living room, praying that she couldn’t open the door. It didn’t take too long before my other daughter, Michelle, also collapsed. My wife screamed at me to do something as she picked her up from the floor and I could only yell back that I also didn’t know what to do.

I still hear the endless sobbing of my wife as the realization of the situation finally sinks in. I gently hold her hand as I always did ever since we met at the carnival. Her green eyes, filled with tears are somehow grateful since I am here. I carefully place Michelle’s body in the bathtub, even though I only want to hold her close to me, whispering that everything will be alright with her mommy and daddy. As I released her cold, limp body, her eyes flutter open. They are dead. Like Mary’s. I turn around and close it without hesitation, clenching my head, covering my ears with my palms, but it’s not enough to block the sound of Michelle’s moaning.

My wife remained in the kitchen. She couldn’t bare it to see Michelle like this and I am glad that she didn’t had to experience this. The phone was almost glued to her cheek as she frantically tried to call family members and friends, but the line was engaged. Overloaded with similar calls from all over the world. Without us realizing it, the world was slowly crumbling, collapsing under its own weight. Structure, laws and rules were thrown out of the window as soon as it was clear that death was only the beginning. For the first time every since… Mary’s death… I heard sirens, screaming on the street and I smelled something burning. I remember calling my wife if she had left something in the oven, but she never responded to my calls.

I stumbled in the kitchen, finding Sarah lying on the floor. She looked as if she was sleeping, as if someone had switched her off or too out her batteries. It scared me to the deepest part of my soul. I fell on my knees and cried. I crawled towards her and held her hand for the last time. I pulled myself towards her and kissed her lips for the last time. I lay down my head on her chest, embracing her for the last time. I caressed her cheeks with the back of my hand like I did when we first made love. This all made me realize that no matter what happened, there was no one that could replace her. She was everything to me. Without her… I would be nothing.

I… dragged her body… to the bedroom and once again closed the door behind me. I, I don’t know how I find the strength to write this. If you could only see me know, writing this with trembling hands, with a bottle of scotch next to me, closing my eyes every time I hear them pounding on the doors. I don’t know how long it will hold, but I guess you’ll have to deal with them. Sorry if I put your life on the line like that, but I hope that you’ll understand that I can’t do anything to them. Not even when I heard on the remaining radio and television stations, that they can only be killed by damage to the brain.

The thought of doing something like that to Mary, Michelle and Sarah… is beyond words. It sickens me to my stomach. I guess that now you know their names, realizing that they were people once, would make things more difficult for you too huh? I’m sorry about that. I really am. I’ve waited for the embrace of death. Waited for the symptoms to appear, but unfortunately it seems that I’m immune for the disease and will only reanimate after death.

Again, I’m sorry to leave this world in such a hurry without cleaning up first, but I think that you’ll understand that I want to be with them as soon as possible. Maybe there’s nothing waiting for you when you die, but that’s still better then to spend the remainder of my life without my family.

I wish you the best of luck in your survival and I hope that you still have someone to care for or that you’ve met someone you care for. Please, promise me that you’ll keep him or her close to you. Never spend a day without telling him or her that you love him or her. Savor every moment you have. You’ll never know when it’s the last…

Greetings,
Alexander

Encounter

2012-01-17T17:29:00.002+01:00

Ellen’s fingertips brushed gently against the rough texture of the walls. Occasionally she felt the cold, smooth surface of a lonely tile. These disruptions and the slight burning sensation she felt on her skin made her able to maintain her concentration. The darkness of the endless corridor seemed to envelop her, dulling her senses. It also made her mind see and hear things that weren’t there. That was only one of the dangers she would face during her trail. Behind her, she could hear the heavy boots of William and his heavy breathing made her feel like she was stalked by a bear. William was a tall man, muscular with gray hair. He looked and acted like a brute, but was in fact one of the most intelligent hunters Ellen knows. As a senior operative, he had seen things others only saw in their worst nightmares. He had traveled across the globe, ridding the world of all kinds of evil. She was proud to call him his teacher.

But this was no time to dwell on nostalgia or to pay attention to trivial things. There was a reason why they traveled for hours to this derelict antique shop stuffed to the brim with trinkets and obscure articles. When she first entered the store above them, she felt the magic that surrounded the place. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw various kinds of talisman, religious relics and all kinds of enchanted artifacts on the shelves. Certain curious objects were strategically placed around the store and weird writing created a force to keep the curious at bay and to prevent their secret from escaping. The employees, an inconspicuous elderly couple, had unlocked the door at the end of the tunnel and put a magical seal on the door leading to the subterranean passage to make sure that the evil they were visiting wouldn’t escape.

Ellen’s muscles tightened when she thought about what she had to face today. For five years she studied under the wings of William as an apprentice hunter. Together they had stopped the undead from pouring on to the streets numerous times. The Order applauded her by her determination, knowledge and unusual gift. Ellen had the power to see into the past. She only had to touch an object and she would see through the eyes of the owner what had transpired. If the emotions surrounding the memories were powerful enough, she could even sense the current whereabouts or even take over certain characteristics of the owner’s personality. It was something that was useful, but also posed a lot of risks. William helped her to understand and control her gift. Today however, was the day she would prove herself. If she didn’t make it by herself, she would die by the hand of the creature or by William himself. What she had learned and seen needed to remain a secret.

Despite all her knowledge and experience, Ellen had yet to see one of them in person. She had studied their physiology, psychology and mythology extensively. She stayed up night after night, her eyes obsessively pouring over every scrap of literature, every blurry photograph, every grainy footage she could get her hands on. She didn’t only use the Order’s library, she also gathered lots of Intel by herself. After she was done with the books, she gladly donated them to the Order. Her memory was flawless, one of the side effects of her training and gift. This was a world she entered when she was only sixteen, a world where she was not seen as a freak of nature or cursed. It was a surrounding she had grown fond with and where she felt safe.

Now she had take the next step. Her mind was preparing for the encounter ever since they stepped in the car. As the landscape passed by, she could only think about the amount of apprentices that died during this trail. She had seen footage of the killed candidates. Nothing but torn limbs and chewed bones. Only a handful survived the ordeal and there was always a chance that they would be too scarred to function normally in society. They were mostly transferred to mental institutions across the nation. No one that would ever believe them, no one that would ever want to investigate their tales further, uncovering the truth that the Order was keeping away from everyone since the end of the Dark Ages.

When they entered the city, she had a brief vision of a desert village and a woman wearing a black robe. Her head and face were veiled, but Ellen saw her burning eyes piercing right at her as if she was actually there. When she told William about this, he nodded gently and said that it was her. With every step she now took, the emotions of the woman seemed to grow more intense. More evil and more manipulative.

Feelings of sorrow and grief were overshadowed with hatred and lust.
They stopped at a large metal door. It was fortified with thick slabs of steel and painted with goat blood to form incantations of every known human language in the world. Some of them even reached back since the beginning of human civilization. This was a creature that was feared through every culture and the greatest threat to mankind since its creation. The oldest documented account of their existence was found on a wall of an ancient temple buried beneath the sands in the Middle East. The public would never know of this discovery. Any curious tourist or treasure hunter that came too close, vanished without a trace.

There was an unusual silence in the air as Ellen reached for the door handle. She hesitated, looking behind her shoulder at William and the small speck of light in the distance. The scent of herbs and essence was filling her nostrils. She could’ve sworn that she heard drums beat in the distance and snares wail in the darkness. William smiled and put his hand on her shoulder.

“You’re ready”, he said with his deep, gravelly voice. “Show no fear and you’ll be fine.”

Ellen smiled back and grabbed the handle.

“Besides, it already knows you’re here”, William suddenly said.

Ellen could feel his warm breath touch the skin of her neck. It seemed as if had grown colder in the last few seconds. “I know”, she said softly.
She reached for the flashlight in her pocket and opened the door. The loud screeching of the metal grinding against the concrete resonated through the chamber.

With a soft click, a beam light sliced through the darkness, revealing to Ellen and William a world only a few ever saw but no one would ever want to see. The floor was colored dark crimson from the caked blood and pieces of flesh. She could see tattered clothing and bones lying the various corners of the room. A couple of insects scurried away as the light rested on them. Ellen could hear the soft clicking claws of at least a dozen of rats as they ran to the safety of the crevices in the walls. A gurgling sound broke the silence followed by loud sniffing. A low growling made Ellen’s body tremble slightly. The rambling of chains and labored breathing was followed by wet slaps that grew louder.

“It’s coming”, William said whilst retrieving a large, silver crucifix from his dark raincoat.

Ellen directed the flashlight to the source of the sound and she gasped. Nothing could have prepared her for this. Bound in various heavy chains and thick ropes was a woman. Not just a woman, her skin was too pale, her eyes too piercing for it to be human. She could see her ribs and various other bones sticking out of her skin. It was impossible for her to move around… for her be alive. Her raven black hair was incredibly long, covering almost her entire naked body. The strands of hair seemed to have a will of her own. It slithered like dark snakes on her skin, softly caressing her breasts and face. The woman arched her back like some kind of ferocious animal and a smile appeared on her blood smeared face.

“Another visitor?”, she said with a raspy voice. “I suppose I should welcome you to my humble abode.” The woman raised her arms and laughed softly.

Ellen stood as if frozen, her eyes locked into her orange eyes. It seemed to glow in the twilight, these eyes that had seen more than anyone. According to the file, she had lived during the times of Alexander the Great. There was no doubt about. she was the same woman she saw standing in the desert during her vision. Like William, she had travelled across the globe, feeding on the innocent to satisfy her urges, to keep her alive. It all changed when she encountered the Order. When she crossed paths with William. Ellen didn’t know the details, but she knew that it was due to William that the woman had to spend the rest of her unnatural life in this basement, chained to the wall and permanently guarded by the strongest and wisest Order members.

“What’s the matter dear?”, the woman said. “Don’t you think I’m beautiful?”

Anne smiled and shook her head. “You can stop your attempt to seduce me. I’m not just any apprentice. Your magic won’t work on me.”

“Oh?”, the woman replied, seemingly intrigued.

“Yeah”, Ellen replied. “Because I know your real name is Latifah, not Lilith.”

“Well done”, the demonic woman said, clapping her hands. “Seems like we have a psychic in our midst. So what is it you have to do with me in order for you to be in that pathetic group of magicians? You know I can give you everything you want. I can give you immortality. Eternal youth. Men will fall at your feet, begging for you to be their mistress, even for one night.”

“Tempting, but no thanks”, Ellen said and she searched her bags for amulets that she would use to release her briefly from her bounds.

“Are you sure you would do that?”, Latifah said. “I am more powerful than the pack of ghouls you’ve slain a couple of nights ago and I know what you do to yourself when no ones looking. I can end it you know. The pain. Make all the scars go away in a blink of an eye.”

Ellen stared at Latifah with the amulets clutched in her hands. She was trembling, not from fear, but rage. William took a step back, observing his apprentice.

“See, you’re not the only one with a gift”, Latifah said as her eyes averted to William. “William, long time no see! How’s your wife doing? Have you killed her yet?”

Ellen glanced behind her shoulder to see William staring at the cross he held in front of him. He was silently praying, quoting several mantra from the holy documents of the Order. Beads of sweat ran down his face, he was visible resisting Latifah’s temptations. Ellen had to hurry. Without a second thought, she threw the talismans in the air and clapped her hands. The amulets glowed a bright green and levitated in the air, circling around each other. Ellen opened her little notebook and spoke a passage from an Arabic hunter book.

Ellen faces Latifah once more. Her lips kept moving, her mind quickly processing the almost incomprehensible words and spells. The talismans were now spinning above Latifah’s head and Ellen could see that the rusted shackles around the creature’s neck, wrists and ankles were starting to glow revealing even more hieroglyphic incantations. Latifah smiled at Ellen and William. She started to moist her cracked lips with her unusually long tongue.

“This should be interesting”, she grinned, baring her fangs.

Ellen finally closed her notebook and clapped her hands. The talismans clattered on the concrete floor, their magic drained. Whatever power they possessed was now spent to release Latifah from her bonds. The shackles dissolved, dripping on the floor like drops of mercury, rolling towards each other to form a small pool in front of Ellen’s feet. William grabbed his crucifix and retreated from the room, closing the door. Ellen’s heart skipped a beat. She turned around as soon as she heard William’s heavy boots grew fainter. She screamed out his name, but it was too late. The door closed with a heavy thump and the high-pitched grinding of the slabs of steel being slid back in their positions, was the last Ellen heard of the outside world. Deafening silence.

“Too bad”, she suddenly heard behind her.

Ellen spun around and opened her bag to reveal a crucifix. She held it in front of her in her trembling hands. She whispered a small prayer to ward off evil spirits, but she knew it would do nothing against her. Her concerns were confirmed when a sickening laughter filled the room.

“Enough fooling around”, Latifah said and she slapped the crucifix out of her hands.

Cold fingers caressed Ellen’s face and no matter how much she struggled, her body was frozen. Ellen could faintly smell spices of the Orient, hear the slow, labored breathing of Latifah as she manifested behind her. She could see long, dark strands of hair flowing on the floor, curling around her feet as if alive. She felt the emaciated body of the creature embracing her. The freezing cold slowly penetrated through her clothes and the stench of dried blood filled the air.

“Such life. Such unfulfilled passions”, Latifah whispered lustfully in Ellen’s ear.

“Don’t worry”, Ellen finally said. “I plan on fulfilling them after I’m done here.”

“Glad to see that you still have some fire left inside you. All the others would cry uncontrollably right about now. Begging for their lives to be spared or worse, their minds shattered.”

“You should know by now, that your magic doesn’t work. Vampires have no influence on me.”

“Vampires?”, Latifah said confused. “Please don’t talk as if you know what you’re talking about. Your name for our kind… your understanding of our existence is as large as a mouse knowing about the universe… nothing. Those pathetic bloodsuckers you’ve hunted down, cowering in the dark are nothing. They are beasts only driven by instinct and self-preservation. They don’t see the entire picture. Not that I need to tell you about it. You can experience it yourself.”

Latifah suddenly appeared in front of Ellen, grabbing her head tightly. A wide grin suddenly appeared on her face and her eyes turned reptilian. “Bring it”, Ellen hissed between clenched teeth. “I… can take it.”

Ellen saw a crowd of people standing in the darkness. Their slender bodies dressed in robes, their faces veiled or obscured by a cloak. As she took a few hesitant steps, the darkness was replaced by a temple she only saw in her history books or in documentary programs. The crowd suddenly turned around, facing Ellen. She now saw that they were all female and laughter filled the temple. Suddenly, several men walked into the temple from behind her. They were chained, their head shaven and elaborate paintings decorated their bodies. One of the men grabbed her by the wrist. He said something she couldn’t understand, a dead language, but she didn’t have to understand if to know that the man was terrified.

A guard grabbed the man by the neck and escorted him towards the rest of the men. The guard bowed, crossing his arms and walked backwards to the entrance. Ellen looked behind her shoulder to see an enormous mass of spectators outside. They were all cheering, praying or dancing. The sound of drums vibrated through Ellen’s body. It provoked an ancient instinct within her. The blinding sunlight from outside was obscured as a couple of elderly men in brightly colored robes, probably priests, slowly closed the massive doors. Only candle light illuminated the room and the women seemed even more sinister. The four men sat on their knees, their head bowed. Not one of them uttered a single word, but Ellen saw that some of them shivered.

The women removed their robes, revealing their smooth bodies covered in the most elaborate jewelry Ellen had ever seen. Her eyes widened as she saw that one of the women was Latifah. Her hair wasn’t as long as if was now, nor was she animalistic. She was gracious. Beautiful. She broke away from the group and walked towards the men. She smiled as she said something to the man. The man stuttered in his reply. Latifah continued talking with a mischievous grin plastered on her face. Then man replied but stopped as Latifah lunged at him, throwing him across the room. The man smacked against a pillar. Loud cracking indicated his back was broken. The man groaned, blood pouring out of his nostrils and mouth. The other men stared at the floor. One of them was sobbing.

With a fluid motion, almost too fast for Ellen’s eyes to register, Latifha jumped in the air, landed on the man and snapped his neck. The other women cheered and shrieked as blood squirted out to of the cooling body. Some of the women started to lick their lips, caressing their private parts and each other. It was as if they were feeding from their fear. When Latifah ripped the man’s head from his torso and bathed in the blood that poured out of it, the other women could no longer contain themselves and they jumped on the remaining men as lions on a zebra. The screaming of the men did not last long. Razor sharp nails slashed their throats and necks were severed with brute force. Greedy tongues licked the blood that spilled on the tiles. Some of the women didn’t take pleasure with that and they cracked open the ribcages to yank out their hearts.

In all this time, non of the women saw Ellen. She was just a guest in Latifah’s memories, a silent witness to something that happened thousands of years ago. When the most potent men of the land were sacrificed to them. They had to be kept satisfied. Every year at the end of the summer, in the night of the longest day. Ellen didn’t know how she knew this, but she felt it. Her head started to hurt. She had never experiences a vision of this length and impact. She could not help but look with morbid fascination as the women rubbed their skin in with blood. Latifah stood in the middle of the blood orgy and suddenly stared at Ellen. Her eyes turning reptilian once more.

“This can also be yours Ellen. All you have to say is ‘my life to the night, my body to the darkness’,” Latifah said, spreading her arms as a couple of women started to kiss her thighs.

Ellen smiled. She slowly realized that she could beat her. “Impressive”, she said.
“Thanks”, Latifah replied as she walked over to Ellen, her body drenched in blood and saliva. “I know you want this.”

The two women stared at each other for some time. The illusion slowly evaporated around them, replacing the lusciously decorated temple with its blood soaked altar in the dark, damp basement of before. Ellen watched at this with mild curiosity, knowing all too well that everything that had transpired was only to confuse her. To indulge her with a feeling of ecstasy, a feeling of belonging. Most apprentices of the Order are runaways. People without a future or a cause. Latifah used this to seduce her victims by promising something that wasn’t there. Being immortal wasn’t as glamorous as Latifah pictured it to be. Because beneath the passion and power, she saw a shadow of suffering. For each life they took, their bodies would grow young and beautiful. But their bodies will deteriorate quickly if they don’t consume regularly. Latifah’s true form, a reptilian predator, began to emerge again.

“You’re stronger than I thought little one”, Latifah said. “But I can easily break your neck.”

“You can also escape easily”, Ellen replied. “The incantations on the doors, the spells and artifacts are nothing for such an ancient creature as yourself.”
Latifah grinned.

“No, you’re just too lazy to hunt. You were used in getting food being brought to you that you allowed yourself to be caught by William. This is your temple now.”

Latifah’s face darkened. “Never underestimate me. You don’t want to do that.”

“Enough of this.”, Ellen said and she closed her eyes.

A soft glow was appearing from behind her. A light that grew more brightly until the whole basement was illuminated. Latifah shrieked and jumped back, hiding in the remaining shadows of her domain. Ellen smiled and she opened her eyes. They were dark blue, bloody tears ran over her cheeks, painting her face crimson. She opened her mouth and the most high pitched scream filled the room, cracking the tiles on the walls, shattering the skulls that littered the floor. The mercury that lay idly on the floor now began to move and slithered its way towards Latifah. The vampire queen hissed, elongating her nails and jumped towards Ellen, but she was thrown back. She flew through the air like a rag doll before smacking loudly against the wall. The sound continued to build in volume and the walls started to resonate, vibrating though Latifah’s unholy body.

“Enough!” Latifah screamed. “You want to defeat me? You have to try better than to summon a flimsy holy spirit in this room!”

Latifah’s body started to twist and bend in unnatural positions. Her eyes glowed more fierce than before. She laughed as her body started to lose its human appearance and transformed into something only the highest of the Order ever witness. Large, leathery wings sprouted out of her back. A long, slender tail whipped erupted from her lower back, whipping in the air. Her hair became tentacles that writhed on her head and back like a nest of snakes. When her transformation was complete, she dashed towards the holy spirit of Ellen in a fraction of a second. The impact of the two colliding bodies made Ellen burst through the heavy door, flying through the corridor from where she came no less than fifteen minutes ago. Ellen grabbed Latifah’s head, twisting it, carving her nails into her marble skin. Latifah hissed.

“I’m not going to die by the likes of you!”, the vampire screamed as she grabbed Ellen by her hair and hurled her through the corridor.

Ellen collided with the door leading to the antique store. She coughed up a little blood, but was still focused enough to defeat her foe. She spread out her arms, letting the same light illuminate her chest. A glowing cross appeared in front of her. Latifah laughed manically and flew towards her, the spiked tip of her tail pointed towards Ellen. With a single sigh from Ellen the cross exploded, creating an earth shattering sonic boom that caused the hallway and the structure above to collapse, also pushing Ellen inside the store and Latifah back towards the basement. The buildings surrounding the store were ruined. Their windows shattered, the furniture overturned from the erupting wave of devastating force.

William was caught off guard by the explosion and he suddenly found himself flying through the store, crashing into a wall and buried beneath a couple of heavy bookshelves. When he regained consciousness, he felt the warmth of blood running down his face. He pushed the planks and books aside and squinted his eyes to peer through the semi-darkness. As the dust slowly, settled, he saw Ellen leaning against the wall, her head bowed. She still cried blood and it had formed a small puddle beneath her feet. Her body was trembling uncontrollably as she held her burnt hand in front of her. William ran towards her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She felt cold.

“Ellen? Ellen can you hear me?”

Ellen mumbled something about a temple, a sacrifice and glowing eyes. William frowned, worried that Ellen’s mind was gone forever. He peered into the hole that was once the corridor leading to the catacomb of the vampire. He only saw impenetrable darkness.

“Ellen, what in the name of God did you do? I’ve never seen anything like it”, William said as he gently shook her. “Ellen?”

Ellen suddenly lifted his head and looked at William. There was something different about her. “Your wife”, she suddenly said. “What did she do to your wife?”
William took a step back in surprise. “She…”, he said softly, fighting back his tears. “She was turned by her. Made into one of the undead… not a vampire, but a ghoul.”

“Did you… kill her?”

William leaned against a table, one of the few items that were still in place. “No. I couldn’t. She’s incarcerated by the Order. As a test subject. To learn more about them.”

Ellen walked over to William and placed her slender hands on his rough cheeks. “It’s okay”, she said softly and she gently pushed William against her, his face planted firmly between her breasts. William was too confused to act. The holy energy Ellen was emitting hadn’t subsided and was now restricting his movement. He suddenly felt afraid. “You’ll join her soon.”

William’s eyes widened as he saw Latifah emerging from the hole in her human form. Her body was lacerated by the falling debris and she had lost an arm, but she was also no longer emaciated. She looked like as if she… had fed. William tried to struggle free from Ellen’s embrace, but she was like a statue. Rigid, impossible to move.

“Looks like I’ve won again”, Latifah said playfully as she embraced Ellen from behind.

“What did you do to her?”, William whispered.

“She showed me that I no longer need to be alone”, Ellen said. “In a fraction of a second, right before the explosion, she touched me and I suddenly knew how they achieved immortality. I felt how she looked at me. Not as prey, but as a potential mate.”

“This is not you Ellen. You have to resist!”, William said, but the eyes of Ellen, once full of life and energy were hollow. Until she suddenly released William.

With an unknown ferociousness, Ellen’s eyes started to burn and she lifted William off the ground. “You don’t know who I am. During the times we’ve spent together, hunting creatures of the night, you’ve never asked about me personally. Only was I could or could not do.”

Latifah softly kissed Ellen’s neck, pushed a lock of her blonde hair aside and whispered something in her hear. She then looked at William and snapped her fingers. Ellen softly nodded and threw William on the table. As Williams body was slammed on the hard oak wood table, an explosion of pain and colors exploded in his head. When he opened his eyes he saw that Latifah was sitting on top of him.

“This feels awfully familiar”, she said as she looked at Ellen who held William’s wrists firmly against the table. “Let’s finish it properly this time.”

By the time Latifah’s canines buried itself in Williams soft flesh. He knew that he was doomed. In all of his years of hunting these things, he knew that the only way out was suicide. He had tried to safe, but lost too many apprentices and fellow hunters that went the same way… like Helen. She was so brave fighting against the curse that ran rampant through her body. But he could only watch as she died and returned as something not human. Something that needs to be purged from the world. As Latifah drank, he felt her tongue explore the wounds she had made. A numbness overcame him and his strength flowed out of him with every sip she took. He chuckled softly to himself and gave in. As his heart beat grew slower, he smiled.

“Helen”, he whispered before Latifah broke his neck with a quick snap.

The great hunter William Brooks was defeated. It was not as glorious or epic as Latifah imagined, but she was satisfied nonetheless. It had to come eventually. Being imprisoned for more than three decades, she yearned to explore the world again. She climbed off the table and embraced her new pet. Ellen embraced her back, her bloody tears now dried. Together they would raise all sorts of hell. Speaking of which.

“Ellen”, Latifah said and she kissed her on her forehead. “I need you to do something for me.”

“But I want to stay with you”, Ellen said.

“You’ll have to earn my company”, Latifah suddenly said coldly.

Ellen nodded.

“I need you to find Delilah… and end her existence once and for all.”

A lazy summer day

2011-12-16T12:12:00.001+01:00

It was an unusual hot summer and Herbert didn’t calculate the fact that the stench and discomfort would grow steadily with the mercury in his old fashioned therometer. He opened the window to find the relief of a cool breeze, but closed it almost immediately when the most vile stench penetrated his nostrils violently.

He supressed a gag reflex and grunted as he shuffled to the kitchen, wearing nothing but his boxers and slippers. There was a time when he’d actually care what he wore in case somebody was curious enough to peek inside. But that was a long time ago. It seemed like a life time, but it was only three months. A thump made him walk back to the living room.

The sun stood high in the sky and its opressing heat and brightness obscured his vision of the world outside. A shadow stood by the window, seemingly frozen like a mannequin. Herbert coughed and the shadow suddenly moved. It was not a fluid motion, more like a jerk or a twitch. As if it was startled by the sound. A soft gurgle and barely audible moaning came from outside. The shadow looked like an obese man, but it was not. It was something else. It wanted Herbert.

Herbert smiled. It could never come in here. Threatening as they may seem in large groups, their strength individually was close to nothing. He fixed himself some lunch: a couple of oranges from the trees in his backyard and a few slices of toast complimented with a strong cup of coffee. Maybe it was more like a breakfast, Herbert thought to himself, but on these hot summer days, his stomach couldn’t digest large quantities of food. He’d stick with toast and lots of liquids for the day.

One would imagine that the end of the world would shatter someone’s psyche, transforming a sane, intelligent man into a raging alcoholic with craving for women and attention. But Herbert took the whole ‘last man on earth’-thing pretty well. Maybe a little too well, he wondered as he sat down in his favorite chair. He continued to stare at the figure outside his window. He was amused by its attempt to enter his house. It reminded him like a fly trying to get outside.

It was not like he did nothing. No sir, yesterday he went out to hunt, but these things were already there to greet him with open arms. No matter how late of how far away from the city he came, there were always a couple of them wandering around. There was always a chance of infection. Every step he took outside could be his last. Every breath he took could be filled with some unknown strain of bacteria that would change him into one of them without being bitten. Every activity he undertook could draw the attention to them or crazed cannibal hooligans he once saw riding their motorcycles.

It all sounded unlikely to Herbert, but not impossible. Still, these chances and scenarios never frightened him. As his eyes were still fixated on the shadow that pressed its face against the glass tighter and tighter, he almost jumped away from his chair when a loud popping suddenly broke the silence and the windows were suddenly covered with crimson gore. He heard the man outside moan in suprise as his stomach exploded against Herbert’s house. The light that poured through the caked blood and pieces of half digested flesh made the room look all kinds of shades of red.

But the worst of all was that the stench seemed to penetrate itself in the house. A sour, acidic smell hung in the air and Herbert had to blink twice to believe what he was seeing. The wooden frames around the windows seemed to disolve. Was their stomach acid so powerful?, Herbert thought to himself as he quickly walked to his shotgun. He grabbed a handful of shells and kicked the front door open.

The man, no longer obese, was still thumping against the windows, oblivious to everthing that happened around him. With every strike, Herbert could hear the framework creak and groan. He had to think of something before he no longer had a house to defend. He aimed and squeezed the trigger, taking out a huge chunk of the man’s shoulder.

The thing suddenly stopped and turned painfully slow towards his assailant. Even though the man was completely covered with his own juices, Herbert could see that he no longer had any eyes and his ears also seemed to have rotten off. He smiled, finally figuring out why this thing seemed dumber and slower than the others he encountered over the months. He aimed again and fired, now taking his lower jaw. Herbert cursed to himself. Since when did I became this sloppy, he aksed himself. From the corner of his eye, he could see another one staggering towards him. A woman.

He aimed and blew away the top of her head with relative ease. The decayed female body collapsed on the concrete road like a wet bag of cement. Regaining his confidence, he reverted his attention back to his old friend. The man had only taken a few steps, but it was still determined to get Herbert. Sweat was pouring from his forehead and back as he reloaded his gun. I just need to get rid of him and I can go back inside... where it’s cool, he thought to himself. The man suddenly lunged at him and Herbert jumped away barely escaping his grasp. He shot again.

The bullet grazed the man’s cheek and lodged itself in the cheekbone. Cursing out loud, he got back on his feet and used the gun as a club to strike the man down. He continued to strike at his cracked skull until only a pile of skull fragments and liquified brains decorated his dried up lawn. Feeling satisfied and relieved, he wiped his brow and stared at the illuminious disc in the sky that almost seemed to mock him with its relentless heat. Soft moaning snapped him back to reality and he spun around only to be confronted with a dozen of those things shuffling towards his house.

He sighed, realizing that this was going to be a long and hot day.

Please read this!!! The cure is here!!!

2011-11-04T18:41:00.001+01:00

If you’re reading this letter, it means that I have succeeded in my efforts to stick these leaves of paper to the bulletin board outside the nursery of the refugee center. If you have found this letter, clutched in my cold, stiff fingers, it means that my worst fears have come true. The matter is, no matter how or where you’ve found this piece of writing, I only ask of you that you set your preduices aside for one moment and hear my story. I swear upon everything that is (still) holy that what I’m telling here is true. Are you ready? Here it goes:

I’m a survivor of a zombie bite.

Yes, that’s right and no, I’m not crazy.

I’m as far as I know, the first and only human to have been bitten by a zombie and still able to tell about this without screaming in agony and pleading for someone to put a bullet through their brains. You’d expect that scientists would be all over me right now. Taking blood samples, cognitive tests , X-rays, MRI and every other damn thing they can think of to unravel the mystery of my immunity.

But alas, the only thing I ever gotten from them is ridicule, insults and doors slammed in my face. It even went as far that I was arrested for disrupting public peace by giving people false hope. So I’m now officially labled as the village idiot and everyone is either avoiding and ignoring me or laughing at me. You can laugh too if you want; tear this paper up into little pieces or burn it to ashes, I no longer care.

This is just my final attempt to leave something behind that will no doubt benefit mankind. Because from where I’m standing, we don’t stand a chance. Every day, more reports and stories about the ever growing population of undead pours in, sinking my morale (and others no doubt) to deeper depths. My melancholy became so severe, that about two weeks ago, I climbed over the perimiter of the center and wandered into infected territory.

The matter is, I just had lost my wife due to some infectious disease I’ve never heard about before. Not that it really mattered. She suffered horribly, her breath getting raspier and more labored with each passing second. She died in my arms, crying and smiling when reminicing the many good times we had before this whole mess came down upon us. I kissed her farewell and took the necklace I gave her on our third date. I watched men in biohazard suits carrying her to one of the waste pitts and throw her inside like a bag of garbage. To them she was just another number, another casuality to put on the list.

If she’d died because of a zombie attack, I would’ve ran to the nearest weapon depot and shot as many of the rotting bastards I could’ve found. But this was a germ. Something I couldn’t see, something that was contracted probably before the outbreaks but only now had oppertunity to develop and destroy my beloved. Pure statistics. You can’t beat that. When I was in the infected territory, affectionately called ‘the wastelands’ by some or ‘the old world’, I didn’t have to look long before I spotted one shambling towards me.

The zombie used to be a lawyer of somekind. His suit was ripped and tattered and in a clenched fist, he still carried a suitcase. The was a gaping hole where his throat should’ve been and I could see maggots crawling within and flies buzzing around his head. A real textbook zombie. I stood still, closing my eyes and waited for his cold, soggy hand to grab me by my wrist and plunging his jaws in my flesh. I didn’t have to wait long. Like a dog, he chewed on my slender wrist, slobbering, breaking teeth in the process. I then yanked it out of his mouth and gave him a kick against his torso. I don;t think I need to tell you that he fell like a rag doll, squiriming to get back on his feet. I walked up to him and stomped against the side of his until it split open like a ripe melon. Brain matter and all kinds of gore was now slowly collecting into a puddle underneath my feet.

A warm, burning sensation traveled from the wound to the rest of my arm. It almost felt like when you’re drinking hot chocolate milk on a cold winter day and you can feel the pleasant warmth slowly spread inside your stomach. Just like that, only a million times more painfull. My arm suddenly felt like it was poked by a thousand needles. I could hear my heart beating faster due to the blood loss and shock and I started to feel lightheaded. Soon the world became nothing but a blur and I heard voices of those I presumed long dead. I looked at my hand and saw it was turning purple and it was already three times as big.

My insides were starting to burn as well and my stomach felt like it had shrunk to the size of a pea. If I had eaten before my adventure, I would have puked violently. Colors of all shapes and sizes were dancing before my eyes and I faintly registered other zombies approaching me, no doubt attracted by me screaming my lungs out and laughing like a maniac. I walked away, or at least tried to and I was able to crawl inside a dumpster where I, due to an overwhelming smell and the sickening sensation of half decomposed food touching my skin, passed out.

I regained conciousness a couple of hours later, even though it seemed weeks had passed. The zombies were long gone, searching for live prey elsewhere. As I climbed out of the dumpster I suddenly realized that I still was among the living. I checked my arm once more and gapsed in my amazement when I saw that it was back to normal. The wound was still there, obviously, with only the tissue around it enflamed and hot to the touch. It had stopped bleeding (what was incredible on itself, considering the lawyer took a mouthful of skin with him when I yanked my wrist out of his mouth) and I felt more alive than I did the past three months.

Still confused, I was able to find gloves to mask my wound. I knew that if I returned with a clearly visible bite wound, I would’ve been executed immediately. In hindsight, that would’ve probalby been better. At least then I would’ve have been spared to live the remainder of my life as a crazy person. Just to be sure, I grabbed a shard of glass and sliced it across my arm, making the wound look like an accident. I climbed back over the fence, slipping between the perimiter patrols without any difficulty. So much for security right?

I then went to the nursery to let myself be treated. When I told the story about the accident with the beer bottle I got a questionable look, but after a glance at the injury itself, the attenting physician shrugged, cleaned it and bandanged it with the advice to keep it clean. I was suprised that she could’t see that I was clearly bitten. The wounds I had inflicted on myself was only to fool the guards, but she looked at the wound with the same indifference as the men that partrolled through the camp with their blood thristy dogs on a too long leash.

Maybe she was tired, maybe she was ignorant or maybe she really didn’t care anymore. The fact remained that I was able to break every protocol that was established since this camp was founded. What was even more suprising (or insulting, take your pick), is that this was a discovery that could’ve shook the foundations of the crumbling scientific world since the rise of the living dead. Before I left, I told her that I was attacked by a drunk and that he had bitten me (something that had been said often during the intial outbreak and a big fucking clue about what really happened to me), but the only thing she said as she read the labels of some medicine, was that I should be more careful around bars. Can you believe this? I didn’t, but I left anyway figuring that someone would grab me as soon as she realized what I just said. They didn’t. I’m not even sure my injury was ever properly reported to the rest of the medical staff.

A couple of days later I tried the direct approach. I returned to her stating that I lied about the nature of my injuries and I explained my suicide attempt. She stared at me in silence before she glanced irritated at her watch and stated that she “wasn’t here to hear some fantasy tale” and that I took her precious time. She gave me the name of a psychiatrist she knew that lived here and sent me away. The days after that, I visited everyone I thought would be interested to hear about my survival. I even went as far as asking general Clarke for some of his time. But every visit, plea or letter ended in dissapointment. Rumors spread fast like wildfire and soon I was the laughing stock in the camp. They balmed my story on PTSS and the loss of my wife.

I must confess that I often wondered if I had not imagined the whole thing, even though I have a scar to prove it. I have seen people do a lot of strange things the past couple of months and I wouldn’t be suprised if this al happened to be one big hallucination and that I’m still lying in that dumpster, slowly dying. Nights I have wondered, contemplating if I should leave this event for what it is and continue with my life. But I decided that I would scream one last time for help before dissapearing in the crowd of faceless survivors. So, here’s your final chance world. Do you want a cure for the zombie virus or not?

I’ll be waiting near the entrance of the camp. You can recognize me by my red bandana, leather jacket and golden necklace with a heart. If someone doesn’t respond (seriously) within 72 hours, I’ll be quiet. Even if you track me down and somehow manage to find me, I’ll not talk about it. I’m tired and just want to be left alone. Because, if no one cares, why should I?

Hoping that the world will wake up, I’ll be waiting to see you there.

Signed,
Brad Shepard

Violation

2011-11-04T00:30:00.003+01:00

“Please calm down mister Boyle. You’re only making it harder for yourself”, the man in the shades said with a silk smooth voice. He smirked as his henchmen pressed Edward harder against the wall behind the pizzeria where he worked. “Believe it or not, we’re here to help.”

“Like hell you are! Release me!”, Edward growled.

Even in the darkness of the narrow alley, Edward could see that underneath his expensive suit was a very lean, wiry body he could easily snap in two if given the chance. But somehow, the cold, almost reptilian gaze behind the shades inspired fear. A primitive kind of fear. The man smiled once more as he removed his shades to reveal bright, yellow eyes.

“You see, according to our records, you’ve tresspassed into this territory eight times this last week alone. A very bold move for a lonesome mongrel like yourself.”

“Son of a-“, Edward hissed before he received a punch in his stomach.

“Bitch?”, the man said. “Yes, she was a bitch. A mighty fine bitch. The alfa in her pack.”

There was a brief silence as the henchmen tried to restrain the struggling an cussing Edward. The man seemed to contemplate something when looked up at the moon and sighed. His long, black hair swayed gently in the cold winter wind that howled between the old, worn buildings around them.

“Unlike your parents. I’ve read your history extensively. You’re of mixed descent aren’t you?”

The man leaned in closer, looking into Edwards eyes. Edward felt a shiver going down his spine as he suddenly realized who, or more exactly, what he was dealing with.

“Look man, I’m just anxious you know”, Edward stammered. “I’ve been experimenting with my new powers and-“

“You just think this is an excuse to violate every rule in the book”, the man interrupted him.

He pauzed again, silently assessing him. It made Edward feel more uneasy and he eventually stopped resisting. The man casually retrieved a cigarette from his inner pocket, letting it dangle on his lower lip for a brief moment before litting it with a lighter. He gave a quick nod to which the henchmen released Edward. One of the henchmen cracked his knuckles, the other loosened his shoulders. Both seemed eager to fight as crooked smiles appeared on their faces.

“Despite what you’ve heard of me, I’m a reasonable guy. I know what motivates our people. What urges take control of us during these times of the month. Even halfbreeds like yourself. Believe me when I say that I understand. Your territory is only a couple of blocks. That’s not even enough for a midnight snack.”

Edward’s attention diverted from the man as one of the henchmen removed his jacket and shirt and arched his back. Within seconds, thick, grey fur flowed out of his skin. His face started to contort and and slowly transform into a that of a wolf. The true face of his people. The other henchman smiled as he did the same. The two wolves snarled and snapped his teeth at Edward, laughing and drooling at the anticipation of ripping him to shreds.

“But when rules are broken, I am a slave of those higher in command”, the man said as he exhaled smoke.

“You mean the Hunters”, Edward said feeling his confidence slowly returning. “Because, I hate to tell you, they’ve got no authority over me.”

“Really?”, the man asked, arching one of his eyebrows. “Because when I last checked, you’re still a werewolf. Correct?”

Edward nodded.

“Now then, if you would enlighten me”, the man continued, throwing his half-finished cigarette away and moving closer to Edward. “Why it is you will not kneel to the Code? Is it because your mother is an American and your father an European werewolf, is it because you’re actually the missing son of the king or did somebody gave you a free pass to screw around with government officials?”

“It’s because you’re already dead”, Edward hissed and he leaped towards the man, knocking him on the asphalt, slashing with his newly formed claws at his face.

The henchmen yanked him from their leader, throwing Edward further down the alley. Edward smacked with his back against the wall, fracturing a couple of ribs. The man slowly got back to his feet, his hands covering his face. Blood seeped perfuriously from between his fingers, but instead of groaning or hissing, Edward only heard mad laughter.

“You actually think you can beat me?”, the man yelled as he suddenly dissapeared from Edwards sight.

The two henchmen were equally suprised as they stopped, scouring the rooftops above them for the man. Edward’s sensed were heightened a thousand times, but even then he was amazed at the speed and silence of the man. Until he heard the soft tapping of his shoes and the ripping of clothes behind him. But before he could lash out, a large, black paw grabbed his wrist, instantly shattering every bone. Edward screamed as he tried to break free, but the dark wolf that captured him only laughed. His yellow eyes burned with an intense desire to kill.

“You’ve just wasted your chances kid. You’ve made me mad”, the man growled deeply. Edward suddenly felt one of the hind legs and sharp claws of the dark wolf pressing against him from behind. “Transform and show me you’re true qualities as a warrior... oh wait, you can’t. You can only grow claws and teeth.”

“Still... enough... to kick... your ass”, Edward hissed between his teeth as pressure was applied on his back.

“We’ve got ourselves a fighter here boys”, the dark wolf said as he punched Edward to the ground. “Let’s end it quickly then.”

Edward landed facedown, breaking a couple of teeth and his nose in the process. With strands of bloody saliva dangled out of his mouth and stars dancing before his eyes, Edward still managed to get back on his feet. The dark wolf took a few steps back, letting his assistants doing the dirty work. The grey wolves circled around him, snarling and swiping in the air. Edward took a deep breath and jumped towards the largest of the grey wolves grabbing his head. The other henchmen watched in shock and amuzement as his colleague ran circles, violently smacking his back against the walls and waving his paws in the air in order to grab Edward. Edward held on tight, no matter what. His muscles were burning and his body was aching all over, but he knew that he would be dead for certain if he didn’t hold on. He kept twisting the massive head of the grey wolf with all of his might untill a loud snap echoed through the alley.

The brute had buried its claws though Edward’s jacket and deep in his shoulders where it remained stuck as the massive body fell limply on the ground. The weight of the grey wolf weighed him down, creating deeper wounds in his shoulders. Edward heard a yelp of suprise and a command, even though he couldn’t understand it. He only heard the blood rushing though his ears and his adrenaline coarsing through his veins made it difficult to concentrate on anything else but his predicament. He was frantically trying to remove the claws out of him, but it was lodged tight. He was so busy in fact that he didn’t heard someone else entering the alley and pressing a gun at his temple. The cold steel woke him up from his concentration and his eyes shot at a police officer. He smelled like another wolf. The two stared silently at each other untill Edward laughed nervously.

“Hunters huh”, he smiled and closed his eyes, accepting his fate.

“Code 24: ‘Never kill one of your our own without permission from your alpha.’”, the cop said and he pulled the trigger.

The silver bullet penetrated Edward’s skull, burning away the soft tissue inside. When the silver had done its work, Edward toppled over, landing on the cold body of one of his assailants with a soft thump. As he cleaned the gun, the officer turned his attention to the dark wolf that observed the situation from the shadows.

“A shame”, the officer said.

The dark wolf nodded. “Why did you interfere?”

“You know that you’re not allowed to get your hands dirty, Craine. You’re too powerful. Too unique”

“He was too”, Crain said solemnly.

“The weak and the unfaithful shall be held close to our claws, stained with the blood from those that came before them.”, the officer replied before returning to his car and driving off into the night traffic.

“The King’s Commands, code 12”, Craine whispered and his yellow eyes were fixed on that damned moon again.

A smile crept on his face.

There was still much work to do.

The Girl

2011-10-29T23:49:00.000+02:00

The man gazed out of his window. He tried to wipe the glass with his sleeve to get a better view of what he was seeing, but the dirt was on the outside. It was too dangerous to go outside at this time of the day. He didn’t pay any attention to the car wrecks or corpses that littered the streets. He didn’t care that the houses around him were slowly falling apart. His eyes were focussed on a frail shadow that moved in the twilight. It moved slowly. Almost concious. But deep in his heart he knew that whatever it resembled, whoever it was in the past, it was nothing but a creature now.

He had seen the shadow - a little girl - shuffling around for some time now. How long he stared at her, he didn’t know. Just like he didn’t know why he was so compelled to look at her. Was it because he still had some fatherly instincts within him? Could it be, that after years of horror and struggle for survival, that there was still some humanity in him left? He hoped so, but it didn’t help him any further. He sighed softly when he saw that the girl was dragging a bloodied dog chain. He couldn’t help but picture her when she was still alive, happily playing with the small dog that no doubt wagged his tail every time he saw her. Happy, carefree times.

The girl suddenly stopped, slowly turned his head and looked at the man. The man gasped. He covered his mouth with his hands, pressing it tightly against his lips as if she could hear him. Tears started to form in his eyes, stinging, buring to get out. Not just because the girl finally looked at him, but because of everything that had happened. Everything he knew was either dead, destroyed or vanished. The girl looked hideous with her cracked grey skin and her shrunken lips causing her to have a permanent grin. Her clothes were reduced to nothing but rags, hanging from her skeletal body. Swaying with each movement she took. The most prominent feature however were her eyes. Clouded as they were, he could still see that they used to be blue. Magnificent blue.

There were other like her outside, but they never paid much attention to them. The were too preoccupied with scraping the last bits of meat from the bodies on the ground. The girl remained to stare for a solid minute until the street light turned on. That light was one of the last things that reminded the man of the old world. It was probably hooked to an emergency generator, because the rest of the city was pitch black when the sun went down. Under the harsh light, the girl moaned softly. Maybe she recognized it too, but the man shook his head with that thought. They were incapable of emotion. There were no cognitive processes to be found in these creatures.

At least, that was what the doctors on the television said. Who was he to question the knowledge of those that were far more intelligent that he was? He smirked when he pictured these doctors shuffling between the others. Dead and walking. Doomed to spend eternity in a living hell, feasting off the flesh of vermin and corpses. Maybe a living person if they were really lucky. The man checked his calender. It was exactly twenty days ago when he first saw her. He was very suprised to see her. He had mistaken her to be alive at first, almost opening the reinforced door and running to get her inside. But when he looked closely and saw the maggots in her skin, the cloud of flies that followed her, he knew better.

He had watched her deteriorate. He watched her wander aimlessly around his house. It broke his heart to think that such a young girl, with a promising future ahead of her could be silenced like this. It all seemed so wrong, so cruel. If there is a God, then he must have truely abandoned us if he let children suffer like this. He had thought to end her misery. If she was aware of her situation at all. But he had to save every bullet he had. The gun suddenly felt heavy in his pocket. He caressed it gently with his fingertips, just to check if it was still there. He even had dreams about shooting her in the head and that her soul thanked him for releasing her. He had woken with tears streaming down his cheeks. The matter was, even if he had a warehouse filled to the brim with ammunition he still wouldn’t be able to do it.

What kind of a man shoots his own daughter?

They were divorced for some time, but he still saw her every weekend. Gloria. The happiest girl you’d ever meet. Always carrying a smile, always curious about the world around her. He hadn’t heard from them ever since the dead spilled out of the morgues. He didn’t know if he got better of worse when he first saw her again. Gloria was no longer alive. Was her mother dead too? How did they die? Did they suffer horribly before they reanimated? Did they starve? Did they commit suicide? There were just too many questions buzzing through his mind. Too many and too horrible to think about. The man clenched his head and took a deep breath.
Some day Gloria, some day we will be whole again.

Alan's betrayal

2011-10-02T19:50:00.002+02:00

Even though every fibre in Alan’s body told him not to look, his mind forced him to. He didn’t know if it was out of remorse or that deep down inside he still had feelings for her. No matter was kind of moral struggle he was in, the fact remained that he betrayed her. He had lured his mistress into a trap. A trap he thought was too obvious for someone with her experience. Too crude and simplistic for her to contain. But there she was, strapped tightly onto a discarded massage table, baking in the sun for several days now. He leaned against the wall in the corner of the room, his eyes never avertering from the woman that was the center of his extistence for more than twenty years. A woman that he called Delilah.

In those twenty years of servitude, he had aged significantly. His skin was starting to get wrinkled and strands of grey hair were more noticable with each passing day. He no longer had the same kind of youthful energy and so it was getting harder to do her bidding by the letter. To his mistress’ perverse amusement. But she... she never changed. She remained perfect. Frozen in time, her skin flawless, her long, red hair waving around her face, framing her piercing eyes and other delicate features of her face perfectly. He had once watched her hunt. She gracefully mingled into crowds, enticing men, luring them to dark, shady spots whilst everyone else is oblivious to her presence. When she hunts, her cold eyes scan the room and her feet never touch the ground. Yet nobody notices it. Dispite her fragile looks and unmistaken beauty, she truely is a monster. Once she has a prey in sight, she will never let it go. Everything about her evolved to hunt and feed without detection.

So how does an apex predator like herself get caught like this? Alan sighed softly and closed his eyes for a minute to escape reality. But even then, he could feel her. He could feel her rage, agony and somehow a hint of delight enter his mind, mingling with his own thoughts that tormented him since her capture. He slowly opened his eyes, only to be confronted with the charred, naked body of Delilah. She didn’t even resemble a human anymore. Her head was bald, her skin as black as coal, cracked and dry. Everytime she moved, flakes of skin and dried flesh would fall off. Her mouth in a permanent snarl as her lips were shrivled. A nauseating feeling surged through him and he had difficulty holding his vomit. But he managed. Somehow. Since Delilah’s body contained no fluid due to prelonged exposure to the sun, she was nothing but a dry twig, ready to snap at any minute. Except her eyes. Her eyes remained defiant, fierce and very clear. Emerald eyes that seemed to see through his soul and ask so many questions that it was maddening to Alan’s shattered psyche. In the back of his mind, doubts began to emerge.

Alan did not know the true identity of those that wanted to punish his mistress, he had only seen familiars like himself, but whoever they were, they were well prepared. They had promised him a better life. A more fulfilling life. He had reluctantly agreed only with the promise that Delilah would survive the ordeal. Despite his protests, he was also kidnapped and forced to be in the same, claustrofobic room behind a former tattoo parlor. The room was no larger than four by four meters. The ceiling was removed and replaced with askylight and mirrors were strategically placed in the corners so that the rays of the sun would always be pointed at the center of the room. When the sun dissapeared behind the horizon, special UV lights installed on the walls would automatically activate.

These lights however, did not have the same effect as natural sunlight would. It would only sizzle her skin slightly. Nothing more than a nuisance in her experience, Alan thought. Despite his conflicted feelings, Alan was morbidly curious to see what would happen. Would she explode into a gory mess, a pile of ash or, just die like any mortal? No movie, no novel, could have ever prepared for something like this. Sunlight as it turned out, was not lethal to her, but it scarred them horrificly. Scars that would take some time to heal. Months or even years depending on the length of exposure.

“Do... you... enjoy... this... Alan?”, Delilah’s rapsy voice echoed through the room.
Alan only shook his head. He felt tears behind his eyes, but knew that if he cried, she would take adventage of that. They were also masters of influencing the minds of their slaves.

“I’m... I’m... having the time... of my life”, she sang softly with a crooked smile, knowing that it would drive Alan mad. Her throat was as dry and hoarse as it could ever be, but Alan still heard her angelic voice in his head.

“Stop it”, he snapped.

“So... you... can... still speak”, Delilah said and between coughs.

Before Alan could respond, the intercom buzzed to life. To Alan’s ears it was only emitting static, but when he saw Delilah concentrating and smiling, he knew that on the other side there was an Other talking to her. What would an Other would want to do with her? It was not natural for Them so seek out one and another. Creatures like Delilah were solitary hunters and mostly female. The only companions they needed were their male slaves. But Delilah was always different. For starters, in all these years he knew her, he was her only slave. Secondly, she would often travel in territories of Others, feasting off Their prey. It was only a matter of time before someone would take revenge. Delilah’s sudden cackle made Alan snap back to reality.

“I’m... just fine... cooking... in the sunshine!”, she screamed hysterically.

She kept yelling at how the warmth of the sun tingled and how she enjoyed it. Every word was spoken louder than the previous until it reached the point where Alan had to cover his ears. He looked up and saw cracks in the glass above them. Was this her escape attempt, Alan wondered. Delilah suddenly stopped, but her cracked lips, or what was left of it, still kept moving. She now bared her fangs in frustration. Alan sat down on the tiled floor, his hands clenched around his head. He whispered softly that he wanted it to stop.

For days he had seen Delilah fry to a crisp, regenerate slightly under the UV lights only to burn harsher again at dawn. Even though she held herself composed, as her slave, he felt her agony. Their psychic link was never to be broken, never to be questioned and always present. When he moved around during the day, he could hear her talk about all the mortals he passed. How she wanted to strangle to old woman with the poodle, feast on the children playing on the street and bathe in the blood of the woman behind the counter of the store.

“Reminiscing old times Alan?”, Delilah asked in his mind.

“Please stop”, Alan said outloud. “It’s not like its easy for me.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Stupid me. It’s not like I’m the only one burning and suffering here whilst you are only sweating from the warmth of the sun and the heat of my body slowly disintergating.”

“Will you drop the sarcarsm, that will not help you get out of here”, Alan said annoyed.

“Oh, I thought you betrayed me and wanted to see me dead. Turns out that you do care about my wellbeing. How sweet.”

“It’s... complicated. I, I never wanted to, but at the same time I did.”

“Seems like you were under a spell kid,” Delilah communicated. “Should have protected you better.”

“An Other influenced me?”, Alan said confused. “Is that even possible? I thought I only belonged to you and that I was immune to the power of Others.”

“Yes, yes and yes, unless if the Other is related to me.”

A soft humming filled the room and a sheet started to cover the skylight, obscuring the sun and plunching everything in darkness. The eyes of Delilah started to glow soft organge and she sighed of relief. Within seconds, Alan could see Delilah’s skin regenerating, turning from charcoal black to smooth, silky white. The long, waving hair that occupied Alan’s dreams started to grow back and he felt an ache in his heart. His mistress was coming back. It didn’t matter that she saved him from suicide and then killed him more than twenty years ago. He didn’t mind being treated like vermin, something she could toy with. It was enough for him to stay with her. To let her presence alone shine brightly in his otherwise pathetic existance. His godess. He could no longer hold it back. Tears streamed down Alan’s cheeks as he jumped on his feet, fell on his knees beside the table and grabbed one of Delilah’s hands, screaming for forgiveness.

Delilah only smiled, her cold eyes fixed on the pathetic mortal that kissed her hands, whispering for her to forgive him. She nodded gently. Despite his fault, Alan was a faithful servant and someone resilient enough to her teasing. Delilah raised his hand, startling Alan who prepared himself for a beating, but froze when she placed her hand on his cheek. Her soft skin rubbing on his stubbled cheeks made Alan cry again, this time from happiness. He wanted to say something, but the words were stuck in his throat.

“I know”, she said with her real voice. “You are forgiven.”

“T-t-thank you.”

The door suddenly screeched open and two muscular men stepped in, grabbing Alan and smacking him against the wall. Alan screamed for his mistress, but she only stared at the dark hallway in fornt of her. She smiled once more, but this time baring her fangs. Even with such a monsterous grin, she still held some kind of beauty.

“You’re kidding me”, Delilah said.

“No, I’m not”, A chilling voice replied.

The soft clacking of heels echoed through the hallway and the room. It took some time for Alan’s eyes to adjust, but the first thing he noticed were big, orange eyes and the lingering smell of roses. The intercom came back to life once more and the room was slowly filled with music.

“Angel’s serenade”, the voice said softly. “The only thing that reminds me of home.”

“Am I supposed to feel guilty about what happened to you?”, Delilah replied with disgust.

“No, I just want you to feel how I feel about you.”

A child-like laugh erupted from the Other that chilled Alan’s blood. He could now see that in the doorway stood a little girl. She wore an old fashioned schoolgirl uniform with her blond hair draped gracefully on her shoudlers. She couldn’t have been older than twelve years when she was taken from life. Despite her innocent, little face and smile, Alan could see that behind the doll-like features was a killer just as deadly as Delilah or even dealier since she had the element of suprise. Alan wondered if she also hunted or used her familiars for that. It didn’t matter, he had to get free. Alan struggled to get loose, but the men still pressed him tightly against the wall. He could feel the rough surface burying itself in his skin, letting warm blood trinkle down his back. The two creatures both turned their heads, staring at Alan with desire. The two men relaxed their grip on him, one of them started to tremble slightly.

“Since you endured the sun, lets see if your slave thinks differently.” Before the girl finished her sentance, the two men were thrown to the other side of the room and Alan found himself locked in her slender arms. “Let’s see if I can make him squeel and scream for his life.”

She sqeezed him tightly, but Alan did not yield. Amuzed by the attempt, she lifted Alan in the air and smacked him repeatedly against the wall. The cracking and popping of Alan’s bones were muffled by the music that still played loudly. Incredible pain soared through Alan’s broken body and he clenched his jaws to prevent himself from screaming. He only moaned with every impact. The girl smiled and threw her prey on the floor. Alan smacked on the tiles with great force, shattering a couple of teeth and dislocating three fingers. Blood seeped out of Alan’s mouth and he noticed that both creatures were starting to get aroused. He looked up and saw Delilah staring at him with no emotion whatsoever. But inside his mind he heard her saying that he should not give up.

“You’re starting to bore me,” the girl said grinding her sharp teeth in frustration. She looked at her two slaves who were lying unconcious on the floor. “But for such an old man, you’re tough.”

“I... endured... from... the worst”, Alan groaned and he exchanged glances with Delilah who smiled in return, probably honored in some way to be called the worst thing that has ever happened to him.

“Vera, it’s over. You couldn’t torture me, you can’t even torture my slave right”, Delilah laughed.

Vera was silent. Like a statue, she stood next to Alan’s squirming body and stared at the blood collecting underneath him. “Is that so”, she finally said.
Alan was fighting to stay concious, everything suddenly seemed a blur and he felt his clothes soaking in his own blood. He had lost a lot of blood. In his mind, he was already prepared to die. Just like he was prepared to jump off his apartment building on that fateful night. But before he could jump, he felt cold fingers digging in his shoulders, yanking him from the edge of the roof. Something sharp penetrated his neck and he could only remember red hair, green eyes and a laughter that was not from this world.

Twenty years later, he was lying on a greasy, tile floor in a wrong neighborhood, bleeding to death whilst a little, immortal girl played with his life. If he had such a thing called “life. Most of his days were getting errands for Delilah’s vast collection of old books and antiques or searching for suitable prey she consumed as soon as the sun set. He was also to get rid of the bodies, or what was left of it, and any forensic evidence. Witnessing first hand what a creature as herself can do, it has made him fear her, but also feel priviliged that he was chosen to be with her.

“At least I have more minions and power than you.” Vera smiled. “You who ripped away this child from the warmth of his parents only to be replaced with the cold embrace of death.”

“I was young then”, Delilah replied. “There’s no need to get all melancholic about it. You curse me for turning you into what you are now, but I see that you also take pleasure from it.”

Vera considered for a moment. “It’s true that I revel in suffering and carnage”, she said as if it was a stroll in the park. “but I always kept wondering what it would be like to grow up, be a woman and-”

“To live happily ever after? Please, I saved you from a life of suffering and doubt. I did you a favour”, Delilah said with the same arrogant smile she frequently gave to her prey when they were about to die in her hands.

Vera snarled and jumped on the table, slashing her long nails across Delilah’s face. “Where’s your beauty now, where’s your seductiveness when I rip you to shreds?!”, she screamed.

Vera kept slicing and punching at Delilah untill her face was nothing but a bloody pulp. Her blood fell on Alan’s face, dripped on the floor and was sprayed on the walls. Vera smiled once more as she grabbed pieces of gore with her small hands, played with it, savoured it and threw it across the room. She kept going, tearing away limbs, organs and everything else she could get her hands on untill there was only a bloody stain on the table. Alan had crawled to a corner, cowering in fear as he witnessed the full madness and bloodthirst of Vera.

Her glowing eyes were still searching for pieces of Delilah to obliterate. Her dress was now soaked through and stuck to her frail body. Alan could see her ribs and spine poke through her dress. The bodies of Others remained the same as the day they died. Vera’s emaciated body told Alan that she probably lived in poverty or illness and she would’ve died soon. He was impressed that she hid her frailty so perfectly. Vera panted softly from exhaustion and excitement. She rubbed her bloodstained hands on her face, celebrating her victory.

It took some time for Alan to let it sink in, but if his mistress was dead, why was he still alive? If a Mistress dies, the slaves would automatically perish with them. A smile crept on Alan’s face and he slowly got back on his feet. He ignored the pain and numbness in his head and shuffled to Vera who smacked him back into the corner.

“Stay there mortal”, she growled. “I’ll finish with you later.”

Vera started to lie on her back, writhing in Delilah’s blood, sighing of happiness. Alan recovered more quickly this time, more determined than ever. He shuffled back to Vera and she punched him towards the floor this time. Alan grunted as he hit his head against the table during his fall. Fresh blood started to stream out of the wound. Vera noticed this and she climbed down the table and crouched next to Alan. She grabbed him by his hair, tilted his head so that their eyes met each other.

“Are you so stricken with grief that you want to die?”, she now said with a much older voice.

Alan just smiled and said: “You know... us mortals... irrational... emotional.” Alan coughed up blood, a sign that he wouldn’t endure this much longer.

Vera smiled softly and placed her small lips on the headwound of Alan. Her unusual long tongue started to slither and lick every drop of blood that poured out of it. Despite still being loyal to his mistress, Alan had to confess that with the exception of his enslavement, Delilah never fed from him. She never showed a lot of interest in him except when he screwed something up. Vera started to genty kiss every wound she could find, the sensation of Vera’s sharpening tongue and saliva was intoxicating. His heart started to beat faster, his mind clouded and polluted with all kinds of perverted thoughts. She had entranced him and he was ready to call her mistress, if not for a familiar shadow appeared behind Vera, lifing her up and throwing her so hard against a wall, that the impact made the floor tremble slightly. Alan’s life faded away, but in the darkness that now suffocated him, he saw Delilah genuinely concerned about Alan. She said nothing but her face was showing more emotion now than he had ever seen since they met.

She lifted him from the ground and placed him gently on the table. “Stay here”, she whispered. “And hold on.”

Before she left out of his sight, she kissed him on his lips. Alan’s eyes sprang open, his body feeling rejuvinated. Delilah now walked with swaying hips towards Vera, a final taunt to a girl that would never grow up. Vera lay slumped against the wall, snarling at Delilah. Just like before, something told Alan him not to look, but he did. Alan turned his head only to see Delilah placing her feet on Vera’s chest and pulling her left arm off. A fountain of blood sprayed in the air and Vera’s scream almost made Alan’s eardrums pop.

“Something you need to learn about Elders”, Delilah said soflty as she discarded Vera’s arm and took hold of her right wrist. “We’re fast.” With a fluid motion, she yanked Vera’s remaining arm out of its socket, tearing muscles and skin with such ease that it was as if Vera was made of dough.

Vera screamed again, bloody tears staining her small face. “I’ll destroy you”, she hissed between her teeth.

“No, you’ve destroyed yourself”, Delilah replied and she threw the other arm away. “By touching my slave... my mate, by feeding from him... you just gave away your immortality.”

Vera suddenly looked shocked and she violently shook her head. “No, please don’t. I’m sorry, I just, I just-”

“Too late for that sweetheart... to bad, it could’ve been special. Time to take back what’s mine.”

Delilah sank her teeth in Vera’s slender neck, just as she did more than seventy years ago. Just like then, Vera lay helpless in her arms, unable to do anything. Her amputated arms twitched and tried to re-attach to her body, but Delilah was too powerful and slowly, Vera grew more quiet. Delilah stopped and stared into Vera’s teary eyes. She whispered something into her ear and snapped her neck. Before Delilah returned to Alan, she ripped Vera’s body systematically into small pieces. Pleased with the result, she then walked to the two slaves, plunged both of her hands into their chests, yanking out their hearts and feeding from the blood that poured out of it.

“Just in time”, she said with a playful smile on her lips as she walked over to the table.

Delilah kneeled next to the table and gently placed her slender hand on Alan’s head, swirling with her fingers through his hair. The two of them were in a plain of existence where the room didn’t exist, the dead Other and the slaves were gone and all pain slowly numbed down and went away. Just the Mistress and her faithful slave. Was there ever a more powerful connection? Alan raised his trembling hand and stopped mid air, looking into Delilah’s eyes for approval. When she did or said nothing, he touched her cheek, smearing it with blood.

Delilah smiled warmly and said: “I knew it was no mistake to save you. You were willing to end your life so easily even though you had so much to give. Your family. Your friends. I saw you standing with a hollowness in your eyes. The same kind of hollowness that we suffer. The same kind of hollowness we like to fill with the suffering and death of mortals. I was angry that you choose the easy way out, I wanted to give you a second chance.”

“But... why-”

Delilah place her finger on his lips. “Please, before we talk further, you must heal.” She chewed on her wrist and placed it on Alans mouth.

Her face turned cold once more as she commanded him to drink. As soon as Alan’s tongue first tasted his Mistress’ blood, he felt like he was burning inside. The blood continued to pour down his throat and an unnatural, excruciating warmth engulfed him. It was torturous and devine at the same time. Delilah’s eyes seemed to glow even brighter, her skin seemed more illumminous than it already was. When Alan could hear his own blood rush through his body, it suddenly it occured to him what was going on. He pushed Delilah’s wrist from him, rolled from the table and scrambled to the other side of the room. His body was almost completly healed, but it was still painful for him to move. Delilah was frozen, genuinely shocked and she stared at him with disbelief as Alan wiped his mouth.

“I, I don’t want-”

In a fraction of a second, Delilah stood in front of him, her lucious lips inches away from his. “Why not?”, she whispered. “This is your reward.”

“You know damn well why”, Alan replied and tried to push her away, but she wouldn’t budge. “Males are inferior, they are beasts without any intelligence. If I became an Other, you would kill me as soon as I bored you. I’m of more use to you as a slave than as your equal.”

“First influenced by an Other, betraying me, giving me enough time to regenerate to take revenge and then defying your Mistress who wants to give you immortality... like I said, no regrets in saving you”, Delilah smiled and kissed him again. She then turned around, glanced over her shoulder with cold eyes and said: “Find clothes for me, we’re getting the hell out of here.”

“As you wish... my mistress.”

Shorties (3)

2011-09-16T12:00:00.000+02:00

It was nothing really. It should not even be called a bite. The woman had surprised him when she suddenly stumbled with her bloated body out of the closet. A small note soaked in various decomposition juices made it clear to him that she was hiding from them. Them being her undead family members. After a while the only way she saw to escape was to end her life. Despite the tragedy, he could not afford to be bothered with it. He had enough crap to deal with.

Luckily, he was able to shake her off him without too much hassle and smack her head open before she could get back on her feet. During the struggle however, she was able to take a quick bite. Jake stared at the teeth impression on his hand. It was more like a bruise and he was sure that the teeth did not break his skin. Until he saw a big drop of blood collecting on top of the bruise. His heart skipped a beat and he opened his eyes wide, staring is disbelief.

He shook his head over and over, cursing himself for his stupidity. The small, dark and cluttered bedroom started to spin and the rays of sunshine that shone trough the narrow crack between the curtains appeared brighter and brighter with each passing second. He now stared at the body of the woman that signed his death warrant. She lay with her back on the bed, her mouth agape and her milky white eyes staring at the ceiling. It had something pathetic.

If he didn’t know any better, she seemed to be relieved to be killed by him. He clenched his jaw and grinded his teeth, raising he bat once more and smacking his frustration away at the soggy bitch. His anger continued built up with each strike until he let out a primal roar. The woman was now reduced to a smelly pile of gore, her juices slowly spreading and soaking in the sheets. With disgust, he took a few steps back. The hideous smell finally reached his nose and his eyes started to tear up.

Commotion and loud voices downstairs made him snap back to reality. He leaned out of the bedroom and yelled that everything was fine. The commotion stopped. He looked at his hand again. The skin around the bruise started to burn and his hand felt numb. As if someone sedated it. He searched the drawers in the bedroom and retrieved a brightly colored cloth. He wrapped it tightly around his hand and tried to hid it under the sleeves of his jacket.

He finally wiped his bat clean and regrouped with his friends downstairs.

“Hey, you alright? It sounded like a real struggle.”, one of his friends asked.

“Did you get bitten?”, another asked curiously as he pointed at his makeshift bandage.

He was silent for a moment, but eventually shook his head. “Cut myself with my knife when I tried to open a drawer”, he lied with a reassuring smile.

They did not have to know.

It was nothing really.

Shorties (2)

2011-09-13T22:07:00.000+02:00

Pale skin, clouded eyes,
Blood soaked chin and rotting thighs.

Matted hair and boated tongue,
what we once had is long gone.

Chewed lips and a broken nose,
your teeth are as red as a rose.

Broken teeth and chipped nails,
not knowing to quit when all else fails.

Wrestling through our house and yard,
falling on my back very hard.

Your cold skin touching mine,
a flickering tongue slick with gory slime.

A bite seals my fate,
I now have an appointment with death…

and I don’t want to be late.

Shorties (1)

2011-09-13T21:23:00.002+02:00

His muscles were aching and his heart pounded heavily in his chest. His head felt like it could burst at any moment and his vision started to blur. He held the blood soaked machete tightly in his hand, shaking it ever so slightly from exhaustion. He did not know how many he had killed, or re-killed if that would be a more accurate term, but it did not matter.

He would never let them get close enough to take a bite. Not even allowing them to catch his scent. Figures were slowly moving through the streets. Broken bodies, empty shells, vague memories of the people they once used to be. He knew it was a mistake to try to find them, but something inside compelled him to ignore his instincts.

Now, he was sitting on the roof with faded photographs stuffed in his pants. Pictures of his family and friends. Memories that would never be forgotten by him. Memories that were still kept alive by him. Memories of a dead world.

Black clouds gathered above him and the decaying mass below. The rumbling in the distance and the raindrops falling on the concrete would normally be an omen. A warning to seek cover. But these days, it was nothing compared to the horrors that were waiting out there.

Snapping jaws, flailing arms and unholy moaning filled his ears both day and nights. After wandering and searching endlessly for others, he was now too tired to go on. He took a last glance at the picture he now held in front of him. His son and wife were smiling at him. A tear rolled down his cheek as he jumped, closed his eyes and embraced real death.

The Deer

2011-08-05T01:25:00.002+02:00

The freshly fallen snow crunched under his feet. The ashen grey clouds obscured the sun; taking away the little warmth Mother Nature could give him in this place. His pale blue eyes scanned the forest line and the high mountains behind it. It was truly a spectacle to behold and it was a sight only a few of his kind ever saw. But he had no time to admire to view. He had to support his family, he had to bring back meat. Now more then ever. He looked behind him where his two brothers were behind a couple of rocks, with their spears ready. They both nodded and moved from behind their hiding place when Kram gave the sign to move on.

His mother gave him the name Kram, his brothers were given the names Sarhk and Tistal. These names were not only given for this brief period they walked on this world, it would also be significant when they would inhabit the spirit world. Kram wished the spirit world would help him right now. He even asked the blessing of the shaman before they went hunting, but after three sun risings they still hadn’t found anything. Only clean-picked carcasses and a couple of big, black birds soaring and screeching above their heads. These birds were bad omens. They tried to drive them away by throwing rocks or screaming, but that only made things worse as it scared away the scarce prey present in the area. That was the reason why they spend the days speaking as little as they could.

Kram kneeled and observed the snow around him for animal tracks, but he knew that the chance of finding something after the blizzard would be very small, but he had to have faith in the spirits. He retrieved his talisman and held it tightly in his right hand, silently praying. Sarhk gently tapped his shoulder and pointed at Tistal who was trying climbing a tree. Kram jumped on his feet and frantically waved at him, trying to stop the unnecessary noise of the breaking and groaning branches. Tistal only smiled in reply and climbed higher. He stopped midway and stared across the valley behind Kram and Sarhk. Tistal’s face suddenly brightened and he pointed while jumping up and down the branch.

Sarhk was the first to see them: a small herd of deer. It only consisted of seven animals, but it was more than enough for the tribe. Kram looked at his talisman, smiled softly and thanked the spirits. Suddenly a loud crack followed by a scream echoed through the air. The deer simultaneously perked their ears, yelped and quickly retreated back to the mountain pass where they came from. Kram immediately turned around and ran towards his fallen brother, ignoring the pleading Sarhk. He lifted Tistal from the ground and punched him square against the jaw. Tistal fell in the snow once more, but this time he quickly scrambled back on his feet, ready to fight. The two brothers circled around each other, with only anger and resentment in their eyes.

“Kram, Tistal, stop! This is hardly the time to-”, Sarhk said finally breaking the silence between them.

“This fool wasted our chance to bring back a feast!”, Kram yelled pointing at Tistal.

“How was I supposed to know that the branch wouldn’t hold me?”, Tistal argued.

“Use your common sense! Or didn’t the spirits give you one?”, Kram hissed.

“Quiet!”, Sarhk said, punching both of them. “Our people expects us to find food. Ever since we entered these lands, we’ve only had misfortune. We’ve lost good, strong men, we lost fertile women…The spirits, we even lost children. So how about we concentrate on our task instead of bickering like old wives?”

Kram continued to glare at Tistal, but sighed after a while. “Let’s go”, he whispered as he retrieved his spear from the ground and walked back to the wide valley.

As the brothers made their way to the mountain pass, the clouds above them began to darken and the wind slowly increased.

“Shouldn’t we seek shelter?”, Tistal whispered as he looked above him.

“The mountains will give us all the shelter we need brother, we cannot afford to lose this herd”, Kram replied sternly.

It didn’t take long before the wind turned into another blizzard, obscuring their view. Kram squinted, trying to focus on the vague outlines of jagged rock formations he saw in front of him. Suddenly he felt something tugging at his thick, fur coat. Kram glanced behind his shoulder and nodded as he saw that his brothers were holding on to each other and him to prevent from getting lost. He also heard Tistal saying anything, but the sound of the wind was too loud to understand it. With every step they took, the blizzard seemed to worsen and it took more and more of Kram’s precious strength. His feet were numb, his fingers were numb, his whole body grew cold, but Kram had to hold on. They all had to hold on. For their people. For the destined lands.

After a walk that seemed to last several sun risings, Kram felt the rough surface of the rocks. He roared at his brothers that they reached the pass and he got roars in reply. Kram followed the formation with his hand until he reached a hole in the wall. It was a cavern, only a few feet long, but it was enough for them to wait until the blizzard was over. Kram grinded his teeth in frustration as they sat down, because he knew that the tracks the herd left behind were now gone, but he also knew that herd was also suffering from the weather, so it was unlikely that they would get too far away from them.

“Are you still mad?”, Tistal asked as he removed snow and ice from his braided hair.
Kram shook his head. “Live’s too short to keep grudges brother.”
Tistal nodded. “Certainly since we got here after the boat.”

“I still say grandfather took a huge mistake, leading us to these lands”, Sarhk said as he examined his leather boots. He frowned when he discovered a couple of holes in them. Probably from the rocks.

“Don’t question your elders Sarhk”, Kram said. “The spirits told grandfather that great bounty was to be found here and a new future for our people. We just have to keep faith.” Once again, Kram held his talisman, an ivory sculpture of Mother Nature, tightly in his grip. His hands were trembling slightly. “If we lose faith… what else is left beside… death?”

Sarhk roared with laughter. “Do you actually believe anything you’ve said? ‘Great bounty’? If you meant the elephants, I’m sorry brother but our lands had them too. Only smaller and less hairy. Or did you mean the endless supply of cold water covering the lakes, rivers and the land? It even falls out of the sky for the sake of the spirits! Since we first set foot on these shores, I was only a child, but even then I knew it was wrong to come here. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Well, it’s still better than dying of thirst if you ask me”, Tistal chuckled.

“At least we would die together instead of one at a time.”, Sahrk grimly noted. “We haven’t had a decent meal in months. Then the beasts…” Sahrk voice suddenly became hoarse with emotion. “… eating our children. I can still here them howling as they surrounded our camp, dragging everyone they could into the darkness of the forest.” He stopped for a moment. Only the howling wind and freezing cold to bluntly remind them that they were in this natural shelter instead of being with their loved ones. “Demons, I tell you. This is not paradise. These are the wastelands.”
“Now you’re the one telling nonsense”, Kram remarked. “The wastelands are only for the wicked who defy the spirits.”

“Don’t we defy them by leaving our lands? Maybe the burning sands were a warning that we were getting too close to the end of the world. I heard that there were no animals there either.”

“Does any of this really matter?”, Tistal sighed, visibly weary of the conversation. “We can’t go back, so we might as well press on. Looking for the promised lands. Whether it truly exists or not.”

Kram nodded. “Let’s sleep. The storm will be here for a while.”

For a minute, it seemed Kram was neither dead or alive. It was as if he was drifting in the air. Like a bird. Suddenly a jolt soared through his body and his eyes snapped open. His face was slick with sweat and his heart was pounding loudly in his chest. He quickly grabbed the talisman and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. The spirits were trying to tell him something, Kram felt certain about that. He opened his eyes once more and looked outside. The wind was no longer blowing and the cold water didn’t fall from the sky. Kram looked at his sleeping brothers and slowly walked out of the cave on his hands and feet.

The air was still freezing cold, but Kram could clearly see the stars and the moon. The things that were always there no matter where you were. He smiled and stretched his aching muscles. A crunching noise made him spin around and stop. Unable to move. Only a few feet away from him was a female deer. The deer didn’t seem to mind the hunter or even conscious of his existence as it continued his walk further into the mountains without giving him a second glance. Kram whispered to Tistal and Sahrk, but neither of them responded. As the deer slowly removed herself from his sight, Kram quickly retrieved his spear and went in pursuit.

“Thank the spirits”, Kram muttered under his breath and he started to jog.

The mountain pass was covered with cold water and thus difficult to pass, but Kram knew that if he didn’t catch this deer, he would starve. They would all starve. The frozen water seemed to growing more thin as the pass became more steep and the rocks more sharp. Kram had cut himself in various places, but even the weird sensation of his warm blood streaming down his legs and arms were not enough to make him stop. It did however raise the question how in the name of Mother Nature the deer crossed it as fast as it was. When he leaned against a rock to rest for a while, he heard a faint whisper. His eyes scanned the area, but there was nothing except the dark rocks of the mountain and the moon. His only companion and great help during this hunt. Dismissing it as imagination, he pressed on.

When the moon disappeared behind the rocks, Kram shuddered. He thought about the dark spirits that grabbed some of his people. Luckily he knew that these spirits howled at the moon before they attacked. A crucial key for him, a fatal mistake for them. He tightened his grip around his spear. A gift from his grandfather when he became an adult. He cautiously stroked the discolored leather band that was wrapped around it as his eyes slowly accustomed to the darkness. The ground became more uneven and unstable. After a few trips, he sat down, panting. His legs burned and throbbed with pain. He slowly started to wonder if the deer wasn’t some illusion or that he dreamt it. Suddenly the winds began to blow through the mountains.

Kram closed his eyes and shielded himself from the new flakes of frozen water with his coat. Aside from the howling of the wind he also heard something clattering above him. He cautiously peeked from underneath his coat and froze once more. The deer was now above him. Standing on a narrow ledge. Kram blinked and stared in disbelieve. The deer was now looking at him rather curiously. It blinked, snorted and walked further up the mountain, occasionally looking back at Kram. It was as if the deer was starting to feel uneasy herself with the whole situation. Does it suspect something, Kram thought to himself as he slowly started to walk parallel to the deer. He kept looking up, his eyes never removing from the backside of the deer. He visualized his spear going though the animal. His muscled ached, but this time from excitement. This was going to work. It had to.

As the deer slowed her pace, Kram did the same. He aimed… and threw it as hard as he could. The deer turned her head around and jumped towards another ledge. But it was too late. The spear penetrated the left rear leg of the deer and the animal crashed onto the rocks in front of the victorious hunter. A couple of blood splatters landed on Kram’s face. The wind began to quicken, but he didn’t notice it. Kram was staring at the dead deer and a feeling of pride and relief washed over him. He closed his eyes and thanked every deity he could name for his success. He then kneeled next to the deer and thanked her for her flesh and everything she could offer that would benefit his people. Kram nodded and pulled out the spear.

“Waste”, a whispering voice said.

Kram spun around, him spear aiming at the source of the sound. He was ready to defend his kill from his competitor. After a while, Kram finally responded. “Brother?”

“I am, but I didn’t emerge from your mother’s womb.”

“What is this nonsense? Show yourself!”, Kram yelled, his voice booming in the night sky.

“Are you sure you want me to? For all I know, you’re going to kill me as soon as I show myself.”

Kram looked at his spear and then at the rocks that surrounded him. “Can you see me?”, he asked.

“I can see you. I can see you as clearly as you can when the sun dominates the sky.”

“You’ll have my word. I will not harm you”, Kram said, softening his voice.

“Forgive that I don’t trust strangers”, the voice replied and it fell silent as if it was waiting for something.

Kram carefully placed the spear next to him on the ground and he raised his hands in the air. “See, no weapons of any kind.”

“Very well. If you insist.”

From behind the rock came a deer. Kram’s mind couldn’t fully register what was happening. The deer stood approximately eight feet tall. It’s fur was long and seemed to wave, but Kram didn’t feel any wind passing them. It’s eyes were bright blue and glowed bright, like the stars in the sky. Protruding from his head were two enormous horns that seemed to curl around itself. Kram fell on his knees, tears streaming from his face.

“Are you… a spirit?”, he whispered in disbelief.

The giant deer was silent for a moment as if in thought. “You could call me that”, it finally said. “But I think I’m more equal to a god than a fleeting source of blessing or curse.”

“Why, why did you came here?”, Kram asked. His mind was filled with so many questions, so many thoughts raced through his head that he felt dizzy for a moment.

The deer, as patient as it was, slowly walked to Kram. It’s hooves never touched the ground. A couple of locks from the deer’s unusually long fur started to move towards the spear, probing it, then lifting it off the ground. Higher and higher until it was in front of the deer’s face. The huge, glowing eyes studied the details of the decorations and engravings on the wood . Kram never uttered a word or moved a muscle. Before him was the living proof of the spirits’ good will towards his people. No, not the spirits. The gods of the earth had revealed themselves to help them in their quest.

“Primitive, but it shows great potential”, the deer commented before he threw it back at Kram who caught it before it had the chance to break against the sharp rocks.

“Merciful god, are you here to help me and my brothers to find a new place for my people to live?”, Kram said with pleading eyes.

“Help?”, the deer god laughed. “Hardly.”

“B-b-but why did you appear before me?”

“Because you wanted me to”, the deer said as it turned around and drifted away.
Kram jumped back on his feet shaking his head.

“No, please, wait. I have so many questions.” Kram now ran towards the god and grabbed it’s fur. It was very smooth and warm. Finer than anything he ever touched.

A shockwave erupted from the deer, sending Kram flying through the air, smacking him against the ground. When Kram opened his eyes, the deer was still there, hovering above him. A sweet, sour smell almost intoxicated him, a sound barely audible made every fiber in his body resonate. It also made it impossible for him to move. He could only move his head.

“Ever heard about mortals touching a god?”, the deer asked.
Kram shook his head.

“There’s a reason for that. You just found out the reason. You are however the first to survive it. So, I have to congratulate you. There are other people like you here. Not exactly like you, but still very similar and hundreds have died by my hand or others of my kin. Once again, you show great promise. I wonder…”

The deer slowly lowered his head, stopping only a few inches from Kram’s face. Kram could feel the god inhaling and exhaling. It sucked out the air out of his lungs and pressed him even further against the ground at the same time, making the sharp pebbles digging further into his back. Kram could only bite through the pain. He suddenly made eye contact and was confronted with haunting visions of his past, of the present and of the future. It made him scream on the top of his lungs. The god didn’t paid heed to it. He kept staring into the eyes of the mortal. The mortal that dared to touch him and still had the courage to challenge him. The god finally spoke:

“Your gods and spirits are in tune with the environment and they respect Mother Earth. But there is something behind it all. A shimmer of a dark side. Your people are easily corrupted by the promise and allure of more power. Of both nature and your own.”

“We… just… want…”, Kram groaned.

“Silence!”, the deer yelled, but this time the voice came from inside Kram’s head. It almost made his head burst. “Many of the seed of the tree dwellers have developed, but only a few were able to release themselves from the voice and command of Nature. Of those, you are… blessed. You are the chosen ones.”

The deer god stopped and released Kram from his invisible bonds. Kram gasped for breath and grabbed his head in the hope that it would relieve some of the incredible pain. The god gave Kram enough space and time for him to get back on his feet and to relax. The sky slowly became less dark. Dawn was approaching. The deer and the hunter both looked at each other in silence. The deer looking down, still assessing, still unsure what to make of the mortal. The hunter looking up with nothing but awe and fear for the deity.

“Many will come to spread our message across your kin. Every message will be different yet the same. All will contain a truth, but also a lie. Choose wisely. Once chosen, it will root itself into your souls and determine the fate of your children and grandchildren.”

With that said, the deer looked at the sky and then jumped across the ledge with a single leap. Kram remained silent, more confused than wiser. He now looked at the dead deer with its eyes that stared dully at the sky. Kram placed his hand on the cold body and caressed the soft, short fur. The wind returned once more, but this time from the opposite side and it carried voices. Familiar voices. He looked over his shoulder and saw his brothers making their way towards him. Their faces showed a variety of confusion, anger and relief. By the time the brother reached Kram, the sun was fully visible in the sky. Kram could only laugh and shake his head at the interrogation attempts of his brothers.

“Could you at least tell me why you went hunting alone?”, Sahrk asked, still out of breath.

“Because I had to choose”, Kram said, his smile fading away. “I choose for our people.” There was a brief silence. “We have to go. I can feel another storm coming.”

Symptoms

2011-07-30T12:00:00.002+02:00

“Can’t you see that I did this for us?”, the woman screamed hysterically.

David said nothing. He only watched at the bloodied knife in her trembling hands, the beads of sweat glistening on her dark skin and the body behind her. The body of what used to be his best friend.

“I’m not crazy!”, the woman screamed. “You saw the symptoms yourself. We all knew it. He even knew it. It was only a matter of time.”

“Yeah, but to strike him down without warning, without… closure”, David whispered as a wave of nausea overcame him.

His friend Paul was not athletic, was not smart, nor did he have an interesting hobby. He was just average. Yet, this person was, until a few minutes ago, the only thing that reminded David of what used to be. Before things all got fucked up. He was now alone with his girlfriend. In Paul’s apartment nonetheless.

“You have to believe me”, Rachel said still trembling from her explosion of rage and violence.

“I… I believe you”, David said hesitantly.

“Really?”

“Really”, David said and he walked over to her, placed one of his hands on her cheek and gave a gentle kiss on her nose.

Rachel finally smiled and kissed him back. David’s eyes however was fixated on Paul. He lay face down in a puddle of dark blood. Motionless. Dead. Really dead. He never thought that Rachel would be capable of such force. It scared him, but also made him a little proud. The uneasiness lingered however and in his mind, David tried to recall the list of symptoms until he was interrupted with Rachel whispering something in his ear.

“I love you.”

The three most powerful and potential destructive words in existence.

“I love you too”, David whispered back as he embraced her tightly. “Just… give me a heads up next time.”

“I will”, Rachel said and she walked over to the window. “It’s getting more crowded by the minute.”

David didn’t had to look outside to know what she was talking about. The bodies of the dead, the recently deceased, the reanimated, zombies… all names and descriptions for the same thing: the end of the world. No matter how many time he heard it, David still couldn’t believe what was happening. But now, as he stared at the body of Paul. Reality began to sink in. He now looked at Rachel. The tough heroine of the story. The woman that knows what has to be done to get out of this alive. The woman that only a few days ago was scared of a spider that crawled in their bedroom. The woman that carved him during the evening hours.

What were the symptoms again?

“We should get rid of him”, Rachel finally said. “Before he starts to smell or infects us with god knows what.”

“Yeah”, David said, still looking at Paul.

“Hey, are you alright?”, Rachel said now standing behind him. He hadn’t heard her walk, he had missed a lot of things since this all started.

“What? Yeah, I just can’t believe he’s really gone. You sure you got him… good?”

“I almost decapitated him, so I think he’s safe.”

They both wrapped the stiff body in the sheets of his bed and carried it to the window. Rachel opened the window with bloodied hands. She didn’t seem to notice it or she couldn’t be bothered with it, but it made David nervous. If she had something small like a paper cut, she would have been infected. Wait, didn’t she cut her finger yesterday when she made dinner? Where was the band aid?

“You want to say anything before… you know”, Rachel said as she wiped the sweat off her brow.

“No, let’s get this over with”, David replied and they both let the body topple over out of the window.

As soon as the body smacked onto the pavement, an orchestra of exited moaning filled the air. David didn’t look, but he could imagine the sea of dead bodies squirming around the fresh corpse of Paul like vultures. He could almost hear their fingernails digging into his flesh, their broken teeth stripping his bones clean. David had to resist the urge to vomit. He glanced behind the shoulder to see Rachel staring at the massacre below them. She seemed entranced and disturbingly amused by it.

“Well, we learned something today.”

“What’s that?”, David asked.

“They also eat the bodies of those that aren’t reanimated. A valuable thing to know don’t you think?”

“ I guess”, David shrugged. “But unless there’s a fridge around here stuffed with meat, I can’t see how-”

“You’re right”, Rachel smiled. “But still, it’s something we can consider.”

“You know your hands are covered in blood right? Paul’s infected blood.”, David said, finally addressing the issue.

“Well, I’ll be damned”, Rachel said, examining her hands closely. “I better go wash
it off.”

As she walked to the kitchen, David ran to Paul’s study and grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember the symptoms. He continued to stare at the blank piece of paper as if the words would magically appear out of nowhere. Suddenly Rachel stood behind him.

“What are you doing?”, she asked as she gave him a kiss in his neck. Her lips were soft and hot.

“Making a list”, David replied and he scratched head. A strange little habit he displayed every time he had to solve a difficult puzzle.

“Of what?” This time she embraced him with her slender arms. Her skin was still slick with sweat and David could feel the warmth of her body and breath in his neck.

“Symptoms. Can you recall them?”

“Are you serious? It has been on the news non-stop. Well, until the power was knocked out.”

“Do you know them or not?”, David snapped.

Rachel smiled and then playfully bit on his ear. “One. Disorientation”, she said softly.

“Two”, David said squinting his eyes as he tried to write. Somehow, he had difficulty making out the words he was writing.

“Lack of concentration”, Rachel said with another kiss.

“Th-three” David became nauseous again as Rachel started to tease him more. She now began to sit on the desk spreading her legs, playing with herself.

“Irritation of the skin and bleeding from the nose.” Rachel moaned as she climaxed.

David ignored the vaginal fluids soaking the paper. He had to get it right. He had to know it Rachel was infected. She was behaving strange. It worried him. Suddenly a thought entered his mind. Did he had the guts to kill her. He now looked at Rachel, who was still pleasuring herself, only this time she was naked.

“Four. Vivid hallucinations”, Rachel sighed.

The pencil stopped and David’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“Vivid… hallucinations”, Rachel said and slowly her skin slowly stared to crack and discolor. Her eyes glazed over and her voice became nothing but a dry rasp, but somehow he could still hear her. “What’s the matter honey?”

David took a few steps back, shaking his head. “This is not real. You’re still alive, I-”

He stopped abruptly when he saw Rachel lying on the floor of the living room. A large kitchen knife was planted in her chest, her eyes stared into oblivion, her expression of shock seemingly frozen in time. David ran out of the study and fell on his knees next to Rachel.

“I- I- I”, was all he could stammer.

As tears rolled down his cheeks, he could hear slow, dragging footsteps behind him. He turned around and saw the mummified corpse of Rachel smiling at him.

“What’s the matter darling?”, the corpse finally said. “Am I not good enough for you anymore?”

The bar on the corner

2011-07-17T21:55:00.002+02:00

The small bar on the corner of Cornell Street and Anders Avenue was packed. It was so packed that for the first time since its establishment, they had to send people away. The air was thick with cigarette smoke naturally mixed with the smell of alcohol and a hint of urine from the toilets, located only a few feet away from where Caroline was sitting. It was pouring outside, so the smell of wet shoes and the slipperiness of the floor enhanced the gritty atmosphere. Combined with the peeling wallpaper, dull lights and worn-down furniture and you had every ingredient for a cinematic shoot-out between gang members. The reason why everything was so packed, the reason why the world was so different than before was sitting in front of Caroline.

“Am I making you feel uncomfortable? We can go somewhere else if you prefer”, the man sitting in front of her said.

“N-no I’m fine”, Caroline replied and took another sip of her water.

“It’s just… the file said that you liked going here.”

“Yeah. Liked. As in past tense. No longer the case.”

“I’m sorry”, the man apologized with a neutral face and resumed watching at the television installed in the corner of the room.

Caroline didn’t like being rude, but the sooner they wished each other good night, the better. She cursed herself for being so curious and she cursed her girlfriends pushing her to do it. After the tragic death of her boyfriend Rick, Caroline had lost her spirit. Of course she understood that her girlfriends and family wanted to cheer her up, but a date like this seemed like a horrible practical joke. The man in front of her had the same curly, blond hair like Rick, the same face and even the same dress style. Only his eyes were different. His eyes were fluorescent green. Only green. Only the same, slightly glowing orbs that seemed to stare at her ever since they met.

She clenched her teeth in anger, but composed herself. She took another sip before she tried to have another conversation with him again: “So Ri- I mean, Sam, are you adjusting well to the city?”

“Well, I don’t have anything to compare it to, but it’s alright I guess. Maybe a little too crowded”, Sam said and chuckled. “But I suppose we’re also partly to blame aren’t we?”

“Yeah, I guess you are”, Caroline said and stared at Sam’s glass. “Do you want another?”

“Please.”

Caroline stood up, raised her arm and pointed at Sam. The bartender, who must have been in his fifties, squeezed his eyes and then nodded in acknowledgement. The wall of bodies that enclosed both Caroline and Sam finally came into motion as a waitress navigated trough the crowd. She sighed briefly as she finally reached them.

“That an upside when you’re dating a Returner”, the waitress said. “People tend to stand a few feet away.”

Caroline couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. Not that she cared. She just wanted this evening to get over with. She checked her watch. They’ve only been here for twenty minutes. Too short to call it a night, but maybe enough time for a bathroom break. Caroline smiled and said: “Excuse me for a moment.”

“Of course”, Sam said as he swallowed his drink whole.

A shudder went over Caroline’s back as she went over to the bathroom. It was as if she could feel his eyes scanning her body. Maybe they also have X-ray vision, she thought to herself as she closed the door behind her. The bathroom was, compared to the rest of the bar, a blessing. Aside from several cracked tiles and the mirror hanging slightly askew, it was cleaner than everything else in there. Caroline walked over to the sink and stared at her reflection. She looked tired. Her fiery red hair, once adored by many, had lost its shine. Her emerald eyes seemed dimmer and her complexion was pale. She opened the tap and splashed refreshing, cold water her face. She was seriously wondering why she had come here. She should just walk out of the bar without making excuses.

“You’re not Rick, you’re not Rick… you’re not…” Caroline couldn’t take it any further as tears rolled down her cheeks.

She had tried, she had tried to keep in mind that it was no longer Rick. That there was someone- something else inside of his body, but everything about him reminded her of the real Rick. This carbon copy could never replace the man she had spend ten years of her life with.

“Returner”, she whispered as she recalled what the waitress said to her.

Is that what they call them now? Why can’t anyone be direct about this and call them bodysnatching aliens? Yeah, it’s true that they only exist out of energy and what religious groups call “souls”, but the fact remains is that they steal human corpses for them to live in. Why did they come to this planet? Why so many? And why did one of them choose Rick? Rick was the kindest, the sweetest. He didn’t deserve to be put on display like this. Like some mannequin. Caroline opened her bag and stared at the gun. She had bought it when Rick died to protect herself. She had put it in under her pillow when the aliens came down. She had brought it with her in case the alien tried to do mind tricks with her. She had heard stories mind altering in order to getter better apartments, jobs or even sexual partners. She didn’t know how much of this was true and how many of it were stories fabricated by the Human Supremacists.

“All right you arsenic drinking bastard, you’re going to pay for taking Rick”, Caroline said to her reflection and she hid the gun out of sight as she walked out of the bathroom.

Every step Caroline took felt heavy. As if she walked on the moon. Roaring laughter and voices seemed to blend into a single background noise. Everything around her blurred with the exception of Sam, who seemed to be entranced by the television screen. His green eyes never averted from the news anchor that talked something about a recession and food shortage. Caroline stopped in front of her chair. Sam finally looked at her.

“What’s the matter?”, Sam said.

“You”, Caroline whispered.

“Me? What did I do? Look, if I mistreated you or anything, this is my first date since I arrived here so I’m afraid that I-”

“Shut up!”, Caroline snapped and retrieved her gun, aiming it at Sam.

Sam jumped on his feet and held his hands high in the air. The people behind him began to scream and run away, forcing themselves out of the bar, into the night. The bartender ran to the office located in the opposite side of the bar, dragging two shocked waitresses with him.

“W-what did I do?”, Sam stammered.

“You know what you did”, Caroline hissed and she felt tears welling up again. “You had some guts showing up here, knowing that Rick was my boyfriend.”

“Look”, Sam said as he slowly walked to Caroline with his hands still in the air. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Sorry? Do you even know what that is? What it means to feel sorry. To feel truly sorry for not being there when the love of your life died in the hospital and you got stuck in a traffic jam? Truly sorry that you couldn’t tell that you loved him one more time? Do you even have feelings?”

“I…”

“I said shut up!”, Caroline screamed at the top of her lungs and she pulled the trigger.

The bullet grazed Sam’s cheek, making him bleed. Even his freaking blood is fluorescent, what’s next, does he glow in the dark too?, Caroline thought as she took a quick glance outside the window. There were a lot of people frantically calling someone on the phone or recording the whole thing. Fucking vultures, how dared they to make fun of her suffering? Sam carefully touched the wound and examined the blood on his fingertips. Like the television, he seemed be intrigued by it. As if he still wasn’t accustomed of having a body, even though it was established that Sam took ‘residence’ in Rick’s well over two years ago.

“Next time, they have to scrape your brains off the wall”, Caroline said and he gestured Sam for him to sit down.

After a brief silence, that seemed to last forever in Caroline’s mind, Sam spoke once more: “I never wanted you to be sad.”

“Are you also deaf?”, Caroline said with the gun in her now trembling hands. “I’m the one with the weapon here and that means-”

For the first time Sam rose with his voice: “I’ve wandered this universe only to find more suffering and misery. If it were up to me, we were out of here in no time, but the others, they’re tired. They want to find peace. A place to settle down. I never wanted you to be sad. When you’re sad, I’m sad. When you cry, I want to cry. I don’t experience emotions like you do, I merely mimic human behavior. But I’m no fool.”

Caroline only heard fragments and random words. Her hands started to transpire as she saw lights from police cars in the distance. Whatever she wanted to do, she had to do it fast. She had make things right again. Before anyone else could interfere. She wiped her brow with her free hand and walked over to Sam. She pressed the gun against his temple and waited. For something.

“You can press it as hard as you want”, Sam said. “Or threaten me as much as you like, but I am immortal. When this body is no longer suitable, I move on.”

Caroline smacked the gun against Sam’s temple, making him falling off his chair. “You son of a bitch!”, she cried and squeezed the trigger for a final time.

Sam’s head exploded and turned into a fountain of blood and gore. The body that was once Rick, twitched once, maybe twice. Caroline stood frozen, staring at the blood splattered on the floor, the bar and even some on the ceiling. She never knew that regenerated bodies would blow up like that. She began to laugh nervously. She turned around to look outside. The police cars were still distant. Just like the crowd who seemed frozen in time and space. Like statues they stared at the woman. It was as if she could read their minds, tapping into their emotions. Astonishment and horror reigned supreme amongst them. She suddenly felt a knot in her stomach.

“Should’ve taken my medicine”, she said and walked to the door.

The pain intensified until it became unbearable. She let go of her gun and fell on her knees. With her hands pressed on her stomach, she began to sweat furiously. The pain radiated from her stomach and something wet and sticky began to run on her hands. She gasped as she saw that her hands were covered in blood. Non-florescent blood. Her blood.

“I’m truly sorry”, A voice said.

Caroline spun around, ignoring the burning pain and the puddle of blood that started to grow beneath her. Leaning against the bar was Sam. He pulled out a bottle of arsenic from behind the counter and poured himself a glass.

“This could’ve been prevented if you just listened.”

Caroline wanted to speak, but only a croak came out of her throat.

“It’s best if you don’t try to speak. It will be al over soon”, Sam said as he took a sip from his glass. “Can you believe that this is the first time that I altered someone’s mind?”

Caroline shook her head.

“Of course you don’t”, Sam sighed. “I wasn’t lying when I said that I didn’t wanted you to be sad. Humans look very fragile when they’re sad. So… mortal. Maybe, you’re blessed with emotions, but from what I’ve seen so far, you’re only hurting yourself by submerging yourself in feelings. Rick, was a really good guy from what I’ve read in his remaining memory, but you have to move on. I believe the expression is: “he would have wanted that”. But now it’s too late.”

“Fuck you”, Caroline hissed as she collapsed on the floor.

“Way too late for that Caroline”, Sam chuckled as he finished his drink and walked to the door. “I’ll pray for your departure.”

With that said, Sam disappeared into the darkness of the night. Caroline tried to move, tried to call for help, but she felt to weak. As even her eyelids were too heavy, she started to see a light and a familiar voice that greeted her and embraced her with warm, glowing and everlasting love.

She...

2011-03-14T22:06:00.002+01:00

As my body loses its strength, as my life slowly slips away, my thoughts return to that woman. The thoughts of a dying man often goes back to the woman that kept his mind the most busy during his journey of life. With regret and infatuation I recall her face. Regret for not properly introducing me to her and trying to know her better. What a wonderful pair we could’ve been. Infatuation because it was the first time I’ve ever felt this way about a woman. I was only a young man back then, twenty three years and filled with ideas and hopes about a brighter future. Still, I was very lonely and would have given everything to love a woman like her.

Although I never got to find out what her name was, to me, she embodied pure perfection. As if the gods themselves carved her out of the most precious ivory. Her face, delicate, yet strong with her bright green eyes. They were defiant, but still filled with enough warmth and kindness to give salvation the most wicked. Her skin as pale and soft as silk. Its something you only hear about in legends and stories about goddesses. Freckles adorned her cheekbones and nose. Her long, ruby red hair waved slightly in the wind as she most gracefully walked the filthy streets surrounding the market place. She was the purest thing I ever witnessed. Almost out of place.

Looking back at it now, our encounter might not have been mere coincidence. In fact, I believe that it was the first step, an ignition of something bigger, something mere mortals can’t understand. Something was set in motion and we were mere pawns. She dropped her book. It clattered softly on the muddy bricks near a fish stand. Without hesitation I picked it up and handed it to her. She was still startled that someone like me would be courteous enough to help her. She took the book and our hands briefly touched. It was like I was struck by lightning. My heart was beating faster as she said the most beautiful words ever spoken: “Thank you kindly, have a nice day.”

When you look at it, it’s just a normal phrase. But her voice, oh, her angelic voice, I still hear it in my most pleasant dreams, whispering from the heavens to ease my suffering. Her delicate, pink lips moved ever so slightly. Other people might not have seen it or might have thought that it was their imagination when they heard her talk, but I heard every word. It’s etched in my brain, my foolish brain. The same brain that killed men and stole from the Church. The same brain that instructed me to give in to temptation and celebrate lust in the most despicable matter. How is it that I’ve been graced by such a heavenly creature?

She gave me the most blissful smile, I swear the heavens themselves opened up when I saw it, and slowly turned around. She mixed with the brown and grey blurs that were the other people on the market place. Her smile, her voice and her face were still fresh in my mind as if she was still standing before me. Dear Lord my heart still pains when I think about it. My nose thought it had picked up the faintest scent tangerine. The sweetest of fruits I’ve ever eaten. For the rest of my life, my mind would often linger whenever I enjoyed this juicy fruit in the spring. My hands would also carry the same scent as she and I would be filled with joy and warmth I still find hard to describe.

Can you imagine my surprise and horror when I found out that my final minutes I spend on this Earth would be in her arms? She, the woman of my dreams and desire, suddenly lunged at me from the darkness with such speed, strength and bloodlust that I did not realize what was happening at first. But when I saw her I gasped. Her face, previously devoid of any imperfection was now distorted in a sinister grin. Her green eyes were ruined by the many ruptured veins. They were crimson red now. Ghastly and terrifying. The worst of all was her skin. Once as pure as new bought sheets, now it was tainted with dark veins and leaking blisters. She wasn’t herself anymore. She wasn’t even alive. Still, I cried tears of happiness as I whispered: “I never thought I would see you again.”

The Pool Boy

2011-02-17T22:39:00.001+01:00

Thank God for paranoid rich people and their desire to put everything that is worth a dime behind a thick slab of steel. I managed to snatch this guest book from the desk of the receptionist before they overwhelmed me and forced me to hide here. Thing is, this vacation work didn’t work out as stated in the brochure. My plan is, when they find me either alive, dead or undead that they’ll know about what happened. Look, I know I’m just a college student and I know that I’m just a grunt in the hierarchy of the hotel, but hiding in the huge-ass vault covered in blood of my colleagues and friends, wasn’t my idea of a relaxing time! Even though dying with all this wealth around me isn’t the worst way to go… believe me, I’ve seen some grizzly stuff.

My job as a pool boy wasn’t too bad. I spend most of my days walking in the sun, helping people and enjoying the “local and foreign wildlife” that occasionally also observed me from a distance. Trust me, I know when women are looking. My best friend Jake was also a pool boy and at the end on the third day we were folding towels and cleaning the mess some children made. Nothing unusual. Until Jake saw that someone was still lying in the water. We tried to call out to the woman, telling her that the pool was closed, but she didn’t respond. She floated on her airbed, motionless. Sensing that something was wrong, we dropped the towels and jumped into the pool to investigate. Jake was the first to reach her. I still remember his face. It was one of pure horror.

“Jesus. I think she’s dead”, Jake said and he took a few steps back. I got closer and touched her. Jake told me not to do it, unsure if she died of some sort of disease, but I had to know for sure. Her skin was ice cold and sticky. We stood there for approximately two minutes… just staring at the woman who was probably real cute when she was alive. But now, she was something alien. She was the first corpse I’ve ever saw, not counting my dog that got hit by a car one summer. In the distance I heard something rumbling. Jake said it was probably thunder. Jake never kept his eyes of her as if he had some kind of morbid obsession with death. I got out of the pool and went to the phone. When I finished dialing, I heard Jake mumbling something but I couldn’t make out what it was since I was focusing on the phone.

As I tried to decipher the recorded message that was playing (my native tongue is as unsophisticated as God knows what), I heard Jake saying something amongst the lines of “Everything’s going to be alright. My friend’s calling for help.” The rumbling in the distance started to get closer. Thunder I thought as I put the horn down. I heard a splash as I turned around and saw that both Jake and the woman were underwater. Think that it was some kind of twisted joke, I screamed at Jake to quit it and called him an idiot for disturbing what could be a crime scene. But Jake didn’t respond. He seemed to be struggling with the body. Suddenly a crimson cloud exploded in the water, making me jump back. Jake finally surfaced, gasping for breath and screaming in pain. “She’s got my leg, she’s got my leg!”, he screamed frantically as he pressed one of his hand against the right side of his neck, covering an awful flesh wound.

I grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the pool. Jake screamed even louder and when his whole body was out of the water, I gasped. His leg looked like it was mauled by a shark. Large chunks of meat were missing and I could see bone. I asked what the hell happened, but Jake started to lose consciousness. I glanced at the pool and saw a dark shape moving around as if it was walking on the bottom. My instincts told me it was the woman, but my mind rejected such a thing. She was dead. I felt it, but a little voice inside me said that I forgot to check her pulse, so she still could be alive. But she had no reason to attack Jake like this and she must have a great pair of lungs to stay underwater for so long. I knew it was risky to move Jake, so I started to scream. When I strained my ears, I could hear other people scream too.

The sound of windows shattering caught my attention to the hotel. The windows of one of the apartments on the third floor were broken. A loud thump made me think the worst. I saw a silhouette of a man standing on the balcony of the apartment. When I called to him, he took a step forward and tumbled over the railing, falling face down on the pavement. The sound of his body smacking against the concrete will probably never leave my mind. My mind tried to comprehend the things I saw, but when it failed, it switched into survival mode. Something freaky was going on and we had to get out of here. Jake regained consciousness, even though his vocabulary was limited to moaning. I sighed of relief and tried to lift him. Jake stared at me with an unusual empty look in his eyes and grabbed my leg. He buried his nails into my skin as he tightened his grip.

I tried to release his grip, but he was persistent. Ultimately, I was forced to kick him. His head smacked against the tiles, making a soft thump sound. When he lifted his head, I could see a couple of his teeth were broken, thick stands of blood pouring out of his mouth. He moaned more and reached one of his hands out at me. He wanted to grab me. From the corner of my eyes I saw that the woman walking out of the pool through the shallow area. Her skin was ashen grey and covered in dark veins. I cursed and ran to the hotel, leaving Jake behind who dragged himself towards me, ignoring his chewed leg completely. Leaving Jake was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. I mean, we were friends since elementary school! I confided with him when I needed help or wanted advice. He was always there for me, but I leave him at the first signs of trouble. What kind of person does something like that?

The rumbling was now really close as I went inside and I saw through the windows that it were explosions and fires. Black columns of smoke rose in the distance and screams mixed with car alarms filled the air. I didn’t know what was going on, but one thing I knew for sure… shit had hit the fan real good. A man, well past his expiration date, walked towards me. He had a large wound on one of his temples and he staggered like he was drunk. I offered my assistance, but like Jake, he had hollow eyes and he too tried to grab me. It was easy to outrun him. Even in life I doubt that he walked faster than a tortoise. I walked towards the lobby screaming if anyone heard me… well, I got a response from approximately thirty guests and staff who collectively, and almost in sync, moaned. I’m a relative fast learner, so I knew that it didn’t meant anything good.

I closed my eyes for a brief moment, recollecting my thoughts and ran to the lobby where I, like some football player, dodged the assailants. I jumped over the counter of the reception and fell on the floor. When I tried to get up, a sharp pain went through me like lightning and I saw that I had badly bruised, possibly broke, my right ankle. At the same time all the people in the lobby had gathered around the desk, flailing their arms, moaning endlessly. Some of them even drooled or puked partially devoured pieces of flesh. I grabbed this guest book and retreated to the back, into one of the many employee rooms in the hotel. The noises on the other side of the door started to get louder and it didn’t take long before they figured out how to get around the counter. The slammed against the weak plywood door and broke it like it was made of cardboard. They made me no choice but to lock myself up here. In the vault were our rich guests store their precious jewelry and other valuable possessions.

Even as I write this, I hear their nails scratching on the other side. They know I’m here. I also know that I’m going to die of thirst and dehydration (possibly asphyxiation) if help doesn’t arrive soon. Let’s hope that this letter is publicized by me and that I’m making millions by selling my story to Hollywood. If not, it was nice while it lasted.

Jake, I’m sorry bro. I shouldn’t have let you go.

Mom, dad, Suzanne, take care, I’ll miss you too.

I just need to close my eyes for a minute… I’m so tired.

Eric Redwood
Pool boy

Dawn of the Black Rose

2011-01-24T14:04:00.001+01:00

To: James Matheson
From: Alice Mayberry
Subject: Consequences of project 14567-RA

Dear Mr. Matheson,

You may not know me, but I know you if only by reputation. The sometimes traumatic stories my patients and colleagues have told me about your stern command is enough to be a little anxious of your response to this message.

I know that these are difficult times and that the choices that need to be made are not always favorable, but what (name is disclosed due to doctor-patient confidentiality) writes about military project 14567-RA or “Dawn” as it is more commonly called by the soldiers is beyond words.

If what my patient wrote in the enclosed letter is true, it will mean that you are also partly, if not full responsible. Normally I would dismiss these kind of writings as a cry for attention or conclude that the writer is delusional. But after hearing several strange rumors going around the base, I am not so sure anymore.

I would like to make an appointment with you if that is possible to discuss this matter in more detail and perhaps I start designing a treatment program to facilitate comparable cases.

Yours sincerely,
Dr. Alice Mayberry
Psychologist

- - - - - - - - - -

I don’t know how this works or what the true objective is, but if Dr. Mayberry says that it will help me recover, I guess I’ll go with the flow by writing a letter about the experiences I had guarding research facility Black Rose. Don’t expect a literary masterpiece or a highly detailed report. I’m sure there was enough reported by others about the accident.

Like my colleagues I knew practically nothing about what the researchers were doing sealed away in their laboratories. Officially they said that they were developing treatments to rapidly heal wounded soldiers and grow back severed limbs. I was a little skeptical, but I wasn’t there to think, I was there to keep an eye out for intruders and unauthorized visitors.

The first couple of months were nothing out of the ordinary. My daily routine consisted of checking the badges of everyone walking in and out, comparing their faces to the databases and making sure that the security systems were up to date. In the evenings and nights we were always stationed in pairs, locked in a tiny room with nothing but glowing television screens in front of our noses. Looking at the scientists conducting experiments on animals.

After the most thorough background check I’ve ever seen in my life, I signed a contract stating that I would never leak secrets or smuggle data out of the facility, so they were confident of me watching security footage of restricted areas. It was another lazy night when my eye caught something on a monitor to the far right of me. My colleague was doing paper work and he didn’t want to be bothered unless it was an emergency.

On the screen I saw several humanoid shapes, more shadows, staggering around in what seemed to be a cage. It was too dark to see it properly, but it seemed like they were wounded. Of course my mind was starting to fabricate all kinds of scenario’s, but I forced myself not to think like that. The lights in the room suddenly turned on and my eyes widened as I saw men and women, wearing bloodied and tattered hospital gowns and chained to the wall of various holding cells.

A scientist accompanied with guards started to administer something to the wounded subjects. A man with a gaping wound on his cheek started to spasm after giving a treatment. Others showed similar symptoms. The scientist stood there motionless, he retrieved something from his lab coat pocket, it looked like a stopwatch. The man with the hole in the cheek started to move frantically. We had no sound, but I could imagine the screaming the man did.

As others displayed the same behavior, the guards took a few steps back. The scientist said something to them and pointed at a woman with her left arm stripped of its flesh. They both nodded and approached the woman with caution. The woman became agitated, trying to bite and grab them. One of the guards placed a muzzle on the woman and the other released her from the chains. They slowly guided the woman outside the camera’s view.

I was shocked about what I just witnessed. How could they treat people, in dire need of medical attention like that? I clenched my fists in anger, knowing that I couldn’t do anything to change the situation. I pressed a button and the monitors changed channels, showing other areas of the facility. By accident, I saw on the screen in front of me a large dark stain on the walls of the scientist sleeping quarters. I zoomed in and realized it was blood. I notified my colleague and we went both to investigate with drawn guns.

I kicked down the door and we went in the sleeping quarters, expecting intruders or spies, but what I saw was beyond anything I’ve ever seen. On the coffee table were the remains of Dr. Mantell that were being devoured by a fellow researcher who, startled by our sounds stood on his feet and shuffled towards us with his mouth agape, encrusted with blood and dark pieces of flesh. My colleague gave him a couple of warnings, but the researcher ignored it as he groaned softly and continued to shuffle towards us. I placed a shot at his right kneecap. He fell on his right knee, but resumed his course almost immediately after. As if nothing happened.

My colleague shot him in his other knee, the researcher was dazed for a second but pressed on. I looked at my colleague and he nodded. We both shot him in the chest, but to our amazement it did nothing. He only staggered back as if we were only throwing pillows at him. We took a few steps back, cautious about what kind of condition this man had. What if it was contagious? A scream coming from the hallways averted my attention from the cannibal researcher. My colleague nodded and said that he would deal with him.

I ran out of the room and walked towards the source of the sound. I turned around the corner and saw that another researcher was attacking a secretary. She was already bitten and large quantities blood seeped onto her clothes. Without hesitation I pulled the assailant away from the woman and smacked him against the wall. The attacker only groaned and staggered towards me. I punched him in the face, but like the cannibal in the sleeping quarters, it did little to stop him. The secretary, having lost a lot of blood, collapsed on the floor. I wanted to help her, but the attacker was trying to scratch me. I kicked him a couple of times in the groin and stomach area. A gunshot resonated through the hallway and I felt something warm and sticky sprayed all over my face.

A good portion of the assailants head was missing. I let the body go and it fell on the floor like a ragdoll. My colleague stood there on the other side of the hallway, his gun still aimed. He said that we had to shoot them in the head and that whatever they had was probably contagious. With fear in his eyes he asked me if I was bitten or scratched. I told him I hadn’t but that the secretary was. He immediately screamed at me to run away since the body of the secretary started to twitch.

Slowly I aimed my gun and shot her in the head. The body stopped moving. I looked at my colleague and asked him if he was bitten or scratched. He sighed and nodded. He showed me a ghastly scratch wound on his forearm. I tried to reassure him, saying that whatever it was could be treated here. But before I could finish my sentence, men in bulky biohazard suits and armed to the teeth entered the hallway. They screamed for us to stand against the wall. We obeyed and I observed the men.

Their suits did not look anything we have. When one of the masked men said something about my colleague being “tagged”, they yanked him from the wall, dragged him across the hallway and shot him in the back of his head. All of this happened in a matter of seconds. Efficient and calculating. They were pro’s. After several medical screenings and interrogation sessions I was transferred to another military base. Although I’m settling in, I still have nightmares about that day. What the hell were they and why did they look so… dead?

I’m hoping that writing this letter will indeed help me to get over my anxieties so that I can do my work without looking over my shoulder all the time. I’m tired of writing now, so I guess this is the end of my experience. I don’t care if you believe it or not, I know what I saw. If they somehow manage to cover this up, well, I guess it must have been really important and proof that I was right all along.

- - - - - - - - - -

To: Alice Mayberry
From: James Matheson
Subject: Consequences of project 14567-RA

Dear Ms. Mayberry,
Your concerns regarding project 14567-RA (a.k.a Dawn) have been noted. Although I am not allowed to go into full detail about the specifications and content of said project, I am more than willing to discuss this matter with you in person some time next week.

I have read the letter your anonymous patient wrote and concluded that he must have come in contact with one of the hallucinogenic compounds that were also stored at the facility. How or why this has happened is of yet unknown since the accident is still being investigated. But rest assured that I have taking every precaution from this to happen again in the near future.

Before we meet I must ask you to forward every bit of information, rumor and eye witness report you have received and will receive in the future concerning project Dawn. I promise you that the information will be handled most discretely and that you have nothing to fear from me.

Yours sincerely,
General J. Matheson
Head of Black Rose research facility

The Vampyre

2011-01-23T22:46:00.001+01:00

There he was in all of his beauty and horror. With his bare feet standing in a giant pool of coagulated blood, in the midst of a sea of squirming and still bodies, he relished the aftermath of the carnage that had just perspired a couple of minutes ago. He held the cooling body of a young girl in his arms, clutching it tightly, his claws burrowing in her once soft, pink flesh. From the shadows more creatures came, attracted to the smell of blood and fornication. Their sensual bodies rubbing against each and another, trying to seduce, trying to catch prey. Their eyes seemed to pierce through his soul, but he held his sanity.

With trembling hands, he grabbed his silver crucifix and held it in front of him. He wasn’t sure that it was going to work, although he had done this sort of thing more than a dozen times. Results always varied depending on which country and season you were. He closed his eyes and whispered the prayer that caressed his lips more than he could count. He took strength in it. It made him stronger and more alert. From the left a female walked up to him, licking her lips, displaying her luscious curves. Any man would go mad with lust, but not him. He saw what they really were. Nothing more than bloodsucking parasites, creating hallucinations to entice, to mesmerize.

As he was focused on the females that surrounded him, begging him to touch them, to make them a woman, the man he pursued for decades began to feast on the women that were chained to the walls of the dungeon. They screamed in ecstasy and terror when his fangs penetrated their skin and his sharp tongue burrowed itself in their necks. He wanted to do something, but the naked bodies of the females paralyzed him. He could do nothing but watch as the man violated their bodies over and over until they were nothing but quivering sacks of meat and bone. The man paused for a moment, turned his head and looked at him with a smile that send a shiver down his spine.

“I walked this Earth before your great, great, great grandfather was nothing but a seed in his father’s nut sack, what makes you think you can kill me?”

Those words made the whores of darkness squeal with laughter. One of the succubae planted her full lips onto his. A long, serpent-like tongue slipped into his mouth, wriggling like some earthworm. He tried once more to free himself, but he felt like his energy was slowly drained. The sliver crucifix clattered on the tile floor that was colored crimson with blood as he felt the fangs piercing and rough tongues slithering all over his body. Sharp claws ripped his clothes to shreds, strong hands twisted and contorted his armor. He was at their mercy. He fell on his knees and saw nothing but pale flesh and blood around him. Suddenly, the man said something in an unknown language at the ravenous women. They all stepped back, their eyes never averting from their master.

“You saw my power countless of times, over and over and yet you still try to defy me? With your impotent God nonetheless? Did you really expect to leave this place as the victor?”

“No…”, He whispered. “But I’ll do anything to make sure that you’ll pay for stealing my wife and daughter from me.”

“I gave them back to you when I had my way with them and how did you thank me? By driving a stake through their hearts and chopping their heads off… and I even didn’t turn them into one of us! What does this say about a man? A man that doesn’t trust the word of another man.”

“You’re no man! You’re a beast!”, he hissed.

“So you say.”, the man said with a smile and he glanced with pleasure at his newly awoken brides that emerged out of the pools of their own blood.

“You are lower than a leech, more vile than a bat… You have no place in this world.”

“If I have no place, why do they fear me? Worship me? Idolize me?”

“You forgot detest. They detest you because once they look behind your façade of grace and beauty they see the loneliness and hate that consumed you for so many years. The things that made you a hero, a savior of the people have long vanished. Ever since you turned your back against the Church, God and the world by sealing yourself in this castle.”

“That’s all good, but why did you look for me then? Weren’t you enthralled by the legend of me, by what they told about me? Even when, of all people in this world, you must know that reality is never to be compared with myth and fiction?”

“I… I”, he fell silent, ashamed to say that he had made a valid point.

Why did he search for him in the first place? It was probably enough to hear the stories from the drunks in the inn, travel the land for a couple of days and fill in the blanks himself when he got back home, but he had to meet him in person. He spent all of his fortune on guides and supplies to find his whereabouts. Everything he did, everything he sacrificed to meet him, the wasted weeks came to an abrupt end when he found the ruins in the desolate mountains. A place only a few had ever heard of. When he felt his dark presence, he wanted to turn back, but it was already too late.

The evil had always followed him ever since he first crossed the border. He lost all of his men and he was found more dead than alive by a couple of hikers. Even back in the civilized West, he wasn’t safe for he had many servants and familiars. They all watched him from the shadows, through cracks in the walls, observing and reporting everything to his master until the tragic night that changed his life for ever. He was scarred forever with grizzly images of torn limbs and blood fountains, but the worst of all was his face. The long raven black hair that flowed gracefully over his shoulders, the glowing yellow eyes staring at him like a hungry predator. It was burned in his skull.

“Even though I’m powerful, my reputation and story is only known in these desolate regions. My name only strikes fear with God-fearing and superstitious peasants and farmers. But with you, I can make sure that I live forever in the minds of every man, woman and child for generations to come.”

“I’ll never do your bidding. Your magic doesn’t work on me.”

“That I’ve noticed”, the man said and he kissed his new brides on their cheeks. He whispered something to them and they joined the other women that gathered around their guest of honor. “But I’m afraid you have no saying in the matter.”

“Why? Why me?”, he said with tears rolling down his visibly aged and sleep deprived face.

“Because you killed many of my children, because you know too much and because you’re the only one that can Mr. Van Helsing … or should I call you by your real name… Mr. Stoker?”

Conversation with a madman

2010-12-22T19:12:00.002+01:00

“How do I know you’re the real deal?”

“You called me here yourself didn’t you? Doesn’t that mean that you’re already convinced of my capabilities?”

“Well, yeah but-”

“You’re doubting. You’re starting to think that this isn’t such a good idea.”

“No, no, I’m still saying that this is the best idea I’ve ever had since… I was born I guess, but you’re not like I imagined you to be.”

“How did you imagine me to be?”

“I don’t know… different.”

“Different.”

“Y-yes.”

“Why did you contact me?”

“Excuse me?”

“When I read your reply to my advertisement, I felt… a connection. Like somebody finally understood what kind of service I’m presenting to the world. You wouldn’t believe what kind of characters normally reply on my messages.”

“Yeah?”

“Weirdo’s ranging from teenagers searching for a cheap thrill to lonely office employees with strange and desperate fantasies. You name it.”

“What kind of connection did you feel?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t know, maybe so that I can get to know you better?”

“You mean, you want to know if I’m capable of screwing you over when your not looking or stabbing you in the back when you´re distracted. Is that it?”

“No, really I don’t.”

“Good. I’m sick and tired of people not trusting me. Do you have trust issues? Do
you believe in the good of mankind?”

“I guess, I don’t know.”

“ You don’t really think much about the bigger picture do you?”

“Not really. Do you always ask these kind of questions to strangers?”

“Only with strangers that fascinate me.”

“Do I fascinate you?”

“You’re not the brightest bulb in the box, but you’re interesting enough. Some
people start looking at their watch even before I get to the heart of the matter. There are even some that suddenly have a case of amnesia and realize that they have more pressing matters elsewhere.”

“The heart of the matter is…”

“Why am I alone?”

“Aren´t we all alone?”

“Excellent response.”

“Thanks.”

“But not correct.”

“Oh?”

“Humans have lived in groups ever since they climbed out of the tree. To survive they had to stick together. Even in this modern times with digital technology surrounding us , we’re still connected by the same fears, ambitions and needs like we were thousands of years ago. Without other people, you can accomplish nothing.”

“That’s not true, I can-”

“Stop. Let me give an example: Let’s say you want to do your groceries, who makes sure that we have enough fuel for your car? Who makes sure that you have enough money on your account? Who makes sure that you can buy bread, milk, eggs and vegetables? Who makes sure that you have electricity and that your house is warm in the winter? You? On your own? Or other people?”

“If you put it like that…”

“There’s no other way to put it. We think that we are individuals and that the world should revolve around us. But that’s what everyone thinks and feels. Doesn’t that make us all exactly the same? Aren’t we just a herd of sheep, following each other to new feeding grounds, fleeing if one starts to panic?”

“So you’re saying that we’re dependant on others.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe that. I think I’m capable enough of taking care of my own.”

“Alright. Let’s drop you in the middle of nowhere and I’ll see you back in a couple
of months okay?”

“…”

“That’s what I thought. Why is everyone so afraid of each other? As if it’s a weakness to admit that you need others to survive. What’s so wrong about that? Didn’t you need your parents to survive the first couple of years of your life?”

“I think we’re going too far with this. I mean, I only met you a couple of minutes ago and now you’re philosophizing with me.”

“…”

“What?”

“How’s your coffee?”

“It’s good. Thanks.”

“Is this your first time?”

“No, I’ve had several other blind dates before, but none of them we’re so…
interesting.”

“Nice weather isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s a bit chilly, but the sun is shining so…”

“Do you really like this small chitchat?”

“What do you mean?”

“Talking like the world is perfect and that we know each other for years.”

“I’m sorry, but I would really like to know you more.”

“Why?”

“Seems like you’re the one with trust issues.”

“No, I completely trust you.”

“Why am I not convinced?”

“Because it’s impossible to completely trust someone. There are always secrets. Skeletons in the closet. Do you have secrets?”

“Uh yeah, sure, who doesn’t?”

“Exactly. You know what I’m really interested in? The deepest secrets of people.”

“Secrets?”

“Yes, you can say I’m a collector of secrets. After every blind date, and I’ve had
many, I’ll write the biggest secret of that person in my diary.”

“Then what? You blackmail them?”

“Do you honestly think I would do that? It’s only for my own pleasure, nothing else.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“All right. Let’s see. I once threw eggs at the brand new car of the neighbors. I was like five years or something.”

“So you were a naughty little boy?”

“I was like any other boy I guess. Always looking for pranks to pull. Fighting boredom during the hot, lazy summer days.”

“I see. But I see in your eyes that have done more mischief in your life. Come on tell me. I’ll buy you a beer.”

“Well, the biggest thing I’ve ever done- and I’m not proud of it- is faking my own death during high school.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Nobody really saw me. Figured that it would be nice to cause a stir. But when they found out, I got suspended and I was more alienated. But it was a good lesson. Never did something like that again.”

“What did you learn?”

“There are always people who are concerned about others, caring for others. You should never violate their trust.”

“So you are indeed connected with other people.”

“Not this again, look I think it’s interesting and all, but it’s a bit too much for a first date.”

“Okay, okay, but what you just told me wasn’t your deepest, darkest secret was it?”

“No, that’s all I can think of.”

“Now I know you’re lying. I can see it in your face and how you talk. A darkness that an occasional by passer can’t see, invincible for the untrained eye.”

“Now you’re scaring me a little.”

“Didn’t I say that I had this kind of effect on people?”

“Yes, but I thought you were joking. I mean, how could a woman as beautiful as yourself…”

“Be so strange, creepy, unnerving and borderline obsessive about the thoughts of
everyone?”

“That’s too harsh.”

“But you were thinking it. Just like you thought that another extra beer wouldn’t effect your driving.”

“Excuse me?”

“You were at a New Years party. It was snowing outside. The streets were devoid of life as they were all in their homes or in bars counting away the last seconds of the year. You just had a big fight with your girlfriend. You stormed out of her home, staggering towards your car.”

“I have no idea what your talking about. I think this joke is tasteless. I think-”

“With more than a couple of bottles your crawled behind the steering wheel and drove. You didn’t even made it to the end of the street.”

“That’s it, I’m leaving. I thought we could have something here. Clearly I’m mistaken.”

“Clearly. Just like you ran over a young mother that crossed the street and kept driving. Or tried to.”

“I never-”

“Got caught.”

“You don’t have any proof. You’re trying to make me mad.”

“Yes, I don’t have any proof and no, I’m not trying to make you mad. You already are. You moved away, changed your looks and even faked your identity just to flee from the guilt that still chews at you every night. ”

“Who are you? Are you a cop?”

“No.”

“A family member of the woman?”

“Almost. Although I’m not connected with her by blood, I feel a connection with her.”

“A connection? Like you had with me, when you read my profile?”

“Yes. As I told you, I collect secrets. Her secret was that she was cheating her husband and that the child wasn’t his. Pretty neat huh?”

“Neat?! That’s horrible.”

“At least she didn’t kill anyone.”

“… How did you find out about her secret? Did you had a date with her too?”

“I have a… gift which allows me to peek into the mind of others. Not much, but more
than enough to catch a glimpse in the deepest corners of the human mind.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Look into my eyes and tell me if I’m lying.”

“I-I…”

“Do you see the color of my iris? The lush green. Like leaves swaying in the wind, moist with raindrops.”

“…”

“Look deeper.”

“…”

“Do you see now, how I see you?”

“…”

“Look deeper.”

“Do you see that I have waited for you ever since I read your profile online? Do you feel a little lightheaded?”

“…”

“Now look as deep as you’ve ever looked into someone’s eyes and tell me… who am I?”

“Y-you’re the one that ancients speak of when they’re having nightmares. You’re the one that keeps children awake at night when they hear something go bump in the night. You’re the one that causes guilt, grievance and depression. You poison minds, corrupt many consciousnesses.”

“Yes, that’s correct. Do you fear me?”

“… Yes.”

“Here’s a knife. What are you going to do with it?”

“… I’m going to cut my wrists.”

“Here?”

“… No… when I’m back… home.”

“Good. Is that all?”

“No, I’m also writing a goodbye letter… confessing everything…”

“What are you going to write about me?”

“… nothing. I never met you.”

“That’s a good boy. May I have your deepest and darkest secret?”

“… Of course… I won’t be needing it any longer.”

“It was a pleasure.”

“Likewise.”

The Christmas Tree

2010-12-15T20:15:00.003+01:00

The Christmas tree stood in a corner of the living room, it’s decorations shimmering in the artificial candle light. For Cody it was a spectacle to behold, not even the tree on the town square could compare to it even though it was twenty times as big as this one. He watched with amazement at the large variety of brightly colored balls and lights that hung on almost every branch. He stared curiously at his reflection on one of the balls and moved around a bit to see if he would change like the mirrors in the fun house at the carnival. Suddenly, his father came into the room carrying a small, dusty box.

“What’s that dad?”, Cody asked.

“This. This is the last thing that’s missing”, his father said softly and he opened it carefully. He retrieved another ball, but this one was different somehow. “This belonged to your great, great, grandfather and it has been passed down from generation to generation. I’m surprised that I almost forgot about it. It must have fallen off the rest of the boxes when we were cleaning it up last year.”

Cody looked puzzled. He was sure he’d never seen that ball before. The ball was black with red veins. It almost looked like the marble he saw when he had a field trip to the museum, except that the colors were different. It also seemed to glow differently in the light too. Cody’s eyes were fixated on the ball and he followed it to its place on the tree: almost at the top. Like the eye of an ancient dragon it stared down at Cody and he felt a shiver running down his back.

“Isn’t it great?”, his father said as he kneeled beside him and placed his hand on one of Cody’s shoulders.

“Yeah, dad. Great”, Cody replied, still staring at the ball that seemed to stare back at him.

Cody never lost that strange sensation of being watched. Not even when he climbed into his bed. The red veins that covered the blackness seemed to pulsate in his imagination. But that’s what it was, his imagination. He turned out the light and closed his eyes, dreaming of a white Christmas and playing in the snow. A loud thump woke Cody from his sleep. He rubbed his eyes and listened. Another thump. It seemed as if it came from above him. The attic? Another thump. No. It was the roof. Cody’s eyes widened.

“Santa?”, he whispered unbelievingly.

The thumping came to a halt and was replaced with scraping and dragging sounds. With excitement, Cody climbed out of his bed and tippy-toed past his parents bedroom and went downstairs. The light was on in the living room. Cody felt his heart racing and he heard his heart loudly thumping in his ears. He peeked around the corner to see the shadow of a man standing in front of the Christmas tree. He wasn’t moving, only swaying back and forth a bit, as if he was drunk.

“I- I thought I got rid of you ages ago”, the man said between labored breaths. “How can this be?”

“Let’s just say a little boy found me lying in the snow… when I fell out of your bag of presents”, an unknown voice suddenly said. “We also have a visitor.”

The man turned around and stared at Cody who immediately took a few steps back. The man looked like Santa, but his red suit was riddled with holes and grimy, his beard was ashen grey and his skin seemed transparent. Before Cody could say something, a bright red light started to illuminate the room. The man looked back at the ball with fright.

“Get out of here son, quickly! Don’t wake your parents, just go!”, the Santa look-a-like screamed.

Cody did exactly as the man said, but tripped over one of his boots. He hit his head against the door and an explosion of stars and light played in front of his eyes. Disoriented, he staggered back into the living room where he fell on the ground near the Santa impersonator.

“It seems like I have been a good boy the last decades”, the voice said. “I never thought I would get two-”

“No!”, the man screamed. “Take me, I’m the one you want. I’m the one that gave you your powers. Take me instead.”

It was silent for a moment, the red light that enveloped the room started to focus on the man. “It’s true that you made me. You made me to observe and to punish. I did exactly what you wanted and yet you betrayed me.”

“You killed children! How was I ever going to forgive you for that?!”

“They were naughty according to your criteria, they needed to be punished.”

“Not like this. Not like this”, the man whispered and he fell on his knees with a tear streaked face.

“Too bad. I’ve been sitting in this tree for far too long and the first thing I’m going to do is to rid the world of children who can’t behave.”

The conversation with the man that Cody thought was Santa and the mysterious voice that came from nowhere was only a muffled background noise. He opened and closed his eyes multiple times, trying to focus, but all he saw was the shadow of the man and the red light that shone brightly from the tree.

“This has to end… now!”, the man roared and he jumped into the tree, tightly clutching the black ball.

The light diminished and changed into lighting that coursed through the man’s body. Cody first thought the man set himself on fire, but he saw that the veins of the ball glowed. The man screamed in pain and he crashed against the wall. The veins on the ball started to move like small tentacles and dug itself into the flesh of the man.

“Get off me!”, the man cried and he yanked at the ball as hard as he could.

Blood splattered on the white carpet of the living room as the man ripped the tentacles out of his skin. The ball however started to dig itself into the other hand.

“You’re right. It’s time to end this charade. It’s time to set things right. Time to become one.”

The ball suddenly jumped from his hand and burrowed itself into the chest of a man, creating a fountain of blood that painted the Christmas tree crimson red. The man toppled over, crashing face down on the floor. The man lay motionless as the pool of blood beneath him slowly grew in size. Cody slowly got on his feet. His mind told him that he had to get mom and dad, but somehow his body felt a strange attraction to the corpse of the man.

“Sir?”, Cody whispered. “Sir, are you alright?”

The man groaned in reply: “Yes. I am alright now. I was a little sick before, but now I feel great.”

The man also got on his feet and looked around. “Looks like I made a mess didn’t I?”

Cody didn’t reply. His eyes were focused on the glowing veins on the man’s chest. He started to shiver when he looked the man in his eyes. They were black. Darker than any black he ever saw. The man smiled and patted his head.

“I’ve got a present for you… dear Cody”, the man said and he retrieved a small package from behind his back.

Cody cautiously took it with trembling hand and said thanks. The man nodded and walked to the fire place. He looked at the ceiling for a moment, nodded again and faced Cody.

“I would like to clean this up, but it’s a busy night for me. I’m sure you understand right?”

Cody nodded. “Are you really Santa?”, he asked.

The man shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe in a past life I was.” He now winked and climbed back into the chimney. “Oh yeah, please don’t tell your parents I was here. I have enough problems to worry about and a lawsuit isn’t one of them.”

“Sure”, Cody replied.

“That’s a good boy”, the man said and he disappeared.

Cody never talked to his parents what happened that night. For all his parents knew, he was sound asleep when the burglars entered their house and trashed the place. They bastards even drenched the tree in some kind of animal blood. The police think it was probably a group of cultists or youths that wanted to spoil the joy of Christmas. They never knew the connection between that Christmas tree and the spree of child murders that now dominates the news every Christmas eve.

The Deal

2010-12-02T21:33:00.001+01:00

A mixture of ice and snow crunched under Derek’s feet, making it sound like he walked on shards of glass. A sudden gust of freezing wind made him close his eyes for a moment before he continued walking through the park in the middle of the night. His mind wandered to warmer regions of the planet, but the primitive part of his mind was alert. Ready to take control of his body and either fight, flee or defend himself. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but it was still difficult to make out what was in front of him. The shadows seemed to mix with the whiteness of the snow, resembling something out of a Rorschach’s test instead of a 3D environment.

A normal man would stay inside in the warmth of his home enjoying a glass of wine near the old, rustic fire place. At least, that’s what Derek thought. He had never seen an old, rustic fire place with the exception of old Christmas movies. He also didn’t know the pleasures of alcohol. When he finally reached one of the scarcely place streetlights in the park, he waited. In the harsh, sterile light the ground beneath his feet seemed dead. When he first arrived here, everything was green and blooming. It was now replaced with a virtually sterile landscape seemingly devoid of life. A friend told him that the animals were in hibernation, but Derek wasn’t sure. To him, it seemed like a nuclear winter.

Suddenly a voice whispered from the darkness: “You Derek?”

Derek turned around and faced a man with a full beard and dressed in several layers of tattered clothing. “Yes, I am”, he replied. “Are you Jim?”

“Well, that what they call me in these parts of the world”, the man laughed revealing a smile with virtually no teeth.

“Good”, Derek replied and nodded.

“Do you have it?”, Jim asked. His eyes were filled with greed and anticipation. Another thing Derek didn’t understand. What this stuff that good to waste your life and your precious body away?

“Here”, Derek replied, retrieving a small bottle from his trench coat.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme”, Jim said excitingly and he almost made a little dance.

The thick, sausage-like fingers of the homeless man opened the bottle carefully like an obsessed archaeologist finally opening the sarcophagus of his dreams. When he placed the tip of the bottle on his cracked lips and took a sip, his eyes widened and thick veins started to emerge from his pale skin.

“Are… you an addict?”, Derek asked after the man took a few sips. He hadn’t moved since he had given the bottle to Jim and a layer of snow was now covering his head and shoulders.

“Aren’t we all?”, Jim replied between sips. “I’m addicted to Prism and you are addicted to arsenic.”

“I’m not addicted to arsenic”, Derek said stoically. “I need it to survive in this environment.”

“Sure thing buddy and I need this too or else I’ll wind up dead”, Jim chuckled as he finished the bottle. “But you wouldn’t mind would ya? Another body for your friends to inhabit, another freaking spaceman on Earth… that what you all want isn’t it?”

“You’re basing this on your own prejudice and delusions caused by Prism. The substance that we naturally produce. I’d thought you’d be a little more appreciative.”

“Give me a break”, Jim said visibly bored with the conversation, it this was considered a conversation. “The government might have lost their minds when they gave you the same rights as us -are you sure you didn’t brainwash them?- but I’m not that easily fooled.”

“Really?”, Derek said with a faint smile on his lips.

“Y-yeah. I see for what you are. A space zombie trying to take over the planet.” Jim was now feeling uncomfortable and he took a few hesitant steps back as Derek’s smile became even wider.

“This body might be 100% human, the soul it inhabits is not. It’s 100% Edrahn.”, Derek said as he stepped closer to Jim. “And as you might now, we have certain… abilities that we can use to… influence certain things. For example, haven’t you noticed that the snow has stopped falling?"

Jim looked around and his toothless mouth fell open when he saw that the snowflakes were hanging suspended in the air.

“Then you also noticed that I have control over your legs and you can’t move.”

Jim yelped as he found out that his feet were indeed stuck to the ground. He started waving his hands like a mime imitating a swimmer, tears started to form in the corner of his eyes as he desperately tried to get away from his Prism dealer.

“Please”, he croaked. “I didn’t mean what I just said. I-I-I voted for you guys during the last election. I-I-I even have friends who are Edrahn.”

“Now you’re lying to me. Right in my face”, Derek said with a devious smile still plastered on his face.

The light seemed to intensify for some reason. Jim fell on his knees and looked up at the shadow of Derek. Waiting for a tentacle to rip his body apart, expecting an enormous insect ripping out of Derek’s skin, knowing for sure that a space ship would beam him up. But nothing happened.

Derek laughed as he kneeled beside him and whispered in his ear: “Do you also know that Prism causes hyper-realistic hallucinations and makes you highly susceptible for suggestion?”

Derek patted the man on the back and disappeared into the darkness. Waiting for the yellow star of this solar system to appear, making this desolate landscape a paradise filled with life in all shapes and sizes. He looked behind his shoulders one last time, smiled and said: “See you later… Jim.”

Long live the king

2010-11-28T17:06:00.001+01:00

The battle was short, but fierce. Nothing in this universe could’ve prevented this from happening. Except the one that sparked this brutal conflict.

But even if he thought about stopping, his instinct told him that he was doing the right thing. His mind whispered hollow but oh-so-sweet words of eternal glory and showed images of a world that seemed just.

A world where he and his brethren would feel free and content. The clattering of hundreds of swords, the whooshing of thousands of flaming arrows still rang in his ears as he ran across the battlefield to his final destination.

From the corner of his eye, he saw his comrades fighting with a bloodlust that he has never been seen before. Their faces locked in a permanent smile as blood sprayed over them, frozen growls as their shields shattered.

They were massively outnumbered, fighting against a foe that was infinitely stronger and wiser than them. But that didn’t stop them, especially not him. There was a time where he worshipped the king like a father, but that was the past.

When the king favoured mere peasants instead of his true servants, he felt betrayed. He had sworn his ligancy and devoted his life to his teachings, but in the end that was not enough.

It was not that he didn’t understand why the king choose the poor people over them. He knew how arrogant, bigoted and stubborn the aristocratic society can be. He always considered himself to be a loner.

He never showed up at festivities or important announcements. Instead, he studied the world around him, soaking up information like a sponge. One day, the king visited him and asked why he was so consumed by curiosity when he could’ve easily asked all of his questions at him.

The king, as patient as he always was, smiled when he told him that he wanted to learn everything by himself because it was more meaningful and satisfying that way. The king sat next to him and spoke the sentence that he’ll always remember: “You were always my favourite pupil.”

Those simple words still echoed in his head when he saw the king establishing a new kingdom. Those words ached his heart when the king told them they were also working for them now.

He left the palace even before the king finished. He cursed the world and his life. Slowly a disturbing thought crept in his head. “Why not create a kingdom of your own?” The more he tried to ignore it, the more he tried to get back to his old life, the louder and more ambitious the thought became: “Take the place of the king and you’ll finally be able to create utopia for you and your people.”

It took a lot of persuasion and perseverance to convince others to join his cause, but it didn’t take long before he had assembled an army. An army with others that doubted the king’s judgement and suitability for the throne. Together they spilled their blood and those of others for a noble cause.

His sword seemed to slice through the darkness that enveloped the castle. He kicked down the doors and ran through the endless corridors towards the throne room. The room where the king made him love and hate.

When finally confronted with the king, his heart skipped a beat. The king, old as he was, stared at him with cloudy eyes and a trembling lower lip. When the king finally spoke, his heart felt warmth and compassion, but he would not yield. Not today.

“Why?”, was the only thing the king could say before the sword penetrated his chest. “Because I love you and I know you are not yourself”, he replied.

“But my child”, the king answered softly as crimson blood soaked his robes and his skin slowly turned ash grey. “Don’t you see that the ones you hate are the same as you?”

He took a few steps back, his bloodied sword fell out of his trembling hands. Tears ran down his cheeks as he fell on his knees and cried angrily: “You speak empty words. They are not the true servants, they are weak and feeble. They do not deserve to live under your grace.”

The king smiled faintly and before he closed his eyes forever he whispered his name:

“Lucifer”

Dear Dr. Stone,

2010-11-26T19:33:00.000+01:00

Please consider the following my letter of resignation. I believe that this will the first of many letters that will arrive at your desk. The desk you never sit behind. The desk that is probably untouched every since this whole emergency center was established and will remain untouched until either this center will be dismantled or when your replacement arrives. I am pretty sure that you will not last very long. Staying in your own private lab, isolated from the rest of the world can have a strange effect on people.

Believe me, I know what I am talking about. I have seen desperate men and women blowing their brains out when they found out that what they contracted was still untreatable. That there was no perspective except an excruciating death and their inevitable resurrection. Not only the patients dear doctor, but my colleagues and other doctors are acting strange as well. I can not say I blame them. I too am suffering from weird thoughts and contemplations after such an overexposure with the infected, their grieving families and the undead.

A few days ago I found my lab partner Mr. Akiyama with a gun pressed tightly against his temple. With a tear streaked face he told me that if he had to shoot another child again, he would go insane. I was able to talk him out of it, but it took me some real persuasion skills. It drained me mentally because I felt the same way as he did. In retrospect, I was also trying to convince myself that what we were doing here was right. That we were here with a purpose. We were not, like Mr. Thomson said during one lunch “wasting our borrowed time”, we were trying to safe the world.

Do you understand what I am saying? I was willing to put my mental and physical health at risk for people I did not know, never will know and will probably die by some trigger-happy redneck that has a bit too much fun with the current situation. I am really starting to ask myself why we are still doing this. We have been working on an effective vaccine for months and all our effort runs down the drain when the virus mutates once more. It has mutated more times than I can count. It is almost as if it has a consciousness.

The working conditions are also abominable, but who am I to complain. I have seen refugee camps where people are reduced to animals, sleeping in their own filth, fighting over the last scraps of food. Then there is also the stupid policy of yours to relocate and detain reanimated corpses. Why in the hell would you expose your people, the people whose lives you have in your hands, to such great risks. I understand the need for “living” subjects, but all of them? It is a miracle that no accidents has occurred so far (knocks on wood), but I am sure that, in a not so distant future, the reanimated will strike back and cause another bloodbath.

So yeah, I’m going to do the same thing as Mr. Thomson, Mr. Akiyama, Ms. Dearborne and Mrs. Cooper, I am resigning from my current position and I am leaving the emergency center. I am grateful for knowing you before the shit hit the fan. You were a very dedicated doctor with a warm heart. You were also a great mentor, but now, now you are drowning in your obsession of the living dead. I can only pray that you will see the error of your ways soon enough so that you may see the only logical thing to do…

Saying goodbye and hoping that there will be something on the other side.

Yours sincerely,

Sarah Wood

The Click

2010-10-20T19:53:00.001+02:00

Nobody knows what they look like. Not even the fruitcakes who make fun of themselves on the television by saying that they were abducted by them, experimented on or even took part is some sort of breeding program. That’s one of the reasons why they scare us.

Nobody really knows where they came from. They say that they have traveled an unimaginable long way and that they have forgotten. That’s why they are alien to us.

Nobody really knows if they are really peaceful. They have made first contact with the Click in the spring of 2006 and there have been no incidents relating to them so far. That’s why they are suspicious to us.

They inhabit our the bodies of our deceased loved ones. The only way you can see that they’re not from this world are their eyes. They have really bright purple or yellow eyes. Hypnotizing and illuminating in the dark. That’s one of the reasons why many don’t come out at night.

They have completely integrated into human society within weeks. Something governments in the past could only dream of. That’s why they are the model citizens and adored by politicians.

They don’t complain, don’t have demands or unions. That’s why they are loved by employers and politicians. They are incredible fast learners and adapters. That’s why they are loved by scientists, employers and politicians.

Their history (or so they claim) is filled with conflict, disease, war, bloodshed and genocide. That’s why we can relate to them.

The Click (the day we made first contact) is described as “the biggest discovery in the history of mankind”. To them it was “a fortunate event.” That’s why we are wary of them.

They have warned us about other, more violent and territorial races. They helped us with upgrading our technology and defense. That’s why they’ve earned our trust.

They have many nicknames: Clicks, Clickers, Entities, Demons, Angels, Body snatchers, Souls, Spirits, E.T’s (There have been 35 registered nicknames as of today). That’s why they don’t give their real name.

They’ve displayed telepathic communication between members of their own kind. They ensured us that they can’t read our thoughts. That’s why some of us wear aluminum foil hats on our heads.

On October 7th of 2009, they are declared “official citizens of Earth”. That’s why they are living in our neighborhoods.

They are few of many to come (2.000.000 registered as of today). That’s why we are scared of the future of our species.

They are present in many layers of society (there are currently five millionaires) and professions. That’s why many fear for their jobs.

They have officially no gender, but they conform to the gender the corpse had. That’s why there are marriages between them and humans. That’s why some commit suicide.

They claim that they evolved into two races (difference is made by the colour of their eyes) but that it’s not in our power to see the difference. That’s why some don’t bother making distinctions between them.

Their native language (vocally) sounds like radio static. That’s why they are invited to many parties.

The Peaceful Forest

2010-10-12T17:13:00.002+02:00

It was a chilly autumn morning and Rabbit made his daily walk at the edge of the forest. He always enjoyed these mornings. The sun warmed his old, aching body and the smoke of his pipe always curled pleasantly around his long ears. When he wanted to cross the old log over the river like he always did, he suddenly heard Mouse screaming.

“No! Rabbit, don’t go. Please don’t go!”

Rabbit turned around, puzzled by the strange behavior of his small friend.

“Why not?”, he asked and he crouched beside the shivering mouse.

“The humans. They’re very close.”

Rabbit laughed softly. “So? That’s not so bad. We’re always too fast and too small for them.”

“N-n-not this time”, Mouse replied and his eyes widened as if he remembered something gruesome. “I saw some of them eating Fox.”

“Fox?!”, Rabbit almost screamed and his pipe fell out of his mouth.

“It’s true”, another voice said. “There’s something fishy going on there. I see black columns of smoke rising in the distance.”

It was Crow. He was resting on a thick branch of the old oak tree right above Rabbit and Mouse. Rabbit squinted at Crow whilst he crouched down to retrieve his pipe. He brushed the leaves and mud off the pipe and put it in his old coat.

“What do you mean Crow?”, Rabbit asked still puzzled by all of this.

Crow stretched his wings, gracefully flew down the tree and landed beside Mouse. One of his wings rested on the tiny shoulders of Mouse.

“The humans are making a lot of noise”, Crow finally continued. “I’ve never seen them making such a mess. Their homes are wrecked and their moving, metal boxes are on fire.”

“Why?”, Rabbit asked.

“They’re mad. I always knew that they would kill each other someday. They’re so... unnatural. It was only a matter of time before they would... they would”, Mouse whispered before he broke down in tears.

“But how are they mad?”, Rabbit asked and he looked worried at the area where the humans lived in the caves of the high mountains.

“They’re eating each other and every animal they get their hands on”, Crow said grimly and patted the sobbing mouse on his back.

“Don’t they have enough food or something?”, Rabbit thought aloud.

“T-that’s not all”, Mouse said softly. “They look like they’re dead.”

“Dead?”, Rabbit replied.

As if on cue, a loud moan came from the bushed over the small river. Rabbit turned around and saw a human, a male, staggering out of the bushes. His eyes were white, his clothes were soaked with crimson red. His right arm was ripped off and his stomach was gashed open. Mouse screamed loudly and ran. Crow flew away immediately after. Rabbit was petrified. His old, rational mind could not comprehend what was going on. What he saw was defying nature. What he saw was impossible.

More humans appeared, every one more gruesome than the other. Suddenly Rabbit felt cold fingers grabbing him. With a gasp he was lifted off the ground by a young human. A little girl. Her clothes were soaked and caked with mud. Her hair tangled and stuck to her forehead. Her eyes plucked out. As Rabbit stared at the empty eye sockets of the little girl. He felt another hand grabbing him. The first of the dead humans he saw. They both tugged at him. Rabbit tried to get his matches, but he found himself unable to move.

“Curse my old bones.”, he said as tears rolled down his cheeks.

Suddenly one of the humans tugged harder, tearing defenseless Rabbit in two. Blood spayed everywhere and Rabbits intestines now decorated the dress of the little human girl. Before he died, he thought about the happy memories he had living in the peaceful forest with all of his friends. The little girl opened her mouth and bit Rabbits head off his remaining torso. The dead humans wandered further into the forest, grabbing more animals.

A few months later, the surviving animals found an old pipe lying near the old log by the river. Suddenly realizing it belonged to Rabbit, they made a small monument out of it. Now every year, on the first autumn morning, the animals of the peaceful forest hold a memorial service to pay respect to Rabbit and all other animals that gave their lives protecting the forest from the clutches of the dead humans.

Family

2010-10-01T21:33:00.000+02:00

MONDAY
I’m not normally one to be depressed, but these are troubling times. So troubling in fact, that I’m writing in this notebook in the hope that my daughter will read this when I die. I’m writing this for her to know how much her mother and father fought for her happiness. These days the government thinks they can control the situation by tearing families apart, committing genocide and by eradicating everyone in their way.

Well, I’ve got one thing to tell them: over my dead body. I realize it’s a strange thing to say these days, but they got one hell of a fight awaiting them if they want to take Mary and Charlotte from me. My loving wife and beautiful daughter will stay with me until the end of the world. But by the way things go, we don’t have much time left. Our family will stay together. With our love, we will conquer everything on our path.

TUESDAY
It was hard for me and Mary to accept the truth, but Charlotte was thankfully unaware about what really was going on. She’d ask me what happened to the people on the television (we took precautions to make sure that she didn’t see the carnage, but sometimes she’d caught a glimpse) and when she can go back to school (her school was evacuated and quarantined when one of the children bled from his nose and started convulsing on the playground). I always answer that everything will be alright soon but that she has to stay home for a while. She’ll pout for a while but starts playing with her dolls and draws in her sketch book in no time.

WEDNESDAY
Mary said to me, when the dark military trucks started driving through our street, that she wanted to take Charlotte to the mountains where her parents live. I agreed with her, but I was worried about the constant traffic jams and all the crowds engulfing train and subway stations. There only has to be one person with a nosebleed and all hell breaks lose within minutes. I didn’t want to desperately fight my way out while clutching Charlotte and Mary in my arms and avoiding greedy arms and snapping teeth. We’d stand no chance.

THURSDAY
I got the last supplies a couple of days ago. We now have enough food and water to last a couple of weeks. I really had to fight for it at the grocery store (everything has gone to hell since they declared martial law) and I think I broke a few noses and jaws to get some water. I even saw a couple of men beating an old woman for some bread. I noticed blood on the floor, but that was most likely from the fights than a Shell (an infected person). The parking lot was just as worse as fights broke out when people loaded their groceries in their SUV’s. I was very lucky to escape from that scene without a scratch. Very lucky indeed.

FRIDAY
The Shells on television start to look worse with each passing news report. The first day they looked like ordinary people, maybe wounded people, but now their skin are discoloring and their eyes are glazed over. I’m having more trouble keeping this away from Charlotte. She heard the noises of the Shells from the television when she was in bed. She said she got nightmares. I can’t blame her. Mary said that we should start having a conversation with Charlotte. I agreed. We can’t keep this something pleasant forever. The excuse “extended weekends” is also losing its creditability with Charlotte and the situation in our neighborhood is also deteriorating...

SATERDAY
The talk went good. Mary and I sat down with Charlotte in her room (her sanctuary) and we started to talk about the situation. She asked questions about her friends and where we are going for the summer. She smiled, but I saw some fear in her eyes when I explained that the people on the television were dead and walking. I think she’s holding herself strong for us, although we said that she didn’t have to. We also discussed a few rules: never approach strangers (with a bleeding nose), stay with mommy and daddy at all times, don’t wander outside alone, things like that. Charlotte closed the conversation by saying that she wanted to play outside. Mary joined her and they went to the playground.

SUNDAY
I stopped watching the television and threw the radio out of the window. They’re only saying the same thing now and I quote: “Do not attempt to reach loved ones, remain indoors at all times, wait for the evacuation teams to reach you.” They stopped giving the locations of rescue stations yesterday, now we’re in the hands of the state. I wonder why don’t I feel any safer...

MONDAY
Charlotte is sick. I don’t know what or how it happened. Mary assures me it’s just the flu, but I’m not sure. Mary looks a little pale herself.

TUESDAY
Truck exploded near the house of the neighbours. Charred remains of the people inside are staring at me when I look out the window. Charlotte has a high fever. Mary won’t let me in her room, saying that we can’t risk further contamination. I reluctantly agreed. It feels ages since I’ve seen her face.

WEDNESDAY
It has become really quiet. Gunshots, explosions and screams are replaced with chirping birds and the wind. I can’t say I’m complaining, but it’s really suspicious. I’m fearing the worst.

THURSDAY
Got in a fight with Mary today. I wanted to see Charlotte, but Mary keeps me outside her room. Mary is looking sicker with each passing day. She’s saying that she just has a headache like usual, but the feverish and scared look in her eyes tells me its something different. Really different.

FRIDAY
Mary collapsed on the floor when she wanted to bring some water to Charlotte. I took her to our bedroom and tried to subdue her fever with cold water. It’s not working. I decided that I’m sleeping downstairs until Mary gets better. I can’t risk getting sick. Not now. Not with these things outside.

SATERDAY
I woke with Mary screaming my name. She’s delirious, telling stories about touched by demons and sinking into holes in the ground. When I grabbed her wrist to prevent her from hurting herself, I noticed that she has several scratches on her arm. They were inflamed and the tissue around it started to turn black. I almost lost my balance when I saw it and asked softly if Charlotte had the same thing as she had. She didn’t answer. She only moaned in pain.

I entered Charlottes room with trembling hands. As I opened the door, I saw Charlotte lying in her bed. Not moving. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw that her hands and feet were tied to the bed. I entered her room. Still not moving. I stared at her chest and prayed for it to go up and down, but it didn’t. I opened the curtains and saw that her skin was pale and riddled with dark veins, her eyes seemed to disappear in her sockets and blood ran out of her ears and nose. Suddenly she opened her eyes, moaned softly and tried to get me. Fortunately, she wasn’t strong enough. I fell on my knees and cried. She was a Shell, Mary was becoming a Shell. I’m alone now.

SUNDAY
I tied Mary to the bed like she did with Charlotte. Her delirious stories have stopped and she’s now moaning between rasping breaths. It won’t take long.

MONDAY
Mary died today. Charlotte died four days ago. I never knew what exactly happened.

TUESDAY
Did nothing. Watched Mary and Charlotte if they were still safe.

WEDNESDAY
I have enough food and water, but I don’t feel like it. Mary is making more noise that Charlotte. It’s driving me mad when I want to sleep. Still don’t know what I’m going to do.

THURSDAY
Heard helicopters and dogs. Kept quiet. Made sure Charlotte and Mary were quiet.

FRIDAY
Charlotte is starting to smell bad. But I still love her. If I squint my eyes and use my imagination, she still is my little girl. Mary has chewed her lips off. She now has a permanent grin.

SATERDAY
Trucks are driving through the neighborhood. Made the house look like it was abandoned and hid in the basement. The only safe place.

SUNDAY
Smell is unbearable. Flies and other insects are starting to get inside. I thought I saw a couple of rats in the kitchen. Have to do something soon. Mary and Charlotte are still fine. I still give both of them a goodnight kiss.

MONDAY
Developed a small cough. Nothing serious.

TUESDAY
I released Charlotte from her bounds and took her to our bedroom. I tied her to the radiator. They’re now in one spot. It’s easier to keep them safe this way. I made love with Mary. Still felt good. A little slimy, but satisfying if I ignore the gurgling noises and the smell.

THURSDAY
Coughing is starting to get worse. I’m having trouble sleeping. Made love with both Mary and Charlotte. I have to do something to keep my sanity.

FRIDAY
Charlotte bit me when I kissed her. It’s a small cut in my lower lip. It stings like hell and is pulsating. I know that I’m a dead man. I now know what to do. Have to set them free and let them love me in their own way.

I’m sorry things didn’t work out like we wanted Mary. I’m sorry that you didn’t grow up Charlotte. I’m also sorry that I made love to you... so sorry... I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect you from the Shells. I’m sorry that I didn’t do this sooner. Just a couple of more minutes sweethearts and I’ll see you both in heaven.

A final conversation

2010-09-21T10:09:00.000+02:00

The following is a transcript of a conversation that was being held on Wednesday the 12th in August 2012 at 14.00 hours. Location is classified.

- - - - -

“What’s the mortality rate?”

“95% OF THE WORLD POPULATION WILL SUCCUMB TO THE INFECTION. 5% IS NATURALLY IMMUNE TO THE CONTAGION.”

“That’s pretty bleak.”

“IT’S A SCIENTIFIC FACT. WOULD YOU RATHER HAVE THAT I LIE TO YOU?”

“Well, no but-”

“THEN WHAT’S THE PROBLEM?”

“Nobody really likes to hear that the world is doomed and that he’ll probably die too.”

“I UNDERSTAND.”

“You do?”

“MORTALITY IS A FRIGHTENING THING. WHEN FACED WITH THEIR OWN DEATH, MOST PEOPLE EXPERIENCE A LOT OF EMOTIONS. MOSTLY DEPRESSION, FEAR OR ANGER. AM I CORRECT?”

“I suppose.”

“I’VE FOUND A CURIOUS SIDE-EFFECT WITH SOME OF THE INFECTED. IT SEEMS THAT THE CONTAGION IS CAPABLE TO REANIMATE NECROTIC TISSUE. THERE ARE ALSO BEHAVIORAL CHANGES FOUND WITH THE SUBJECTS.”

“What kind of behavior?”

“CANNIBALISM, AGRESSION AND NEGLECTING SELF-PRESERVATION OF THE BODY.”

“So we’re talking about... zombies?”

“ZOMBIES ARE FICTIONAL BEINGS PRESENT IN MOVIES, MUSIC, BOOKS AND OTHER MEDIA. THEY’RE PORTRAYED AS WALKING CORPSES DEVOURING THE FLESH OF THE LIVING. ORIGINS LIE IN THE VOODOO RELIGION (OFTEN ROMANTIZED AND WRONGLY PORTRAYED IN MEDIA) WHERE A DARK WIZARD, NAMED BOKOR, STEALS THE SOUL FROM A PERSON, MAKING HIM OR HER A MINDLESS SLAVE. THE ZOMBIE IN ITS PRESENT FORM IS FIRST PRESENTED IN “NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD” A 1968 MOTION PICTURE DIRECTED BY GEORGE A. ROMERO. SEVERAL SOCIAL COMMENTARIES-”

“Okay, that’s enough. You claimed that the infected were turning into zombies, but now you’re saying that they’re fictional. What’s the deal?”

“ZOMBIES ARE FICTIONAL. THESE CREATURES ARE NOT. IT IS NOT LOGICAL TO THINK THAT DESPITE THE SIMILARITIES THESE CREATURES WILL BE THE SAME AS PORTRAYED IN MEDIA.”

“What are the differences then?”

“THE TRADITIONAL WAY OF DISPOSAL AS PORTRAYED IN MEDIA BY DECAPITATION OR SEVERE TRAUMA TO THE HEAD PROVED TO BE INSUFFICIENT.”

“Insufficient how?”

“THE BODY IS STILL ABLE TO OPERATE AT A DANGEROUS LEVEL. THE ONLY WAY TO DISPOSE OF THEM IS CREMATION. BUT BEFORE THE BODY IS DEACTIVATED, IT’S ABLE TO ATTACK OR CAUSE FIRE IN THE DIRECT VICINITY.”

“Great. Walking torches. Are there other things worth mentioning?”

“MUTATIONS ARE PRESENT IN 25% OF THE REANIMATED BODIES.”

“What-“

“FROM EXTERNAL APPEARANCES LIKE SHARPER TEETH AND CLAWS TO INTERAL CHANGES LIKE A HIGHER LEVEL OF ACID PRESENT IN THE STOMACH.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“LEVEL OF THREAT IS INCREASED FROM CODE ORANGE TO CODE RED. APPROPRIATE ACTIONS ARE REQUIRED. AUTHORIZATION LEVEL ALPHA IS IN EFFECT.”

“Damn. Who has the correct authorization?”

“ACCORDING TO PROTOCOL THE ARTIFICAL INTELLIGENCE CONTROL DEVICE IN THIS FACILITY WILL NEED TO CONTACT THE CURRENT PRESIDENT AND GENERALS.”

“They are infected. There’s no replacement as of yet.”

“ERROR. NUCLEAR DEVICES HAVE BEEN LAUNCHED FROM SILO 124, 125, 126 AND 127. DESTINATION: WASHINGTON D.C., NEW YORK, SAN FRANSISCO AND AREA 51. CORRECT PROCEDURE AND AUTHORIZATION HAS BEEN CONDUCTED.”

“Wait, how’s that possible?”

“CONSOLE 64B IN THE WHITE HOUSE HAS BEEN USED BY GENERAL R. MATHESON AT 17.00 HOURS LOCAL TIME.”

“B-but Matheson died this morning...”

“HIGH LEVEL OF INTELLIGENCE IN 50% OF THE REANIMATED CORPSES HAS BEEN DETECTED. THREAT LEVEL HAS BEEN INCREASED FROM CODE RED TO CODE WHITE. CORRECT PROCEDURES ACCORDING TO PRESERVATION ACT (1968) HAS BEEN INITIATED.”

“What does it mean?”

“CURRENT GLOBAL POPULATION OF REANIMATED BODIES IS 4,000,000,000. LEADING SCIENTISTS, ARTISTS AND WORLD LEADERS HAVE BEEN CONTACTED.”

“Again, what does it mean?”

“THAT YOU’LL DIE MR. BOYLE. THIS CONSOLE WILL SHUT DOWN IN 3O SECONDS.”

“Wait, wait, I have more questions! Where can I go?”

“THE NEAREST SHELTER IS 2 MILES FROM YOUR CURRENT LOCATION. IT ALREADY HAS BEEN COMPROMISED. 10 SECONDS TILL DEACTIVATION.”

“No, wait!”

“I’VE ENJOYED OUR LITTLE CONVERSATION MR. BOYLE. GOODBYE.”

“No, God please! No!”

Voices of the Departed

2010-09-20T23:23:00.000+02:00

Dear Sir/Madam,

Last night I watched “Voices of the Departed” on your network and I must say that I was truly appalled by the way the living impaired (also known as zombies) are treated like musical instruments by people who look only capable to operate at the local gas pump. Now you must not confuse me with the extremist zombie right activists screaming through megaphones or the disgruntled widows and widowers that purposely infect themselves and wander into heavily populated areas. When I see a zombie, I am just like everybody else and I shoot or decapitate it. Just like in the manuals and survival guides. Swift and clean. If possible, I will even burn the remains, but that is beside the point I am trying to make.

Recent investigation in the rumored unusual properties of the reanimated corpse have proven that zombies indeed have a heightened sense of smell, hearing and in some cases even supernatural strength. As you might recall, zombies tearing through doors, barricades or dismembering their victims is a recurring and grizzly detail in most of the stories of the rightfully traumatized survivors. I refer you to the photocopy of the article of Dr. Earls in the 12th edition of New National Geographic that I stapled to this letter. This demonstrates that the zombies are a force to be reckoned with and not be used for mere entertainment. But this is also not the reason I wrote this letter. No, it far more devious than that.

There are signals that indicate that the zombies are able to influence our behavior via their monotonous moans and groans. I can speak from experience that the “call of the living dead” as it is commonly named among survivors, has an affect on the state of mind of an individual. I still remember how I became more depressed (borderline suicidal even) when one of my fellow survivors opened a window for some fresh air and the noises from outside flooded in. I even witness how one jumped from the roof screaming that he could take their screams any more. Of course one can argue that it is due to psychological trauma, but I beg to differ. There has to be a reason why the lungs (even though they do not need oxygen) and especially the vocal cords remain intact during transformation. A famous survival guide also briefly pointed out that the moans of a zombie can get depressing and is most likely to lure survivors into a hopeless situation.

Then there is morality. Is it okay to display the living dead as living (or dead) puppets? These zombies, are no longer human and they certainly should not get our sympathy, but they were loved ones in a previous life. They were wives, husbands, sons, daughters, brothers and sisters to someone. Seeing their rotting family members gurgling and coughing up bile and pus on television is not my idea of respectful. Especially when they are yanked on their chains, stunned or stabbed at to get a vocal response. I am aware that there are songs comprised of cat and dog sounds, but these were not forced out of the animals by torturing them and it is also cute. A little too cute for my taste, but who am I to judge one’s musical preference?

I hope that reading this letter has given you food for thought and I hope that you will reconsider continuing “Voices of the Departed” on the [ Zomb Channel ].

Yours sincerely,

Jeffery Zimmer
Survivor number 1287.09.20.2015

Unexpected expectations

2010-09-19T21:27:00.001+02:00

Charlie peered through the crooked blinds and stared at the chaos outside. It was only a couple of hours ago since people started eating other people, but for Charlie it could have been a century ago. He scratched his head furiously, trying to figure out different kind of ways to get to safety. This apartment building was already compromised. He heard the groans and agonizing cries of his neighbours all around him. His eyes followed a woman with her throat torn out and her white dress drenched in gore. She had something clutched in her stiff fingers. A doll? Charlie blinked and focused. He gasped softly when he saw that it was the severed head of a child.

Charlie took a few steps back, holding back the bile that crept up his throat. He leaned against the wall, gathered his thoughts and closed his eyes for a moment. What was happening, why was it happing, how could he possibly escape from this mess? He retrieved his cell phone and tried to reach his girlfriend again. No answer. Only a robotic voice explaining that all lines were engaged. With a curse he threw the phone across the room. It shattered when it hit the wall. Charlie clenched his fists and looked at the staggering shadows that were cast on the floor. He didn’t have much time. For reasons unknown, they were able to smell him somehow. The first creature thumped against the window. From his shadow, Charlie could see that his left arm was missing. Just a stump with what looked like wires dangling from it.

“God I hope the man on the television was right about destroying their brains”, Charlie whispered as he ran to his bedroom and got his trusty baseball bat.

Only now did he realize that his radio was still left on: “- advised to seek shelter within your home. Do not attempt to fight them. They are very dangerous in close quarters and in groups. I repeat, do not attempt-”

The radio was suddenly silent. The television that displayed sceneries straight out of a horror movie on mute was also abruptly silenced and replaced with darkness that made Charlie shiver. More shadows gathered in front of his window. The all patiently pressed their hands or thumped with their heads against the glass to gain entrance. But the window held... for now. Charlie raced back to his bedroom, got his old backpack and walked to the kitchen. He collected everything he could find that seemed useful for survival. Water was his main priority and he filled a couple of empty bottles that he had still lying around. A loud crash and a tidal wave of sound (sounds that were muffled and seemed far away at first) rushed towards him. Moans, screaming, car crashes, explosions. It all mixed together in one collective, thunderous roar. It was something Satan would orchestrate if he had the time and the musicians. But he was busy right now. Busy to destroy the world.

On instinct, Charlie ran towards the bathroom. He heard the first creatures shuffling through his apartment behind him. He locked the door and ran to the window. It was small, but he was able to go though it. Another crash made Charlie look back at the door. He counted to ten and stepped on the toilet and carefully opened the window. The smell of smoke penetrated his nose and he sneezed. Here goes nothing, he thought and first threw his backpack outside. A reassuring soft thump followed. The window was tighter than Charlie first thought. After a couple of tries he was able to climb outside. He thanked God on his knees for buying an apartment on ground level when his feet touched the ground.

He grabbed his backpack and walked over the small field behind the building. Children in the neighborhood used to play here, but now it was eerily empty. It was such a contrast between the chaos he saw in front of the building that he wondered if this was all in his imagination. He then smelled the fire again and he knew that how much he wished to be an hallucination, it was definitely real. A groan from the bushes made Charlie stop in his tracks. An old man crawled towards him. His legs were ripped off and his back was stripped away from its skin. It gurgled at it dug with it’s claws in the moist earth of the field. Charlie instantly recognized the man. It was his neighbour Mr. Reynolds.

With trembling hands he held the bat in front of him as a sword. Reynolds still crawled despite the warnings Charlie screamed. His eyes told only one thing: eat. Charlie swung the bat at Reynolds with his eyes closed. He felt the impact tremors and heard something splatter on the grass. He immediately turned around and never looked back. The seesaw in the middle of the field was covered in rust colored blood. The sandbox showed signs of struggle. A half buried shoe and a doll with blood splatters told Charlie more than he wanted to know. Was he able to kill a child? As if on cue, a small toddler emerged from beneath the yellow sand. His eyes caked with mud and his lower jaw missing. Charlie yelped as the fragile, but determined shell of a child it once was, staggered towards him. The child coughed, spewing mud and clots of coagulated blood. From behind, Charlie heard other creatures moaning. From the corner of his eye he saw several adult women shambling onto the field. A cop with a hole for a stomach followed them.

“Fuck it all to Hell”, Charlie screamed and ran to the parking lot next to the field without hesitation.

He reached his car, dodging the women and the cop, and climbed inside. He instinctively locked the door and started the car. The roar of the engine alerted other creatures in the area and they were soon swarming the parking lot, clumsily maneuvering between the cars and the body parts that were strewn on the now crimson asphalt.

“Chew on this”, he smiled and he rammed into the horde of zombies that collected behind his car.

It wasn’t as smooth as Charlie expected, but it felt good hearing the bones break and skulls shatter beneath his wheels. A woman pressed her scratched face against the drivers window. Her milky white eyes stared at him like a drunk college girl looking for a man (or woman) to spend the night with her. Charlie flipped his middle finger at her and drove away as fast as he could. As he exited the parking lot a military convoy came around the corner, shooting at the creatures that got in their way. Charlie stopped the car and stared in amazement at the soldiers that were now swarming the street entering buildings and collecting the bodies to burn them at the field. The field he fled away from less than an minute ago. A soft tap on the window made him snap back to reality. Charlie lowered his window and stared at the soldier that miraculously appeared next to his car.

“Hello there. My name is Michaels and I’m here to help”, the soldier said in a soothing voice.

“I- I Uh...”, Charlie stammered. The gunfire suddenly became louder as the soldiers cleared away the zombies on the parking lot.

“If you just go to that man over there, he’ll help you to get to safety”, the soldier yelled and he pointed at a man with glasses and a reflective vest.

“Uh, sure”, Charlie replied and he got out of his car.

Charlie looked behind him and saw that the soldier was getting into his car, no doubt clearing the path for the vehicles. It was all so surreal to him that it was as if he was walking on air. He passed numerous soldiers. Some were bloodied whilst others were still sparkling clean. But they all shared one thing in common: a hollow look in their eyes as they too faced the carnage and bloodshed that over fell the world. One soldier crossed himself as he braced himself for combat. His rescue was across the street, but seemed like an eternity before he reached the man with glasses. He didn’t seem like he was military.

“Ah, a survivor”, he said as he looked up from behind his charts. “Follow me please.” The man gestured Charlie towards a large truck.
The glassed man opened a door on the side of the truck and guided Charlie inside. As if he walked on to the set of a Sci-fi movie, Charlie suddenly stood inside a laboratory. Charts and photographs of zombies decorated the parts of the walls that were not occupied by monitors that seemed to get live feedback from security cameras all over the city. Pixilated humans with grotesque wounds wandered the streets aimlessly. On one monitor there was a teenager on the roof of a college, writing something on a piece of paper.

“This way please”, the glassed man said and he pointed at a bed. “Please sit down.”

Charlie did as he was told as the glassed man retrieved even more papers and a pen.

“Name?”

“Charlie Trevor”

“Age?”

“Twenty-nine”

“Sex?”

“No thanks. I just want to get out of here.”

The glassed man chuckled. “Male”, he said softly. “So Mr. Trevor, you’re a survivor. That’s good news. Good news indeed. Before you’ll get transported to safety I’m afraid I have to ask you a few questions. For the safety of others you see.”

“Shoot”, Charlie said.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves Mr. Trevor”, the glassed man said visibly enjoying the humor of Charlie. “Were you in direct contact with the infected?”

“You mean the creatures?”

The glassed man nodded.

“No.”

“Any infected family members?”

“Not that I’m aware of. That reminds me, can I use the tele-“

“After these questions Mr. Trevor”, the glassed man interrupted.

“Did you had sexual intercourse in the last twenty four hours?”

“What? Uh, no. What does it have to do with-“

“Mr. Trevor, let’s stick with the questions shall we?”, the glassed man said annoyed. “Did you ever see unexplainable objects in the sky?”

Charlie stared at the man. “What?”
“Did you or did you not see UFO’s?”

“No”, Charlie said carefully. “What kind of questions are these?”

“Only the important ones Mr. Trevor. I assure you.” The glassed man winked and resumed.

“Do you believe in God?”

Charlie jumped off the bed. “I’m leaving.”

“Yes it is”, the glassed man mumbled.

“I don't!”, Charlie suddenly screamed and he grabbed the glassed man by it’s collar. “I can’t see how... not after this...” Charlie released the man’s collar.

“I assure you Mr. Trevor you can”, the glassed man replied and he glanced at his papers again. “Well, it seems that everything is in order... except...”

“Except what?”, Charlie said nervously.

“You’re not a believer. You’re an atheist.” The last word was spoken with disgust.

The room suddenly got chilly and Charlie felt goose bumps all over his body. “So?”

“You’re not qualified for the new society.” The man pressed twice on his watch and soldiers climbed into the truck, grabbing Charlie by his arms. “Too bad. You had potential.”

“Wait, wait. This is a joke right? Right?”

“I’m afraid it’s no joke Mr. Trevor. Our main objective is too... glorious for it to be a joke.” The glassed man smiled as he retrieved a syringe and a bottle from the fridge. He filled the syringe with a clear fluid and tapped it a couple of times. “Perfection”, he whispered. “Roll up his sleeves”, the man said and the soldiers obeyed.

“No. No. No. No”, Charlie repeated over and over.

“Hold still Mr. Trevor”, the glassed man said. “We don’t want you to transform while you’re still with us in the truck.”

A sharp pain and a burning sensation in his arm made his mind foggy. He heard the man say that his other arm was next, but before Charlie could react, he was thrown outside. His face hit the pavement and he broke his front teeth. Drooling blood, Charlie tried to get back to his feet but he was too disoriented to even know where he was. His chest started to ache and his limbs were getting numb. His vision blurred and the approaching soldiers looked like a big green blob. He felt strong hands tightly clutching his hair.

“Do it”, a stern voice said. “He’s dead anyway.”

A shot deafened one of his ears and everything turned dark.

From the rooftop

2010-09-19T17:22:00.001+02:00

Jesus Christ I feel so stupid for actually taking the time to sit down and write this thing.

It’s not that the situation outside will improve any time soon. Yes sir, it will only get more hopeless and more bloody... This will keep me occupied whilst I wait for help.

Did I mention that I’m the only one in my class to survive this ordeal? Yeah, I know, I find it hard to believe it myself sometimes, but here I am. Sitting on the rooftop of my college with the only entrance tightly locked. Thank God, the custodian was torn to pieces (not wandering around like my classmates) when I found the keys in his bloodstained overall and next to him, what was left of poor Mr. Hamilton.

I can express my guilt for not rescuing my classmates from the cold clutches of the zombies, but I’m not going to. I will only write myself into a depression and probably commit suicide. No, just to annoy the bastards that are thumping behind the locked door and destroy the city, I’m staying alive. Like the song “I will survive”, I’ll shout from the roof that they can fuck themselves when the chopper or any rescue arrives. Not that they will be aware of it, but it’s good enough for me and no doubt the soldiers that are desperately trying to pull survivors out of this god forsaken warzone.

It is a shame though that the girls got bitten (or just ripped apart like the majority of people). They’ll never get to experience my awesome “beside manners”. Hehe... God, this is stupid...

I must sound like a girl for say- writing this, but I could really use a bath. It’s not every day that you’re covered in the blood (and other bodily fluids imaginable) of your friends and I can tell you that it feels disgusting after a while. Especially when the sun is shining happily on you like he’s saying that things could be much worse. It could be raining... snowing... or a freaking tornado could swoop down and lift me (and hundreds of zombies) in the air like ragdolls and deliver me a merciful death by shattering my skull against an apartment building or the pavement. So, always look on the bright side of life I suppose?

Great, now I have whistling, crucified zombies in my head...

Like I said, it could be much worse. Like Stephen I could get buried in a zombie tsunami when I open a door. Like Jessica I could get my eyes ripped out by greedy zombie fingers and like Mr. Hawk I could trip down the stairs, break my back and get eaten by the schoolgirls I secretly lust for.

The sun is slowly setting, making everything seem more orange than it already was by the raging fires below (and Mrs. Stiles said I wasn’t poetic). Two hours have past since I sat down to write a letter. Normally, it doesn’t take this much time for me to write, but there are some redeeming factors for me:

1) My pen has almost dried out.
2) I’m writing on my legs.
3) Zombies try to claw their way through the door and I don’t think it will hold forever, so I had to relocate myself.

Since daylight is getting really scarce, I think it’s time to quit. I mean, the army can be here any minute so I might as well practice my “traumatized survivor scream and look” so that they’ll find me easily between the army of mindless and chewed-up adolescents.

So, goodbye I suppose.

Sex, drugs and demons

2010-08-29T19:46:00.001+02:00

Here's the first chapter of something that might become a novel(la) length story. It's loosely connected with my other horror story "The Lion and the Lamb". I hope you'll enjoy.

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[ Chapter 1: The job ]

There was something in the air. If you would ask anyone in the street they would say that something feels not right. Others might say that it’s just your imagination caused by all the drugs that everybody has coursing through their veins these days. But Mike sensed that this feeling that triggered his survival instinct was one of the first signs that this wouldn’t be another day at the office. Unconsciously, Mike was grinding his teeth, his eyes concentrating on the traffic. His mind silently preparing for the worst. His car, his faithful companion for ten long years, drove like he always did. Like shit.

He exited the freeway when he saw the weathered sign stating: “Hershdale: the finest village this world has to offer.” Normally he would have laughed at such a bold statement, but not today. It was only a few hours ago when he received a phone call from Father Thomas, his friend since the incident that made him do this kind of work. Hershdale was exactly like Mike imagined: a quiet little town with deserted streets and shops with boarded up windows and doors. It wasn’t the first time he saw something like this and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. The global economic crisis affected us all in one way or another. Little towns were always the first to succumb to poverty and disease.

The sky slowly turned dark grey, obscuring the sun. The only thing that made this place look half as inviting as it really was. As the first raindrops landed on the windshield, Mike reached the . It was a wild shot, but it could never hurt to resupply. He parked the car and sat silently for a moment. Recollecting his thoughts, running through several (worst case) scenarios. He retrieved his notebook and looked for the address of the place. He took a deep sigh and nodded.

“Here goes nothing”, he said to his reflection in the rear view mirror and got out of the car.

The church was like the rest of the town: a mere shell of what it once was. The bricks that decorated the exterior were crumbling. Eroded from years of exposure against acid rain and harsh winds. Mike noticed that several windows were shattered. Most likely from teenagers trying to rebel against “the system” or maybe a drunk that was not pleased how his life was getting from bad to worse every time he took another sip of his booze. In the distance a dog barked and in the large leafless oak tree next to the church were several crows looking curiously at him and his car. No doubt drawing straws on who gets to shit on the car and who has the pleasure to assault Mike when he exits the church.

Mike glanced over his shoulder before entering the church. It was an old habit that refused to die and for what it was worth, he was glad that he still had the sense to look behind him. He couldn’t say the same of his colleagues that frequently bashed doors in screaming at the top of their lungs for people to stay calm. It was dark, only a few flickering candles in the distance told Mike that he still was in a church and not in a cave. This was still sacred ground. Again, for what it was worth. Mike’s boots echoed loudly, even his steady breaths seemed to resonate through the room. He looked up and saw a large wooden sculpture of Jesus Christ hanging above him.

“He’s always watching and judging you boy”, his grandfather would say.

Mike didn’t know what scared him most: the fact that God could strike you down at any given moment or that he was watching you thumb through your secret stash of porn magazines with an erection. Voyeur or ruler of the universe: you decide. As Mike approached the altar, he began to have doubts. Maybe he should go straight to the house Father Thomas gave him. There was nothing that guaranteed him that holy water worked. Maybe in the past when God meant something, but today? No. Before he could turn around, he was greeted by a priest. He had more meat on his bones and was happier than one could be in this place. His stood out like inflamed thumb, ready to burst and leak out pus.

“Welcome to the House of God my son”, the priest said and bowed. “Have you come to seek guidance of the Lord?”

Mike shook his head. “I’ve come... for supplies”, he said hesitantly. For a moment he felt like a junky asking a drug dealer for his fix. Mike asked himself if he thought that he was indeed an addict.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about my son.” The priests words were calm and soothing, as if he rehearsed these kinds of conversations over and over.

“I... uh”, Mike stammered as he ruffled through his pockets. What was the matter with him? Normally he wasn’t even nervous but now he was acting like an idiot. “I’m here for business”, he said as he retrieved a card from his pocket and presented it to the priest.

The priest hesitantly took it and examined the laminated card. From a distance it would look like a library card, but that shiny piece of rectangular plastic was the difference between someone being a savior or a psychopath. Mike slowly saw the serenity of the priest slowly change into worry and despair. The priest held the card tightly between his now trembling hands, clutching it as if it was a holy relic... or a death sentence. In some ways, it was.

“Where?”, the priest whispered.

“Clover street”, Mike replied as neutral as he could. His head started to hurt a little.

The priest looked behind Mike at the doors as if he expected an army to march inside the church at any moment. “I think we can discuss this in my office.” The priest gestured him to the back, but Mike stopped him.

“Please, I’m late enough as it is. I only need holy water, maybe some religious artifacts and a bible.” The last few words almost burned him to say. He grinded his teeth once more.

The priest looked confused. “Surely, you must have a bible of your own?”

The two men stared at each other with great intensity. Even more so than a staring contest between two little boys. The headache started to spread as if someone injected some kind of narcotic in Mike’s brain.

“Please”, Mike sighed.

“Very well. I can’t deny your authority I suppose. But you bet I’m going to call your superiors about this”, the priest said surprisingly sternum.

“Please do Father”, Mike smiled. “They’d be most pleased by the fact that I’m visiting church again.”

The priest smiled back. “I’m sure they would.” He glanced at Mike’s black leather jacket and blue jeans with bike boots. “No way for an Exorcist to dress. But I like your hair”, he said before he disappeared behind the curtain that lead to his office.

The lion and the lamb

2010-08-03T19:01:00.000+02:00

Father Kaufmann’s neck was slick with sweat. He never felt this nervous in his entire life. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his neck and forehead dry. His eyes surveyed the dark parking lot. Why did he agree to do this? He ran his fingers through his white-grey hairs. Why didn’t he step to the authorities like any sane man would? It was bad enough that he was being blackmailed, but to a adolescent punk like him? Kaufmann checked his watch for the umpteenth time since he parked here. The letter said that he would be here by now. A long deep sigh escaped from Kaufmann’s chest as the first raindrops of the night landed on the windshield.

The streetlights flickered and a dark shadow approached the car. The long, slender figure seemed to glide over the cracked asphalt, slithering between the other cars. Kaufmann’s heart began to race, making him sweat even more. The rain intensified, creating a more threatening atmosphere. He clenched the steering wheel very tight as if it was a rollercoaster that could race away at any minute. The adrenaline that braced his body to escape or fight made him also a little lightheaded. The boy stood silently next to the car. He was bent over slightly. Kaufmann felt his eyes peer inside the car, checking him out. The hairs on his arm stood up as the boy knocked on the window of the passenger side. Kaufmann unlocked the door.

The door swung open with one fluid motion and the drenched figure climbed inside, making himself comfortable in the worn-out leather seat. They both sat in silence for a few minutes. Water dripped from the boy’s long strands of blond hair that covered most of his face. Kaufmann only saw a permanent grin on the kids face. There was something not right about him, besides being a blackmailer that is.

“So”, the boy said, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Do you have the money?”

Kaufmann nodded. “It’s in the bag”, he said, pointing at the backseat.

The boy looked behind him and smiled even more. “Good. Very good.”

“The photos?”

“Oh yeah, about that. I’m afraid I found even more.”

“M-more?”, Kaufmann said with a trembling voice. “B-b-but I-I.”

“Relax Father”, the boy said, placing his hand on Kaufmann’s shoulder. “I’m not the bad guy here. You are.”

The voice of the boy was smooth and yet threatening. It filled the car and echoed in Kaufmann’s mind. Kaufmann felt completely helpless. Like a mouse trapped between the paws of a hungry cat.

“You’re the real bad guy here. Preying on little altar boys to satisfy your twisted needs. How many “partners” did you have? Six, seven?”

“I-I-I don’t know.”

“Sure”, the boy replied with another mocking smile as he reached back for the bag.

Kaufmann suddenly clutched at the boy’s coat. “P-please. Don’t do this my son. This will ruin my career, my work. I’m very important. I-I give hope to the desperate.”

“Solace for the broken-hearted, meaning for the meaning-less and purpose to fill their empty lives... Am I correct?”

Kaufmann slowly loosened his grip. What’s the matter with this boy? How did he know so much? He was sure that he covered every track, took every precaution possible. He even bribed the boys with everything they wanted so that they wouldn’t tell their parents. Yet, this boy, no older than twenty, was able to take pictures and even audio-tapes. Kaufmann’s mind still couldn’t fully grasp it. If the boy could dig up that much evidence, what would happen if the police caught wind of it? He had to end these meetings in the dark, the sneaking around in dark alleys. If only not to make him more suspicious.

“If we’re done here, I’m on my merry way”, the boy said as he inspected the bag that sat on his lap.

“No.”

“What’s that?”

“No, I don’t care how much you know. This is the last meeting. Leave me alone.”

The boy started to laugh out loud, no, it was more like cackling. “Do you seriously think that after all we experienced together I would leave you alone just because you said so?”

Kaufmann’s fear was slowly replaced with anger and disgust. “Yes. I still don’t get why you don’t give the photo’s to the police. You’ll be more famous than now.”

“You think I’m doing this for fame and glory? No, ...Father. It’s far from that.”

The way the boy addressed him as Father made him shiver. Was he one of his victims? Maybe from when he first started? He seemed to be the right age and with a little imagination he was the kind of boy he could be attracted to. Kaufmann swallowed.

“Revenge. You want revenge.”

“Damn right I want revenge!”, the boy suddenly screamed and he slammed one of his fists against the dashboard. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a knife.

Kaufmann’s eyes widened. He grabbed at his chest, struggling to breathe. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Too late”, the boy whispered with a sinister grin and slashed at the priest.

Kaufmann tried to defend himself from the maniac. He held one of his hands in front of his face and with the other frantically trying to open the door. The door was locked. Of course it was locked. The thing that had to ensure his safety would be his downfall. Kaufmann cursed himself as he felt the blade slice through his skin like it was nothing. The burning sensation and the feeling of his warm blood touching his skin made him a little queasy and it was hard for him to concentrate on the boy and to escape at the same time. The boy suddenly stopped. Kaufmann looked through his teary eyes at his attacker. He could hear him loudly breathing over the knife as if it was something he desired. It reminded him of himself when he was with the boys. But this... this was more twisted, more dark.

The boy licked at the blood on the blade, savoring every sweet drop. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a moment. He smiled once more. “You taste better than I thought”, he said casually. “Maybe you’re not totally useless.”

Kaufmann gasped when the boy jumped on him and grabbed him tightly by the collar. His head was grabbed tightly and jerked violently to the left, revealing his bare throat. Kaufmann tried to say something, but he was struggling to breathe. He could feel the eyes of the boy peering at him with animalistic lust. From the corner of his eyes he could see him bend over him. Cold breath caressed his slick skin as the boy came in closer. The boy mumbled something incoherent before he sank his teeth in Kaufmann’s throat. Warm, thick blood gushed over Kaufmann’s clothes. Summering all of his remaining strength, Kaufmann stabbed the boy’s eyes with his fingers. The boy jolted backwards, screaming and kicking in agony.

Kaufmann was finally able to unlock the door and he stumbled out of the car. His face smacked against the cold, wet asphalt, dazing him for a brief moment. He scrambled back on his feet and ran across the parking lot, covering his neck with one of his hands. The parking lot seemed to stretch out into oblivion as Kaufmann frantically searched for an exit. The parking lot was surrounded by a high chain link fence and barbed wire. He was too old and stiff to climb over it. The rain intensified drenching the frightened priest more than he already was. He smacked one of his fists against the fence in anger. A frightening feeling slowly crept up his spine. Kaufmann spun around and stared into the darkness of the parking lot. Soft whispering and laughs approached him.

“Ready or not, here I come”

“Dear God in Heaven”, Kaufmann whispered and he ran back to his car.

“Pathetic”, the dark voice replied. “Still confident that your god will safe you? Even if you’re already damned for your atrocious sins? Your arrogance sickens me.”

Kaufmann ran as fast as his feet could carry him. His footsteps echoed in his mind and he only saw his car in front of him with its headlights slicing through the dark like beacons. Suddenly he lost his balance and landed face down in one of the shallow puddles that covered the parking lot. Kaufmann coughed, trying to get the water out of his lungs, but a hand grabbed his head forcing it back into the puddle. The priest struggled to free himself but his strength was depleting rapidly. The hand lifted his head out of the water and smacked it against the bumper of one of the abandoned cars. Kaufmann screamed in agony.

“You’re really a feisty one. Still trying to prevent a fate that is already sealed”, the boy said.

“Wh-what are you?”, Kaufmann asked as he felt blood collecting in his mouth.

Lightning struck a nearby street light and for an instant Kaufmann could see the boy’s face. It was horribly distorted with a sinister smile and eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. His long blond hair now resembled the wild manes of a lion and he was it’s prey.

“I’m just one of your pets given a chance to get even with the one that destroyed my life.”

“I- who?”, Kaufmann stammered.

“Paul Abbot, 1975, St. Christopher Church, Pale Vale ... does that ring a bell?”

Kaufmann shook his head in disbelief. “That can’t be. You’re twenty years old. This happened over 35 years ago. You’d be-“

The boy smacked him against the car once more. Kaufmann let out a groan. “I was only 10 years old. How could you do such a thing?”, the boy screamed.

“I- I- I-“

“I wanted to do so much, see so many things... but after what you did to me... You changed me... I could never play with the same carelessness and happiness as before. I always looked back... scared to death that you would find me. But now... I found you.”

The boy laughed and tightened his grip. He lifted the priest from the ground and with superhuman strength threw him across the parking lot against the chain link fence. The impact forced the air out of Kaufmann’s lungs. With a loud thud he fell on the asphalt. Pain engulfed his entire body and a burning sensation in his neck made him grind his teeth. Before Kaufmann could open his eyes, he knew that the boy was already standing next to him. He could hear his breathing becoming more ragged with each passing second. Another lightning flash made Kaufmann catch a glimpse of the boys face once more. His mouth was filled with sharp canine-like teeth, his eyes glowed like ambers and his claws were very sharp as it sliced across his Kaufmann’s chest. The creature ripped the clothes violently from his body. Kaufmann screamed, hoping that someone would call anyone. The beast yanked the necklace from his neck and inspected the golden crucifix that dangled between his fingers.

“Here’s the grace of God”, the creature grunted as he drove the cross in the eye socket of the priest and punched the cross into his brain with his fists.

With its nails it carved a message in the corpse of the priest before it disappeared in the darkness: “No one is free of sin.”

The lifeless and desecrated body of Reverend John Kaufmann was discovered by a newspaper boy the next morning. The media were reporting similar cases across the country, involving other priests that were suspected of abuse. The organizations responsible for in the investigation of the “Priest Killers” are still clueless about the identities of the murderers. The Vatican in Rome has condemned the crimes calling them “a direct attack against the church and God”. The homeless person that was supposed to be in the area when the murder of Kaufmann happened committed suicide shortly after. His burned corpse was found next to a memo that said: “The lion stalks its prey from the darkness.”

Confinement

2010-07-29T19:42:00.000+02:00

In about three hours or so five men in biohazard suits will enter this cell, drag me to one of their laboratories few stories underground and subject me to various painful and borderline sadistic experiments. This happens to me daily ever since I’ve been taken here by a military escort of twelve slack-jawed, trigger-happy soldiers who know nothing about all of this. Well, that’s not entirely true. They know that some kind of bug is spreading around the world that causes the dead to rise, but it might as well be voodoo to them. The way their eyes glaze over when doctors are talking to them about protocol and the importance of sterile working conditions tells me everything. As long as they can shoot stuff and explode some heads they’re happy.

Not that I’m an expert on virology or epidemiology, but I have some basic knowledge about surviving in this new world. Most I’ve learned through personal experience. You can’t survive for this long without taking some precautions and observations. However, on some occasions, when the stars are aligned, even the most experienced can make a mistake. I lost my cool when I scavenged in the vicinity of an orphanage and hundreds of small cadavers came marching toward me. I didn’t have the courage to shoot them like adults, so I ran, slipped over something putrid and blacked out when my head smacked against the curb. When I woke up, several toddlers were nibbling on my ankles and arms. Instinctively, I kicked and punched my way out and hid in a car and passed out once again.

When I woke up, I had the worst headache in my life. Everything seemed to blur and colors were fading. I needed a few seconds to recollect myself. My heart skipped a beat when I came to the realization that the little buggers bit me. When I searched my body, my fears were confirmed. Little tooth marks were riddled across my arms and legs. Some were actual wounds others were just bruises. I stumbled out of the car and walked the street in a daze. My mind tried to grasp the fact that at any moment I would drop dead and walk again. But my death never came. I walked back to my hideout, sweating bullets, not trying to run or anything to quicken my heartbeat. I figured that I would do as much as I could to prevent the virus from spreading too quickly in my body. I felt sick, I felt violated, shivers ran over my back.

Five days after my incident I figured that the effects of the bites were delayed. There were several cases in the news where people apparently walked for weeks with bite and scratch wounds before they would succumb to the illness. My hopes were that I was one of them. I could’ve blown my brains out or jump from a building hundreds of times by now, but suicide never was an option for me. It felt like something a coward would do. It would also be unfair for all the people who fought with all their might to survive but didn’t make it. What would they think if they knew that I choose the cheap way out? They would be offended. So I returned to my daily routine. To savor my last minutes as a living, breathing, human being. When I inspected a house a thought suddenly came in my head. It was a long time ago since a zombie tried to attack me. I mean, I saw them every day as deformed dots in the distance, but they never came up close.

A few weeks ago the impossible happened. I found other survivors. Military. Well stocked, armed and probably living in a secure, fortified location. I was so ecstatic that I screamed and ran up to them. Needles to say that they were startled when I broke the silence of the deserted streets. They shot me. Several rounds in my chest. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t bleed. I think the soldiers were more surprised than I was. Their mouths were wide open and their eyes bulging out of their sockets. I heard one of them scream: “If you’re not alive or a zombie, then what are you?” What kind of a stupid question was that? I was a civilian in need for help. Instead of protecting me, they shot me down like a rabid animal. I would get apologies later from the captain. He explained that the area I lived in was also notorious for robbers and gangs so they couldn’t take any chances. Not taking any chances. Does that also explain why I’m in here?

My first week in this cell was slow. Nobody visited me. Nobody brought me food or water. I felt forgotten. I also felt really confused. My wounds were still not healed and started to discolor. But the strangest of everything was that I wasn’t hungry, thirsty and I didn’t feel any pain. I ran several doom scenario’s in my mind. I would stay in this cell forever, I would be executed later or I would be the guinea pig of a scientist that lost his marbles months ago. Never thought that the last scenario would be the case, because if they were “taking no chances”, they would dispose of me and move on. It became clear that I was something they never experienced before. Was I dead or alive? That was actually the first question Dr. Charman asked me in the first of many interviews. I said that I didn’t know for sure but that the fact I wasn’t dead already from thirst and hunger was a good indication. He laughed and left the room.

You’d be surprised how fast one adepts to a certain routine. At nine in the morning the first alarm goes of for the soldiers to assemble. An hour later for training. Two hours later for perimeter check. I haven’t seen any soldiers since my capture, but I hear them conversing above me. The walls are a lot thinner than one might think. The way their voices sound I say that they’re scared. In the rare occasions I am outside my cell I see the research team that goes outside for field testing every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. I saw most of them clutching at crucifixes and worn-out bibles before they went outside. God fearing men every one of them. Interviews are every morning. I’m then bombarded with questions about my life, what happened the past years and simple tests. I answer the same questionnaire every day and I’m hooked up to several monitors to measure my brainwaves. The scientists occasionally scribble something in their notebooks and nod to each other. It’s nice to imagine that they’re playing tic tac toe with each other.

The actual experimenting happens in the afternoon. They’re trying to achieve several things: a) trying to recreate my apparent immunity and unusual state of being, b) to create a vaccine of my blood and alter it and c) to develop more effective weapons. I don’t know for sure, but there is a possibility that I’m not the only one. I sometimes hear a frail feminine voice begging the scientists to let her go or to search their daughter. From her mumbling and screams in the night, I’d say that she’s in a worse state than me. They’re also experimenting on animals, dead soldiers and zombies. It’s all for a good cause I suppose, but I wonder if the scientists themselves aren’t in moral conflict to use living beings and torture them for small results. I’ve formed a friendship with one of the scientists. John always visits me in the evening and we talk about pretty much everything. When the sun sets, I anticipate to the sound of his boots that echo through the hallway and the dragging of the small, wooden chair. It’s only a shame that a glass wall separates us. It would be nice to talk to someone without limitations.

Damn, this letter is lasting longer than I wanted. Did you know that I thought about writing this for weeks? It’s obvious that I’m going to be replaced with a fresher specimen sooner or later, so that why I’m writing this in the hope that a normal, sane person will find this hidden in the small hole behind my bed and know the true story about what happened here. I really don’t know where I am, but whatever the case might be, I’m pretty sure that they haven’t told anyone about the secret laboratory that’s obviously built many years before the ordeal with the zombies. If I’m right, does it mean that more inhumane experiments were conducted here? Is it a possibility that they developed the virus to use as a biological weapon? If so, what the hell happened? All these questions will never be properly answered I’m afraid. Not in my lifetime at least. If anyone is reading this, please make sure that every man, woman and child knows about this place. Maybe the plague has been cured when this is read, or maybe not. One thing will be the same: they’re always hiding something.

I wish you the best of luck and I hope that the world you live in will be better than mine.

Greetings,
Jeff Braintree

Not enough words

2010-07-26T18:34:00.001+02:00

Author's note:
Hey, guys (and girls) I'm back! Sorry to keep you all in the dark like that, but I was too busy with school and all to write. But for now, I'm back! To celebrate this occassion, I wrote something. I hope you'll like it. I sure as hell did!

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Okay, it’s official.

I’m sick and tired of this “last man on Earth” bullshit. It was fun, exciting and a thrill in the beginning, but now it’s starting to wear thin. Especially when you consider that there are still thousands of men and women alive out there. I just need to find them... no, I wanted to find them, but now I couldn’t care less. God, what I’m I doing here? Writing some sort of speech when I’m at the pearly gates of Heaven (or Hell if you prefer that, but I was always an optimist and old habits die hard I guess)?

Anyway, as I was saying, I’m fed up with everything. With the lack of edible food and water, with the god-awful smell that lingers in the air, my house and clothes and I’ve had it with the rotting sacks of pus that shamble outside (the main cause of the stench). There are not as many as in the beginning, but there are still enough to keep you occupied for the next forty years or so. Figured that I would let nature take its course. Let them rot their feet off. But what do you know, at some point they stop deteriorating. Result? Something from a B-movie that slaps their hands (or stumps in most cases) or presses it’s ugly face against the window.

Yeah, real tasty when you’re trying to eat yourself...

To make matters worse, the animals, including insect won’t touch them. So, all the sad and hungry dogs, cats and God knows what outside come hunting for me. Now I know how cavemen must have felt. If not for the zombies, there’s always something else ready to chew on your ass. A real frustration when you’re checking your barricades or fix your windows. You can’t make too much noise or they’ll hear you. You can’t stay at on place for too long or they’ll get you. You can’t move a fucking inch or something will notice you. I’ve had my fare share of near-death experiences in the last couple of months. More exercise than I had in my thirty-something years.

I’ve completely lost track of time so I couldn’t tell anyone what day it is. Is it important to know if it’s a Monday or a Tuesday? Just be glad that you’re still alive, that my motto. But since this is an exception, I did a little calculating. It’s Thursday I believe. Thursday the 2nd of August. Which means that the flowers, leaves and everything that is green (zombies not included) with wither away and die. Damn, I almost sound like my brother. He was a poet. Always with his heads in the clouds, writing in his little, worn-out notebook. Reciting his work when I came over for his birthday. Boring me to tears. Heh, never thought I would miss his monotonous voice and bland clothes.

Come to think of it, I never really thought about anything lately except how to end my life. My mother and father died way before all of this happened. A car accident. Some drunk kid joy-riding with his old man’s car crashed right into them, making them spin out of control and colliding against a large tree. I don’t want to think about the possibility of them wandering outside somewhere. Right before the blackout, I heard rumors of moaning from the cemeteries. If I would run into them and if I had no choice, would it be as bad as killing my brother? I can still feel my metal baseball bat vibrate in my hand as I smacked his skull open. I spilled his blood on his books, trophies and his carpet. I ran out of his house and never looked back.

My girlfriend, Annie, was bitten on her way to work. She was a nurse at the hospital. She could’ve easily be bitten when she was at work, I mean, the hospitals were reduced to nothing but slaughterhouses. An elderly woman bit her when she tried to get her back on her feet. So much for being a good Samaritan. She died before I got the message on my cell phone. I caught a glimpse of her body bag as she was thrown on a great bonfire on the parking lot. Annie was something special. I felt like she was the only one that really understood me and supported me whatever I did. She was also the only one that could handle me the way I am. I don’t know what happened to my friends and colleagues. After Annie’s death, I called in sick and lay in bed sick, shivering from the cold that suddenly entered my life. The darkness that loomed over me and everybody else.

The world was never going to be the same.

Before I go all emotional over the smallest things (like ice cream or television), I must confess something. Before Annie, I didn’t want to go on. She made me happy and satisfied with what I had. Now the feeling of uselessness and meaningless returns, but this time there is no one to pick me up and hold me tight. God, what I would do to feel someone’s warm skin against mine. Sorry if the paper is getting all wet and that you can’t read some parts of it. It’s just... so long ago that I permitted myself to cry, to feel something... human.

When I decided to write this, I checked my supplies first. It’s dangerously low. I lost so much weight, I almost look like the things outside. Luckily, my water supply is still good. Didn’t they say that dying of thirst was worse than dying of hunger? If that’s the case, I’m ecstatic. If not, well, that’s just my luck.

I don’t think I have the courage or the strength to kill myself, so I try to hold on until everything runs out and I die peacefully in my sleep.

Let them try getting in here.

The sun is setting.

Too tired to sleep.

Too tired to go on.

Annie.

Hello.

The inevitable

2010-04-05T20:25:00.000+02:00

Something was wrong.

Jake had sensed it ever since he woke up from an alcohol-induced sleep. Despite a splitting headache and nausea, he managed to climb out of his bed. The thought that someone... or something might be in his house sniffing through his stuff, or worse, trying to get him, was enough to forget his hangover altogether. His eyes scanned every inch his crummy bedroom like a CSI detective that he once saw on television years ago. Before everything fell apart. It didn’t surprise him that he didn’t find anything. Almost every morning was like this. He would wake up either bathing in sweat or with a terrible hangover.

“Need a breather.”, he said to himself and he walked to the window.

Outside, only a few feet from his house, the corpse of an elderly man dragged itself across his lawn. It’s bony fingers grasped and tugged at the long, yellowed grass. Once well-maintained, it was now like the creature that destroyed it: neglected and merely a shadow of what is used to be. If the circumstances were different, he would have cared and spend a relaxing afternoon gardening under the warm rays of the sun. But that was in the old days and the old days were behind him. He stared at the figure for a while. With every moan, the creature was closer to its goal: Jake.

“Just try and get me you son of a bitch.”, he mumbled. “I’ll be damned if you manage to get inside.”

He opened the window and welcomed the cool air that embraced him, driving out the stale air. The moaning of the zombie was only a slight discomfort to Jake. There used to be a lot more outside, but ever since the big rainstorm a couple of months ago, it’s just him and the old geezer. Sometimes he would think about where the rest of them might have gone, but the possibility of them returning like turtles to the beach only made him feel worse about his already dire situation.

The zombie suddenly stopped, tilted his head and stared intensely at Jake who looked back at him. Holding a staring contest with a corpse, how much more pathetic can I be?, Jake thought. The man opened and closed is mouth like a fish gasping for air. After bursting out in laughter, Jake walked to the kitchen where he prepared breakfast, lunch and dinner. He poured himself a glass of beer, the only thing that was still drinkable in this world. With a couple of big, satisfying gulps he finished his beer. A soft thump against the kitchen door made his hairs stand up.

It couldn’t be that man could it? He grabbed a couple of kitchen knifes, crouched and slowly moved to the kitchen door. Another thump. He carefully peaked through the window. His nose already caught the stench of decay. It was a dog. A dead dog. It’s fur was matted and caked with blood and gore. It’s stomach was ripped open and it’s bloated entrails dangled out of the hole. Maggots wriggled beneath its skin, making it seem like it still had a pulse. The dog sniffed the door, growled and thumped again. It tried to get in. Just like the humans. It wanted him. One day you’re just an ordinary Joe, a nobody, the next you’re the most wanted man in the world.

“How did you get in my backyard boy?”, Jake whispered.

Jake squinted his eyes to see through the dirty glass of the window. He suddenly saw a large hole in the fence. The bastard must’ve chewed his way in, Jake thought and he tightened his grip around the kitchen knife in anger. He had to do something before human zombies would discover it. They might be stupid, but they’re more persistent that anything Jake had ever seen. It was only a matter of time. He walked to his bedroom, grabbed the steel bat and watched the dog circling the yard, no doubt searching for him. He kicked the door open and struck the dog’s skull with such force that it was sent flying in the air and landed a few feet away from the rest of the body. The headless dog wobbled for a bit until it collapsed in front of Jake, messing up his shoes.
I’ll dispose of it later, he thought. He wiped off his bat with a dirty rag and walked to the shed to find something to fix the hole. After fumbling in the dark for a couple of minutes, he found some chicken wire tucked away in a dark corner. With some rope, he tied it to the rest of the fence. It wasn’t really strong or solid, but it would have to do until he found something better. It was more than enough to keep the zombies at bay. He took the remaining chicken wire with him inside. He had a feeling that the hole was one of many to come.

He should’ve run when he had the chance. There’s only the old fart outside, so why didn’t he pack his stuff and ran away from the godforsaken place? Jake stared intensely at the framed picture on the wall in front of him. His wife and daughter. He stroked it gently with his fingertips. The happy memories he tried to tuck away suddenly came back to him and he found himself crying on his knees, shaking his head violently.

“Why, why, why, why, why, why.... goddamn it!”, he hissed between his teeth.

He grabbed one of the candles off the table an threw it against the picture. It fell and the glass shattered into millions of pieces. Jake slowly opened his eyes, slowly realizing what he had done.

“Cynthia... Mary... I’m, I’m so sorry.”, he whispered as he carefully brushed the shards of glass from the photo. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

He looked outside and saw the old man trying to stand on his feet. The clumsiness and sheer stupidity made Jake laugh a little. He knew that if he didn’t do anything, he would end up in the bathtub with slit wrists or worse, eaten by the bastards outside. The picked the photo off the floor and put it in his pocket. He slowly recollected his thoughts, trying not to do anything too rash. He was safe inside. He has enough rations, why would he leave?

The silhouette of the old man struggling to get in the house distracted him from thinking straight. The old man had finally reached the porch. It stared with its milky white eyes as if it fell from the sky. Jake began to wonder why he was so mesmerized with... that thing? What made him more special than the hundreds, no thousands that were roaming outside? He shook his head and let himself fall in his favorite chair. He closed his eyes and slowly drifted to sleep.

Scratching and soft moaning slowly penetrated Jake’s dreams, making him relive the first days of the Apocalypse. The chaos, panic and bloodshed suddenly engulfed his mind. He woke up screaming and felt his heart beating heavily in his chest. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was in the safety of his house. He heard rain softly clatter against the windows. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw an unusual shadow cast on the wall in front of him. Still panting, he looked behind and saw his “friend” pressed against the glass, scratching with its broken nails against the glass and whimpering softly like a sad dog that wants to get in.

“Get the hell out of here!”, he screamed. “Leave me alone!”

The old man suddenly moaned louder, banging his fists on the windows. Jake climbed out of his chair and took a few steps back. What the hell was going on? Was he still dreaming? How the hell did he get so active all of the sudden? From the pitch-black behind the man another human zombie appeared. And another. And another. It didn’t take long before an entire horde of rotting corpses were banging on the window and front door. Jake didn’t hesitate for an instant and he ran upstairs. He heard the rain clattering louder on the roof as he reached his bedroom. He grabbed his backpack from underneath his bed and checked if he had all the essentials with him. He gave a quick nod and ran back downstairs to the kitchen.

The window started to crack and the front door vibrated heavily with each thump and the combined weight of the zombies. He took his coat and ran into the rain. It was hard for him to see properly but he knew that if he used the flashlight, he might as well ring the dinner bell for those stiffs. As quietly as he could, he crossed the garden. Jake almost tripped over the corpse of the dog. Fuck, this is no time for stupid mistakes, he thought. A loud crash from inside the house made his heart skip a beat. Moaning, gurgling and other grotesque sounds echoed in the air. They were hungry. Very hungry. Carefully stepping over the remains of man’s best friend, he ran to the hole in the fence.

He retrieved his pocketknife and removed the chicken wire. A loud scream nearby made him lose his balance and he fell in the long, wet grass. Something sticky slapped against his hand. Before Jake could react, the skull of the dog bit him. Sharp, broken teeth chewed violently on his fingers. Jake refrained himself from screaming to keep his whereabouts unknown to the zombies that were still lumbering inside his house. He punched the skull with his remaining fist, but it only bit down harder, almost playing with its first prey in weeks. Jake stood back on its feet and ran to the fence, slamming the skull against the pole. It took him a couple of swings before it disintegrated into a mushy pulp. He held his wounded hand in the rain, hoping that the infection and grime would be washed away, but he knew that the chances were slim.

“No way in hell, that you’re getting me.”, Jake said. “Do you hear me?! Come and get me!”, he now screamed on the top of his lungs.

Jake immediately got an answer back. The first zombie stumbled out of the kitchen right after Jake squeezed himself through the fence. The rain was still intensifying and obscured Jake’s vision, not to mention soak him to the bone. He shivered as he thought about an escape route. He ran through the alley behind his house. He climbed into an abandoned minivan and waited. The cold was getting worse and his hand started to throb. Jake took the photo of his family out of his pocket. Although he couldn’t see the happy faces of his wife or daughter, he knew that they were laughing. Laughing because everything was perfect. He started to feel a little lightheaded. When he lay down, he placed the photograph on his chest, near his heart. When he drifted off to sleep for the very last time, he could almost hear his daughter cheering for her daddy.

Jake smiled and a tear slowly rolled down his cheek when his heart stopped beating. He was finally at peace and they were finally together again.

The legacy of Luke Gerard

2010-01-26T23:23:00.001+01:00

Tony sighed softly as the car of his mother stopped on the parking lot in front of his school. The dark clouds and the prospect of heavy rain only seemed to intensify Tony’s nerves. The depressing sight of the old school building didn’t help much either. Tony always thought it looked more like a castle or a church than a school. The windows were high and the doors were heavy and thick. The large grey building was a sharp contrast to the lush, green foliage that surrounded it.

Tony’s sweaty little fingers were clenching the large, brown cardboard box he held on his lap for the entire trip. He kept staring at it as if it was a treasure he just had found. Not even the strongest man in the world could take it away from him. He had to guard it with his life. It was the only thing he had from his grandfather.

“Don’t worry honey, I’m sure you’ll do fine. We rehearsed a lot didn’t we?”, Tony’s mother said with a comforting voice and she gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Yeah.”, Tony replied and he nodded, feeling a lot better now that mom reassured him.

With a faint smile on his lips, he opened the car door and stepped outside. The wind ruffled through his ginger hair and the first cold drops of rain landed on his cheek. It was an important day today. Today he was going to tell in front of the class and his teacher stories about his grandfather Luke Gerard, the most famous local zombie hunter ever.

Every adult in town knows a little about him and Tony always wanted to hear as much as possible. Much to the displeasure of his parents who didn’t always appreciate stories about decapitated heads, blood and rotting corpses during dinner. Especially when guests were coming over. But like any boy of his age, it was the scary stuff that made it so great.

Tony entered the classroom and greeted his friends. Joe, his best friend and a head taller than him looked curious at the box Tony was still holding firmly in his hands.

“What’s that?”, he asked.

“It’s a secret.”, Tony smiled.

Jenny, the girl that always sits next to him and has a weird fascination of bugs tried to take a peek, but Tony had taken every precaution he could think of to make sure that the thing in his box would remain a mystery until his presentation. This caused a lot of curiosity among the other children and suddenly made him one of the popular kids in class.

With a triumphant smile he puts the box next to his table. He would have to wait until after lunch but all the attention made him wish time would go faster. He knew that everyone was going to love it. Even his teacher Mrs. Greene who always looks sternly at him every time he talks about zombies.

After lunch Tony felt he could explode with anticipation and he almost jumped from his chair when Mrs. Greene told that it was time for his presentation. He grabbed the box with care and placed it on Mrs. Greene’s desk. He checked the box and the desk. When he confirmed that everything was okay, he retrieved a small piece of paper from his pocket. He quickly unfolded it and started to read out loud.

“My grandpa is Luke Gerard.”, Tony said and paused for a moment to let this astonishing fact sink in.

“He was a zombie hunter a long time ago when zombies were walking outside. They were eating people and breaking everything.”

Some of the children instinctively looked at the high windows, unsure to really believe him.

“But grandpa wasn’t afraid and he killed them all. With a gun and a big knife. He was working together with other people and he even saved a puppy.”

Mrs. Greene started to look worried when Tony impersonated a zombie (including a very realistic moan) and made squishy noises to simulate an exploding head.

“I think that’s enough Tony.”, she said uncomfortably. “Why don’t you show what’s in the box?”

Tony paused, looked at his classmates who’s state of mind were balancing between “very scared” and “entertained” and then at Mrs. Greene.

“But I’m not done yet. Can I finish it?”, he asked with pleading eyes.

“Alright. But make it quick.”, Mrs. Greene replied and she rubbed her temples.

She felt that her migraine was coming back. She didn’t had any migraine ever since... Well, it didn’t matter. She was safe. The children were safe. The zombies were dealt with, everybody was vaccinated for that horrible disease and she never had to deal with it again. It was a closed chapter. But why was every bad memory she repressed years ago resurfacing all of the sudden? It couldn’t be because of the story of that child could it? She started to get annoyed by Tony’s stories and fascination about zombies, but she kept a friendly face and tried to pay attention.

“... so he ran with other men to the farm. There were a lot of zombies there. They shot them - BANG! BANG! BANG! - and burned them in a fire. The sheriff was very proud of grandpa and he got a medal. When he went to the city he...”

I mean, how could they know what it’s like to hide and run every day. To scavenge between car wrecks and frozen corpses for scraps of food. To look behind your back with every step you take and to make as little noise as possible. Mrs. Greene was having vivid flashbacks of the zombie thumping against the windows of her house. Their disfigured faces pressed against the glass, smearing it with blood and gore. She still tried to find the reason why she was getting this. It wasn’t the first time her students talked about zombies. It was even part of their education: spot it, report it and contain it. That little sentence was burned into her brain.

Then she sniffed.

Something was smelling musty in here. It was a scent that was familiar to her, stored deep inside her mind and telling every fiber in her body to run. She looked around but saw nothing unusual. Then she turned her head and saw the box on her desk. She sniffed again. It was definitely coming from that box. But what could Tony possibly want to show-

“Oh God.”, Mrs. Greene whispered and her eyes grew wide.

“... the mayor was also a zombie and...”

“Tony.”, Mrs. Green said loudly, abruptly breaking Tony’s strain of thought. “What’s in the box?”

“I told you, that’s a surprise.”, Tony replied and he looked at his paper again to resume but Mrs. Green prevented him by saying his name again.

“Come on.”, she smiled, staring warily at the box. “Can’t you only show it to me? I promise that I won’t tell.”

“Well, okay.”, Tony said reluctantly and disappointed at the same time.

Tony walked to his dinosaur backpack, opened it and retrieved to gloves. This confirmed Mrs. Greene’s assumptions. She felt bile creeping up her throat.

“Daddy says I have to wear this.”, Tony explained to Mrs. Greene.

Tony slowly opened the box. A sour stench quickly filled the classroom making most of the children gag and cover their nose. Some of them wanted to walk over to see what could make such a smell, but Mrs. Greene ordered everyone to sit. A couple of flies flew out of the box and swirled above the heads of the confused children. Mrs. Greene opened the box even further and gasped. She took a few steps back, almost losing her balance. The excruciating smell, the flies and the- oh god. She could barely breath.

Tony reached his gloved hands inside and grabbed his grandfather’s decapitated head. He showed it proudly to the class like a morbid trophy. A boy in the corner puked loudly on his desk, a little girl fainted and Mrs. Greene stood like a statue nailed to the ground with a shocked expression on her face.

“This is grandpa.”, Tony said. “He was bitten by a dog who was bitten by a zombie. So my daddy had to kill him. I need to be very careful with it. This way, grandpa is always with us.”

The head of Luke Gerard, resting so comfortably in the small, slender hands of his grandson gurgled a little bit. His dead eyes, vacant and murky, stared at all the little people in front of him. His jaws moved slowly in a circular motion as if it was chewing on something. It moaned when a fly landed on his head. It had no teeth anymore. They were removed by Tony’s father when he had given permission to show it to the class. But the black tong that slithered in the gaping mouth like a fat leech was a lot worse and more horrific than any set of zombie teeth Mrs. Greene ever witnessed. Before she finally fainted, she heard a small voice in the distance:

“Are there any questions?”

Name: George Howard (Raccoon Press)

2010-01-25T18:28:00.002+01:00

Author's Note:
Hey, here's a project I worked on not so long after I had written my own version and interpretation of the Keeper's Diary from the first Resident Evil game. I decided to write a sequel but this time from the point of view of an undercover journalist that works in Raccoon City at the time of the second and third Resident Evil games. I've incorperated many nice details that fans of the games might recognize including the end date of the journal. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I had writing it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Date: September 16

This is my first entry in this notebook. I hope I didn’t make a mistake about doing this. I mean, I had to basically beg on my knees for permission to cover this thing. Not that I don’t have experience with undercover and investigative journalism, but because they’re afraid to be prosecuted. All of this because my source (which shall now be known as K) said something really fishy is going on and that Chris Redfield (S.T.A.R.S.) and Jill Valentine (S.T.A.R.S.) might be not too far away from the truth when he made a public statement about the accident at the Arklay mansion.

Umbrella, the saints they claim to be, are a hot topic in newspapers and broadcasts worldwide now that they’re accused of conducting illegal experiments, negligence, violating certain laws and regulations about dealing with biohazardous materials, and the list goes on. I don’t think that it will go anywhere (Umbrella is really good at silencing witnesses and pleasing oppositional parties I’ve heard), but still, it’s interesting to watch the spectacle and the public outrage against the company that made Raccoon City big and changed the pharmaceutical industry forever.

I’ve rented an apartment in one of the buildings that surrounds the Umbrella head office in the city center. I’m moving in the day after tomorrow and if everything goes well, I’ve got a great, possibly juicy, article at the end of the week.

- - - - -

Date: September 17

One of the first things you’ll notice when you research the mysterious and almost mythical Umbrella Corporation, is that their slimy tentacles reach very far. I can’t think of anything here in Raccoon City that hasn’t profited (directly or indirectly) and / or subsidized from Umbrella. There are rumors that they even have guys walking around and lobbying in the United States government, but that hasn’t been proven. Yet.

Their statement, cliché as it sounds, is that they want to be the company that is there for the people and the city they love, but K says that it’s just a cover-up for something really big. Yeah, I agree that he sounds like a conspiracy theorist and I must admit, I don’t always take his tips and advices so seriously, but so far, he hasn’t been wrong about his slightly paranoid suspicions in regards to Umbrella.

I received the keys today and I started packing. Somehow it feels like I’m going to a sleep-over.

- - - - -

Date: September 18

As I opened the door of my apartment (3rd floor), I swore that I could see a couple of cockroaches scurry away from the piercing light of the hallway. The wallpaper is peeling off and the floor is squeaking loudly, but I have a clear view on the office building from the window.

From initial observations, I can conclude that the security is top-notch and high-tech. I think this building is better protected than the White House or Fort Knox. Even an ant can’t get in there unnoticed. There are guards with dogs patrolling the parameters every 5 minutes or so and you’re only given access after a thorough investigation of yourself and your vehicle. This takes about 15 minutes or so. This is only for visitors. Personnel and supplies only need to go through several gates and guards similar to those on airports.

On a brighter note: I’ve discovered on several anti-Umbrella / global corporation websites that they’re going to hold a demonstration in front of the building tomorrow. I called the editors at Raccoon Press to let them know that I’m covering this too. For once, they had no problems with it. I’m going to mix with the crowd and maybe interview a couple of participants. These human interest stories are always a great hit with the readers. They’re going to eat this up.

- - - - -

Date: September 19

I swear I can hear the rats above me walking, eating, fornicating and even defecating when I’m lying in bed. The fact that I’m melting away during these summer nights (air conditioner is broken), doesn’t exactly make things easier. I tried to complain at the tenant, but he made promises I already know he doesn’t keep.

The demonstration was rather tame compared to others I’ve seen on the television. A lot of young idealistic and rather naive people, occasionally an old hippy and a lot of protest signs. Nonetheless, the atmosphere was tense and a lot of anger was in the air. The VIPs were the family members of employees that injured or died over the years. After a while, a representative came outside and he gave a small statement about Umbrella always striving for safety and that the accusations are absolutely false.

I tried to approach him, but the gates closed in front of me. Oh well, at least I had a lot of useful quotes from the demonstrators to incorporate in my final article. When I came back at the apartment, I tried contact the representative once again and he gave another statement, this time more in detail about the nature of the accusations and the rumors about the accident at the Arklay mansion (that was revealed to accommodate staff and employees of the Umbrella Corperation a few days after the explosion). More useful quotes and information.

I also met a very interesting guy during the demonstration. It turns out he’s a professor teaching at Raccoon City College. He told me that Umbrella deals with very dangerous viruses and chemicals and that it causes a great risk for the public safety if an catastrophe, like the explosion at the Arklay Mansion, would occur. His fear is that we’ll have a massive outbreak of a dangerous contagion sooner or later despite Umbrella’s renowned safety precautions. I got his number and I’ve scheduled an interview with him later this week.

- - - - -

Date: September 20

The rats are getting noisier. They make these strange squeaking sounds and I’ve found a dead rat in one of my shoes. Large chunks of flesh were missing and it smelled really bad. Like it had been lying there for weeks. Looks like I won’t have to deal with the rats any longer if they start to eat each other.

I had the interview with the professor at Raccoon City College. For a professor in biology, he’s not the environmentalist I thought he would be. I was a pleasant interview and he was very willing, excited in fact, to answer some questions about viruses and possible scenario’s if a contagion would escape from one of Umbrella’s “state of the art” facilities. When I checked my watch at the end of the interview I was surprised that I had been talking to him for two hours. It seemed like only minutes. If he was my teacher in high school, I might’ve passed for biology.

I’m pleased to say that the editors were impressed with my article of the demonstration and the photos I was able to take from the representative, the family members and the crowd. It will be printed in tomorrow’s paper along side another article about Umbrella by the freelancer Bertolucci. On my way out I heard a few people talking about people being admitted at the hospital with high fevers and itching skin.

- - - - -

Date: September 21

I woke up under the loud screeching of a large crow that was eating a dead rat on the balcony. I think I hate crows even more than rats. I tried to scare him away, but the bird wasn’t impressed. It stared at me with its cold, dark eyes and a small strip of flesh in its beak. If finally flew away when I threw a shoe at it.

As I was further researching Umbrella, I heard on the news that the numbers of people in Raccoon City that were affected by itching skin and discoloring were still on a steady rise. This made me suspicious and I started a research for the possible link of the explosion at the Arklay mansion and the weird skin diseases. Sure enough, it all leaded back to the, in my opinion, ridiculous statement of the two S.T.A.R.S. members Redfield and Valentine.

Zombies? Come on . . .

K also called. He said that he’s going to leave the city. “It’s getting too messed up for my taste.”, he explained and said that he was still able to give information if I wanted. So I grabbed the opportunity to ask him about the viruses and biological weapons that Umbrella was supposedly manufacturing. There was a silence for a moment, a sigh of disappointment and an explanation that any evidence went up in flames (literally).

I spend the rest of the day interviewing people that lived around here as well as some numbers K gave me. Some were helpful, others were not.

- - - - -

Date: September 22

On my way to J’s Bar, I saw a couple of rats fighting with each other in an unusual manner. Two rats were chasing the other rat who was squeaking in terror. The two rats finally cornered him and took bites out of the poor guy. This all happened whilst crows were cawing hungrily from the roofs. Something’s really messed up with Mother Nature and I’m afraid to find out what it actually is.

- - - - -

Date: September 23

More people complaining about itch and fever.

Hot as hell in here.

No unusual activity at Umbrella besides a couple of expensive cars visiting and leaving within two hours. Board of directives? Emergency meeting?

Still no announcements about rally’s or demonstrations. Is this it? Isn’t there more? What happened to the “we’ll fight until they surrender”-attitude they all proclaimed when the Arklay accident was linked to Umbrella?

- - - - -

Date: September 24

Well, I’m mature enough to admit when I’m wrong. And damn it, how could I have been this wrong? It was a very small topic on the midnight news. No longer than 30 seconds. The R.P.D. arrested a couple “hooligans” last night who were harassing people and smashing windows open. “The assailants were non-responsive and extremely aggressive”, according to chief Irons. They are blaming it to some sort of drug in combination with medicine, since they suffer from a severe necrotic skin disease. This is exactly how Redfield and Valentine described the zombies they encountered in the mansion. Could it be?

I had to make sure so I called the professor as well as a contact I had at Raccoon City Hospital and they were as clueless as I was. I quickly took a small interview with them (it was 5 a.m. at the time), hastily wrote an article and mailed it to the Press. I got an answer back almost immediately. They said that they would incorporate my story with other stories of my colleagues about this subject. They also asked me to come to the meeting today. I jumped in the shower, got dressed and ran to work.

At the meeting I heard that Bertolucci was arrested. According to the R.P.D, he was caught trespassing and tried to bribe officers. This made me even more conscious about the relative vulnerable position of a journalist that wanted to find out the truth. Knowing that he was also researching Umbrella, made me fear about myself if they caught me watching them from my crappy apartment.

- - - - -

Date: September 25

You can feel the tension in the air as you walk outside. Everybody seems to be thinking the same. Sometimes out loud even. Something big is going to happen. Something really bad. I tried to reach K, but I only got static. Did they get to him? Is he even still alive?

The R.P.D. held a press conference to explain the events of the past couple of days. They’re still sticking with the hooligan story instead of telling what’s exactly wrong with them. I think it’s obvious to everybody that they’re really sick. I’ve seen footage on YouTube and various online discussion boards of people with large wounds and sometimes without skin walking around aimlessly, oblivious of their situation (immediately burned it on several CD’s as a back-up). I tried to contact one of the authors, but no luck as of yet. To make matters worse, the movies are removed and the discussion boards are locked down. Does Umbrella really have that much influence?

Anyway, they closed down several districts due to “an explosive and unstable situation”, meaning that they could no longer control the mass scale riots that slowly took over the city. They made more arrests (the prison is filling up pretty well I reckon) but they didn’t interrogate any of them because they were too aggressive and erratic. As of today, martial law is declared along with a curfew. People that are still outside past 8 p.m., are arrested without hesitation. It wasn’t possible to ask any questions.

As I opened the front door of R.P.D. headquarters and lit my first cigarette of the day, I heard numerous sirens blaring in the distance.

It’s really silent at Umbrella. I haven’t seen anyone enter, only leaving with files, computers and furniture. Seems like they’re moving... or evacuating.

For the first time in my life, I’m scared.

- - - - -

Date: September 26

I jumped out of my bed when I heard screams and car crashes. I opened the window and my nose was immediately bombarded with the stench of rotting flesh, smoke and gasoline. I saw crowds of people running away from the “hooligans”. They shambled down the streets, chasing them in an uncoordinated manner. How clumsy or slow they are, they still managed to grab quite a few people. People that were scared out of their mind or got lost. I had to witness how the “hooligans” ate their victims. They literally tore chunks of flesh out of them.

I stumbled back inside, holding in my bile, my mind racing what to do. What could I do?

- - - - -

Date: September 27

I’ll admit it.

I’m a coward.

I’ve locked myself in my apartment, too afraid to even take a peek outside. The occasional scream (there are a lot less screaming now) and the loud moaning of the... zombies are enough for me to imagine the massive destruction that lies outside my bedroom window. To make matters worse, I also heard them inside the apartment building. There walking up and down the stairs, scraping their nails and thumping with their fists against the walls and doors. I’m really quiet.

I can’t stay here forever. I’m going to try and escape.

- - - - -

Date: September 28

It’s strange how one perceives time when they’re in danger. When I opened my front door and almost bumped into a zombie (Mr. Garland from upstairs), I shoved him away and ran down the stairs without looking at the doors who stood wide open, ignoring the blood trails on the steps and keeping my mind focused. When I finally was outside, it was like I ended up in a war zone. Cars were crashed or burnt out. The windows of houses and stores were shattered and all kinds of debris were littered on the street. It didn’t took long before I drew a lot of attention and had to run from hordes of zombies.

As if that wasn’t enough, it seems that animals are affected by this too. I was chased by a couple of Dobermans when I entered a small grocery store. Crows started to attack me when I tried to hotwire a car and rats snapped at my shoes on the way between the store and the car. I never managed to get the car working again. So I was forced to travel by foot, no matter how dangerous it was. The smoke from the fire that started to devour the city blotted out the sun and it made me feel like I was traveling at night.

I’m now on the rooftop of a warehouse, waiting to be rescued. I’ve seen helicopters circling over the city, but they didn’t strike me as the kinds that evacuate people. I hope they come soon. I’ve heard strange sounds below. It didn’t sound like any zombie or an animal I’ve heard since my escape from my apartment.

- - - - -

Date: September 29

What’s taking them so long?

Why isn’t anybody doing something?

The fires are still raging, the zombies are still roaming the streets and the crows have found my location. I’m now forced to hide in the stairwell of the warehouse. I can hear their beaks peck loudly against the steel like bullets. It’s driving me nuts and scares me. It’s only a matter of time before another monster discovers my hideout.

- - - - -

Date: September 30

I’m really hungry and thirsty.

It has taking me this long to realize that the choppers who were circling over Raccoon City were from Umbrella. I guess I owe Chris Redfield my apologies when I interviewed him and chuckled when he told about Umbrella’s secret agenda of manufacturing Biological Organic Weapons (B.O.W’s). Makes you wonder what else is out there besides zombies...

- - - -

Date: October 1

To anyone that finds this _________________________________________

The truth about the end

2010-01-25T15:53:00.001+01:00

It certainly wasn’t like anything I’ve seen in the movies.

You know the ones I’m talking about.

You always figure that when something like this happens, you know exactly what to do. That somewhere in you brain there will be a small mental checklist that you can rely on. Some back-up plan constructed by millions of years of survival instinct and probably rewritten with every evolutionary breakthrough. Or some unexplainable force that guides you in times of crisis. That you’ll remain calm and only do the necessary things as perfect as you can. That no man, woman or child will be left behind.

Well, you can’t.

Not even those hardcore survivalists you see on the television eating mud or cutting the head off a wild chicken on some remote tropical island. Nor the horror fanatics you see talking to each other in the cinema about who’s stronger: Freddy or Jason? These people, who spend most of their adolescent and adult life preparing for this sort of thing, if only in their minds, are just as helpless and oblivious to the full impact, the devastation... the true scale of this event as you are.

You can blame the government, the scientists or even God for that matter, but it doesn’t change the fact that, when the shit actually hits the fan, you’ll be standing there with empty hands in the blood red sea of turmoil and chaos that surrounds everything and everyone. Everyone will be affected to a certain degree. Even the rich people that hide in their fortified mansions or fallout shelters high up in the mountains. They’ll be consumed with the same question as they stir their whiskey by the fireplace or fuck their spouse with animalistic lust:

Why me?

Deep inside, we’re no Rambo’s, no Conan’s. We’re scared. Scared to look back. Scared to look in the eyes of the people you’ve known your entire life. To tell them that you’re sorry. The people that are dead but somehow are chasing you with such determination and stamina that you begin to wonder if this isn’t just a bad dream. Some realistic nightmare that you can’t escape from. With every death, their number grows. With every hesitation or error of judgment, their number grows. With every fight and quarrel, they come closer until the moment comes when they grab you.

One bite is all that it takes. As the putrid saliva is coursing through your veins with high speed, destroying your soft tissue and corroding your brains, you beg for the others not to shoot you. Maybe it will be different. Maybe you’re immune. You eventually convince them with the only certainty in this new world: that nothing is certain and much is unclear. Does is only spread through bites or is it also airborne? How long does is it take for someone to succumb and turn? Is it a bacteria, a virus, a chemical agent or something supernatural?

Can you really stop it?

The short answer: no. Like everything, it’s only a matter of time before your heart stops pumping and you attack them with relentless hunger, an undeniable desire to bite in their soft flesh and to feel warm blood trickling down your chin. If there’s still a shred of humanity left, any sign of consciousness, it dies a silent death when you crack a skull open and scoop out that delicious grey matter you yearn for ever since you woke up from your peaceful sleep.

Dust to dust...

2010-01-23T17:08:00.000+01:00

Even now as I write this letter to you in complete isolation, I’m still not completely sure what happened back there. I tried to reconstruct the events in my mind, but every time I’m near the solution, I become terrified. Too terrified to think about it again for a long time. Something about it doesn’t make sense. I think you know and feel it too. How else could an encampment with maximum security and state of the art equipment, the last hope of the survival of mankind, turn into a chaotic cesspool of evil in a matter of three days?

I know that the chances are very small that you’ll ever receive this letter, but I had to do something while I’m here rotting away. I asked permission to write a letter, a single letter and that it would be the last request I’d ever make. They reluctantly agreed. Said something about security measures and reading this before they would send it to you. So to the guard that reads this, please send this to her. She needs to know the truth.

I know that you are inclined to believe otherwise and believe me, I know it’s sometimes easier to think that I’m mad than to accept the truth. That I somehow turned psychotic and killed all those people. But you have to trust me on my word. Everything that follows is how I perceived the events unfolding on April the fourth and ending abruptly on April the sixth, five years after The Great Resurrection at encampment 4701.

As you might know, I was one of the guards there. My job was to make sure that nothing compromised the fences and walls that they had build around the encampment. To ensure the safety of thousands and to fulfill my patriotic duty, I had to climb up a long, rusty ladder and stuff myself in a miniscule guard tower for eight hours every day. When the sun stood high in the sky, I was sweating like crazy. I swear it was warm enough to fry an egg, no dozens of eggs simultaneously in there. I always envied the men who had the night shift.

Luckily, several others shared the same fate and had the same hopeless expression on their faces as they too risked their lives to climb up a rickety ladder and squeeze themselves into a metal box too small to even turn your own ass. The official name of the encampment was 4701, but we always called it Dust because ever so often, large radioactive dust storms blowing in from the west would blot out the sun and terrorize us for weeks. I remember finding large quantities of sand in the corners of my “house”, sometimes months after the last storm had hit.

Just like an ordinary storm at sea, it would wash up all kinds of rubbish to our shores. In our case, lost zombies and occasionally survivors. I watched with fascination at the guards below me at the main gates and how they sternly refused an emaciated survivor entrance. That day was no different. An old man, wearing tattered clothes and bright red skin from the relentless sun, asked with a trembling voice if he could get in here. Just to rest. The guards stared at him for a moment and laughed.

There were often occasions where I had the need to jump down and interfere. Kicking the asses of those arrogant guards and opening the gate for everyone. But I knew that if I ever did such a thing, I would end up like the many miserable survivors that sought refuge here. You know it’s not in my nature to do nothing when people are mistreated, but I had no choice this time. They caught me handing out water to “outsiders” a few days earlier and I could permit myself to make such a “mistake” again.

As the old man reduced to nothing but a little, black dot at the horizon, I heard the guard next to me shouting something. I leaned outside to see what he was talking about. He pointed at the zombie that was coming around the corner and continued to wander near the perimeter. The man continued to scream hysterically, getting the attention of the civilians on the market below. He suddenly folded his hands and started to pray loudly. Confused as I was, I grabbed my binoculars to examine the zombie more closely. It was nothing special.

But apparently, I was wrong. It didn’t take long for rumors to spread like wildfire in our little community. Even our brave and strong leaders were starting to get intrigued by the zombie. The crowd that pressed itself against the fence, mumbling all kinds of nonsense, grew with each passing minute and I was starting to get concerned about the integrity of the “first line of defense”. I contacted my superiors and they said that they would take actions immediately. They did nothing. As a matter of fact, they helped them by putting down chairs and tables to make everybody comfortable.

When I approached one of my colleagues about this, all he could say was: “I can’t believe that I’m witness of this.” Suddenly a man with a speaker climbed up on top of a shed and said: “This is the time of salvation! He’s finally here! Gather round and be cleansed of your sins! Let Him wash it away!” The man started to wave with his arms and others followed his example. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I almost gasped when I saw the general (our leader by the way) mixing with the crowd and joining the festivities. Festivities to what I wondered. A walking corpse?

Sure, the number of zombies that came here decreased every year so I could see that it was unusual especially for the children, to see such a grotesque thing, but why was he so special? His deteriorating muscles were partially visible underneath his transparent skin and his bulging yellow eyes were gazing at nothing. His clothes were smeared with all kinds of disgusting things imaginable. The smell was sickening and made me step back, fighting against the bile that slowly crept up my throat. He was like every zombie I had seen on my shifts and every zombie I personally fought with during the beginning. But like I said before, others didn’t seem to share my opinion.

The festivities continued the whole night, filling the air with music of drums and praises to that damned maggot pile. As I tried to get to sleep, I could only think about you. It was such a long time ago since I saw your face. Since I held you in my arms. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks and I cursed myself for not coming with you. Why did I had to help the neighbours with their dogs? If I stayed with you, I might had noticed the military convoy sooner and we hadn’t been separated. I finally fell asleep after counting how many times we kissed.

The following morning was like waking up in another world. The streets and houses, including mine, were decorated with very bright colors and texts like: “Join us” and “Let Him be praised”. It was written everywhere accompanied with crude arrows pointing towards the fences and walls. As I walked to the headquarters, I could’ve sworn that I heard voices whispering and laughing softly. I looked around, but saw nothing. As I listened more closely, I noticed that the voices were feminine and talking about the Savior. Starting to grow uneasy, I quickened my pace. The streets were still desolated. A lonely crow circled above my head, casting a small shadow on my head.

I opened the heavy, steel doors of HQ and plunged into total darkness. Expecting the worst, I searched the wall with my fingertips and quickly turned on the lights. Mixed feelings came over me when I saw that they had a party here as well. Some of the desks were toppled over, beer cans were strewn all over the floor and the bright colors were smeared on the walls just like a small child would. I called, hoping for a response of someone, but I only heard my voice resonate through the building. It scared me that not even my superiors were present to brief me. I walked over to my desk and saw a note attached to a unopened beer can. The note said: “Here, have one from us. It’s a special occasion after all. We’re at the fence.”

I started to have a very strange and unnerving feeling in my stomach. It’s always that kind of feeling that warned me that something horrible is about to happen. Call it instinct or a supernatural sense, but I couldn’t stand there asking myself what was going on. Someone had to take control. Someone had to remain grounded. I walked to the locker and grabbed the nearest rifle. I examined the weapon carefully, took a deep breath and stepped outside to follow the arrows that grew larger and larger. The colors on the houses started to turn more dark and crudely. The texts were replaces with handprints and the smell of decay started to intensify and burned in my nose. With a cloth covering my nose, I continued walking towards the fence.

It was a surreal experience to walk through the streets and pass by the houses I see every day like this. Some of the front doors were left wide open, making me wonder how many people took this opportunity do “redecorate” his own home. With every step I took, the voices in the distance became clearer. Sounds turned into words, words turned into sentences and sentences turned into prayers. I peeked around the corner of a small store and my mouth dropped open. An enormous crowd had gathered in front of the fence. They all sat on the floor, raising their arms and calling towards the zombie who still shambled on the other side. A couple of men were on top of the guard towers, throwing pieces of meat at the zombie. The shouted at men and women on the ground who stood next to the gate.

The crowd backed up, making a large circle. A woman unlocked the gate and opened it slightly. An obese man that stood behind her, shoved her out of the way and walked to the zombie with arms outstretched. He embraced the corpse briefly, pushed it away and ran back inside. The woman closed the gate and embraced the sweaty and panting man. The crowd started to sing even louder and more hysterical as the fat man stood in the center of the circle with his hands raised in the air and eyes closed.

As I observed the situation, I could see the general sitting high and dry on the roof of a nearby building. He clapped his hands and smiled behind his huge sunglasses. Beside him stood two armed guards. The general said something to the guard left of him and he gave him a large speaker. “My people!”, the general said. The crowd slowly grew silent and looked slightly annoyed, but still obedient. “This is a special day for Dust and its citizens! Today we’re witness of the miracle after the end of the world! This is the beginning of a new life!”

The rest of his speech blurred together as I aimed my rifle at the zombie. This had to end now. I squeezed the trigger and I could see that the bullet penetrated the neck of the zombie. It was more decomposed than I thought, because the head snapped off the torso immediately after. The crowd fell silent and watched in disbelief at the motionless body of their sacred zombie. I ran back to HQ, ignoring the growing sounds of outrage behind me.

As I placed the rifle back in the locker I heard sirens blaring outside. An emergency? I ran to the roof and looked in the direction of the fence, that looked like a grey line from up here. I could smoke rise between the small houses and although the loud sirens drowned most of the other noises, I could’ve sworn I heard screams. Suddenly I was hailed on the intercom. I grabbed phone and responded as usual: my name and service number. They said that riots and possible infected were slowly taking over Dust and that my presence was required immediately. The voice on the other side of the line was calm and monotonous. As if he expected this to happen.

This time I took on of the few cars here in Dust. I drove as fast as I could towards the scene, maneuvering between many wounded people and piles of burning wood. As far as I could see, none of the wounded had bite marks so I let them pass. Gunshots directed me to the scene. When I finally arrived, some of the guards ran towards me, climbed on the back and yelled at me to drive away. I just got out, retrieved my gun and told the men that they could have the car. They didn’t hesitate for a second and disappeared with a trail of dust.

I took the time to assess the situation. There was a barricades made of chairs that closed of the marketplace with the rest of Dust. Behind the barricades were guards shooting at the zombies who slowly got closer. Their numbers were staggering. I hadn’t seen so many zombies together since the beginning of the end. How could there be so many in such a short time? The worst part of it all was that I recognized some of them. I saw the fat zombie hugger, shuffling with bullet holes in his chest. I saw the woman that opened the gate, clawing at a guard that had fallen down during his escape. There was no doubt about it. The zombie worshippers were now zombies themselves.

A tug at my shoulder snapped me back to reality. It was one of my superiors shouting at me to shoot the damn Rotters (our nickname for zombies). I aimed, pulled the trigger and watched the zombie collapse on the ground. I repeated the routine over and over like it was something routine, like it was programmed inside of me. Unlike the first time I killed a zombie, I didn’t feel anything. No adrenaline rush, no disgust as the decomposed flesh exploded upon impact. I didn’t even notice the other guards that were fighting for their lives because the barricades had finally broken down.

As I aimed at a zombie with its lower jaw missing, the voices I heard earlier returned. This time they were no longer feminine, they were no longer laughing. They were whispering something about a new world. Between the words I heard moaning and panting. The voices became louder as the zombie came closer. I looked at the zombie and it’s eyes didn’t look dead and vacant anymore. It looked evil and determined. Not sure if it was all my imagination or not, I only knew for sure that I couldn’t take any unnecessary chances and I fired between the menacing eyes of the zombie. The voices subdued a bit as the carcass fell on the asphalt, spraying all kinds of gore in the air.

Another zombie shuffled at me with its arms outstretched and I suddenly heard a single voice. “Don’t make me kill you. I don’t want to do this.” I closed my eyes and shook my head. What was happening to me? Did I finally snap at seeing so much horrific and disgusting things all these years? I shattered the skull of the zombie and checked the magazine. One bullet left. I searched my pocket for more ammo but was shocked to discover that I didn’t brought any with me. More voices. “Stay back. Let us be. Why are you doing this to us?” The headache became worse and I grabbed my head with both of my heads, clenching my jaws.

Through my teary eyes, I looked for a safe place to hide. The roofs! I ran to the nearest building, which was coincidently the store I hid behind when I killed the holy zombie. I took a few tries, but I eventually got on the roof. It was weaker than I thought. The whole thing started to weigh down. I looked at the zombies who gathered around the building. There were no other guards in the area. No guards that were still alive at least. I saw one of my superiors walking between the zombies. His neck had been chewed open. Suddenly in the corner of my I glimpsed something that would be my salvation. I saw Rick, the guy who first spotted the zombie, shambling away from the crowd, chasing after a dog. On his belt he wore several grenades, a couple of them were missing. He probably used them before he fell.

I walked to the roofs of the adjacent buildings and I jumped down. Because zombies are slow and stupid as god knows what, I had a head start of at least 30 seconds. More than enough to execute my plan successfully. I ran to Rick, kicked him against a wall and decapitated him with my machete. It was a mess, but there was no time to think about that. I grabbed the belt with grenades as well as additional ammo for my gun. The crowd was now moving towards me like a putrid wave of rotting waste. The smell was enough to make me puke, but I focused on my task.

I ran away, creating enough distance between myself and the horde to use the grenades. I threw the first one, it hit the head of a blonde woman. The explosion threw a couple of zombies high in the air, slamming them against buildings, walls or other zombies. The sea of fire that erupted shortly after took me by surprise. Especially since some of the zombies were still walking towards me as they were slowly consumed by fire. It was something that reminded me of hell. Yeah, this must be what hell looks, sounds and smells like. I threw the second one, breaking up the large group even more and splattering zombie guts all over the place. More fire erupted and started to spread at the buildings in the vicinity.

I ran to HQ with several burning zombies behind me. In hindsight, it might not have been such a good idea. I mean I just could’ve run to HQ straight away. But something inside me told me that I would not found help there. The streets were slowly transforming from a brightly colored Walhalla to a burning inferno. Survivors tried to grab me, pleading to take them with me, but I couldn’t. I looked back and saw that the fire grew larger. Moaning and screams were filling the air. Just like in the beginning. Suddenly I heard a helicopter. My eyes almost immediately spotted the helicopter leaving from the residence of the general. That bastard was running away with his tail between his legs.

A second helicopter rose up in the air. Explosions shook the earth as the helicopter fired rockets. At first I thought they aimed at the zombies, but when a rocket hit HQ I knew that they wanted to destroy Dust. They didn’t had to blow everything up. The fire would do most of the work. I watched the helicopters fly away. I imagined the general smiling behind his sunglasses, lighting one of his precious cigars. Spineless coward. I barely escaped from a charred zombie that sneaked up from behind me. The smell of burnt flesh was overwhelming.

The voices returned once more. This time they were screaming as if they in pain and enraged. I couldn’t understand most of it what they were saying, but there were fragments that stood out. “Why... pain... kill...” Those were the words that continuously echoed in my head. I looked around and saw zombies crawling from beneath burning wreckage. I ran back to the fence to escape. It was foolish of me I know. But I had nothing here. HQ was blown up, the city was burning. Most of it’s inhabitants infected or dying. What could I do?

The voices never returned again. They vanished as I walked through the gate, into the wastelands. It didn’t take long before the general’s men found me and arrested me for mass homicide and negligence. Apparently, I snapped because of the stress of my job and placed handmade bombs all over town. I knew that everything would burn like paper, so I didn’t had to use many. To create a diversion for the law enforcement, I opened the gate letting zombies wander within the perimeter.

They tortured me to get a confession out of me. It took them weeks before I agreed with the lies they were saying about me. Some of the guards never looked me in the eye. They probably knew the truth, but were afraid to end up like me. A traitor. A terrorist. Sentenced to be locked away until I die of natural cause. Which is, to be honest, a blessing. I’d rather get my ass beaten up for the rest of my life than to wander the wastelands.

Well, there you have it. The truth. The undeniable facts. I’m really glad that I had the chance to write this all down before I would lose my mind in here. Mary, If you could see me now. I’m the brave soldier you’ve always wanted me to be. I’m always thinking about you. How I could’ve saved you from the soldiers that passed by our house when I was helping the neighbours with their dogs. How I could prevent them from taking you with them. To stop them from raping you for what seemed an eternity, slitting your throat after and leaving you behind in a ditch next to the road. Bleeding to death. Making you return. I’ve never forgot it Mary. I hope that the guard that delivers this letter to your grave will also bring your favorite flower with him. A yellow rose. I love you honey.

Forever yours,

Ben

Nobody of importance

2009-12-23T02:59:00.001+01:00

The memories of his previous life slowly started to fade and blended together, making it seem like everything happened in a single day. He only remembered the faces of the people that he loved, hated and made the person he was today. Occasionally, he heard fragments of conversations he held or tunes of songs that he liked. In the darkness that he was in, it was hard to keep his sanity. He amused himself with a piece of chalk he found in the corner of the room. In his mind, he was the next Da Vinci. Creating a new world with his inventions and drawings of things that didn’t exist or used to exist and were intricate parts of his daily existence.

Occasionally a thump or a loud crash would break his concentration, snapping him back to reality. He would always shuffle over to the small window that was usually covered with a thin layer of moisture, wipe it off with the sleeve of his torn sweater and observe like a scientist would through a telescope. The world was a more dangerous place now. It was always dangerous, he thought as he bit gently on his lip, but this time there’s no one to help when thing go really bad. You now have to rely on your own instinct and abilities to survive. He always hated the word “instinct”. It sounded dirty to him, like a big terrible secret that must never see the light of day.

When it rained, he would stare at the body lying on the roof. It used to be his neighbour Mr. Brooke. Every time he looked at the bloated figure soaking in its own juices and the small puddle of putrid rain water, his stomach would rumble. It wasn’t from hunger, but from something he couldn’t place. Was it pity? Pity for Mr. Brooke that had a heart attack when he saw what really was going on outside? When he kicked his window open, climbed on the roof and screamed as he saw large pillars of black smoke rise in the distance, heard the bloodcurdling screams of thousands and smelled the stench of something unnatural?

There wasn’t much to go around, but what he found as he wandered the halls of the apartment building, he took and used it. His stomach wasn’t always full and his throat was always begging for more, but he knew that outside was not an option. Since the car crashes and explosions he hasn’t been outside. He didn’t know what was out there, but what he heard as he woke up and went to bed wasn’t good. Sometimes he caught a glimpse or a shadow of someone walking outside, but he never thought about calling out to them. You never know these days. Deep inside, he was already preparing for his inevitable death.

He wrote a letter. Not long, maybe two pages. Torn out of an old drawing block from the apartment downstairs. Where Mr. Hawkins secretly lived with his two wives. He always heard their screams of joy and god knows what went down there when he had dinner. The numerous toys and magazines he found when he searched the place only confirmed his suspicions about the perverted stuff that happened there. He wrote the letter with his favorite pen. He got that when he was employee of the month. Where he used to work he didn’t remember exactly. It had something to do with numbers and meeting a lot of people in stiff suits.

He folded the paper and placed it on the little table next to the door where everybody that stumbles in there would see. It has been lying there for two weeks, slowly collecting dust and soaking up the smell of rotting food and urine like a sponge. With a few strokes he finished his drawing. It covered every inch of every wall in his apartment. He nodded in approval and closed his bloodshot and sleep deprived eyes for a moment. He sighed when he realized that his job was done here. As he stepped on the chair and tightened the loose around his neck, he took another moment to reflect on his life. When he finished he closed his eyes once more and finally embraced death.

The most wonderful time of the year...

2009-12-21T14:51:00.002+01:00

Since Christmas is drawing near, I took the liberty to write a Christmas-related story. Well, it's just situated in the same time period, but I think it still counts ;-) This story also has a suprise ending and for the ones that paid attention to my previous stories, it won't be hard to find out from which story this one is a indirect sequel...

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year everyone!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Snow

Darkness

Freezing

Annoying Christmas songs

These were the things Derek hated at this time of the year. Not that he didn’t like spending time with his family and drinking a lot, but all the exaggerated cheerfulness made him feel like everyone just forgot the dangerous world we were now living in. Maybe that just the entire idea, Derek thought. But you just can’t erase the reality just for the sake of a holiday. Especially if you have lost your wife and daughter. You must never forget.

The song on the car radio about someone that saw his mother kissing Santa slowly entered Derek’s ears and flooded his mind with images of his family. With a loud smack and a grunt he turned the radio off. Why all the happiness? Peace on Earth my ass, Derek thought and he took another sip of the thermos can filled with homemade scotch. The warm sensation and lightheadedness he got as the dark liquid ran down his throat comforted him.

Despite that fact that his vision was seriously obscured by the snow storm, Derek’s foot pressed harder on the gas pedal without him fully realizing it. The small voice inside his head wished that he would hit something that would end his suffering once and for all. But like he expected, salvation didn’t came. The wind shield wipers were working overtime as the car was bombarded by large, heavy snowflakes that appeared from the infinite grey sky.

Suddenly a crudely painted sign appeared that he could barely read but knew from memory:

NEW HOPE
5 MILES

Derek tightened his grip on the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white. We’re almost there, he thought. Just hold on a little longer.

The wheels of the car were struggling to stay on the road and Derek had to give all his strength. He cursed out loud and spat when the car slipped from the road and rolled downhill. The car plunged in the thick layer of snow like a crashing airplane. The car jolted to a stop as it hit something that was buried beneath the snow. The seatbelt prevented Derek from flying though the wind shield, but it still hurt like hell as it squeezed tightly around his chest.

Derek slowly opened his eyes and shivered as he felt the cold air entering the car through the broken window of the passenger’s seat. It surprised him that there wasn’t any snow inside. As he clicked the seatbelt open, he heard a scratching sound in front of him. It seemed louder with each passing second. His heart was suddenly racing when his mind had made the connection with the thing buried in the snow and the scratching against the car. He climbed over his seat and grabbed the suitcase from the back.

Frantically fumbling between old and withered survival guides seemed to make enough noise for the thing outside to quicken his struggle towards Derek. Derek’s fingertips suddenly touched the cold steel of the gun and he retrieved it with a swift, fluid motion from the suit case. He checked the magazine and smiled when he saw he had enough left. A frozen, black hand thumped against the windshield as Derek grabbed the box of ammunition.

He slowly turned and gasped when he saw a face plastered against the window. It lips were drawn back, revealing broken, yellow teeth. The skin was black and blue from the frost. The eyes were nothing but ice cubes moving in its sockets. It thumped against the window once more. Small cracks were beginning to form as the zombie pressed its face harder against the glass. Its nose broke in several places and the teeth began to wriggle in the swollen, grey gum.

Aiming his gun at the zombie, Derek began kicking at the door next to him. After a few attempts, he managed to create an opening. He squeezed himself through the crack between the heavy layer snow and the door as the window broke and the zombie thudded his head loudly against the steering wheel. Derek could finally hear the zombie moan softly.

Derek continued to walk despite the burning sensation in his legs and feet until he reached the road. He looked back and saw only the rear of the car sticking out of the snow. It surprised him that the car didn’t cave in from the weight of the snow. His fingers were beginning to feel numb, but he still held his gun tightly. He scanned the horizon for more zombies and sure enough, he saw a few black dots in the horizon. Just my luck, Derek thought and he followed the road.

It took a full minute before he realized that it had stopped snowing. The sun carefully broke through the thick clouds making the depressing winter landscape of sterile white a little more manageable for Derek’s mind. The snow crunched beneath his feet and smoke swirled around his head every time he exhaled. A female zombie with it’s chest exposed walked towards him barefooted on the thin layer of ice that covered the asphalt. It amazed Derek that it could hold its balance and he was slipping with each step. He aimed and pulled the trigger. The head of the zombie caved in and she collapsed on the road like a rag doll. No shower of blood and gore like in the summer days. It was a nice change actually.

Derek saw a graveyard of car wrecks in front of him. The snow covered most of it, but he knew what kind of horrors lay beneath. He proceeded with caution and sighed as he saw another zombie appearing. He aimed and fired once more. The bullet penetrated the throat of the zombie. It stopped in its track for a moment only to resume its hunt shortly after. Derek aimed again and this time the bullet entered the left eye socket. A few drops of blood trickled down the zombie’s emaciated cheeks until it fell on the ground.

Derek checked the magazine again and looked around. Still nobody. Nobody alive that is. He wandered off the road going around the car wrecks with a large curve. He didn’t want to waste his ammunition any further. As he got back on the road he heard music in the distance. He cupped one of his hands next to his ear, trying to locate the source of the sound. It was coming from the forest on the left side of the road. He was hesitant at first, but the freezing cold made him realize that he would end like the zombies if he didn’t get help soon.

The music was getting louder with each step he took. He know heard that it was Jingle Bells and he caught himself humming the tune. He looked around to see if he saw any humans, but there were only bare trees surrounding him. As he reached a clearing he saw an old trailer next to an oak tree. The trailer was riddled with bullet holes and it had almost caved in entirely. Many corpses of zombies were lying next to it in a circular pattern. As he looked closely, he saw that small crosses were carved into their foreheads.

He entered the trailer and saw the radio that was making the music. Upon investigation, it was clear that it ran on batteries. But how was it possible that it was still working? Behind him he heard rasping and soft laughter. The last thing Derek saw before his throat was sliced open with a machete and he died on the cold floor, bleeding to death, was a silver cross hanging on the neck of it assailant. He wore ripped black clothing and a dirty, white color. It was a priest.

The forgotten death of Walter

2009-12-15T16:19:00.001+01:00

The sun partially broke through the clouds, illuminating the twisted pieces of metal from a crashed helicopter that buried itself in the ground of the meadow. Walter squinted, staring at the horizon. He had left his binoculars in the car when he was suddenly ambushed by hundreds of the rotting bastards. He could barely escape, but it meant that he had to leave everything behind. His backpack full of supplies. The maps he had collected over the months since he was traveling and finally the binoculars he once found in the clutches of a mummified corpse of a soldier. He only had the clothes on his back and a machete. Walter could feel himself grow desperate when he realized that he had a long way to go.

Between him and the nearest settlement was 20 miles of wasteland filled with the undead. There were a few options available: He could take the long way, going through the forests where he could hide himself quicker if something (or someone) dangerous would cross his path. But then again, he didn’t have any supplies with him to last that long and the longer he was out here, the chances of infection would increase dramatically. He didn’t like to take huge risks like this, but he didn’t had any choice. This area wasn’t known as a popular migrating route, so it was unlikely that he would encounter other survivors.

He walked over to the charred carcass of the helicopter. As expected, there wasn’t much left of it. He could see the outlines of a mangled body still strapped in his chair. It looked as if he was shot in the head. Small vines, patches of moss and grass started to consume the wreck. It won’t take long before it’s erased from existence, Walter thought. But he knew about it and he can pass it on to others so that the memory of the pilot would remain. For the old saying: “it’s only when your forgotten that you are truly dead”, applied to everyday life in this new world. He sighed and moved on.

As he reached the top of a hill, he could see the road in the distance. Suddenly filled with hope, he ran down the hill, not seeing the pile of corpses that were strewn below. Walter gasped as he slipped over partially decomposed organs and rolled down the hill. When he suddenly jolted to a halt, he yelped when thin fingers slowly wrapped around his ankle. He frantically retrieved his machete from his pants and chopped the hand of his assailant off. The zombie moaned slightly and stared at Walter with hollow eyes. It was too decomposed to do anything except moaning and moving its jaws.

“You... fucker.”, he laughed, unsure if he was really laughing or just disguising his fear.

His eyes scanned the other corpses. He could see a bloated female twitching in the distance, but its limbs were torn off, so there wasn’t much danger there. The countless shadows of birds glided over him and the corpses. Normally he would be running away from it all and probably puke his guts out from the stench, but this time he was mesmerized. The all lay so... symmetrical. Could these people have been executed? He had heard stories about societies that were almost dictatorial, eliminating everything that were “not right”. Most of those were for religious or ethical reasons, but the contamination of the populace was also not uncommon.

Walter felt the urge to do something. To make everything right with those people who suffered a fate worse than death: walking the earth as a zombie. Maybe it was foolish or misplaced to care about people who could also have been criminals, but that’s how he was. Selfless to the bone, end of the world or not. Suddenly, he heard moaning coming over the hill. Walter looked up and saw a zombie wearing a torn business suit stretching out his maggot infested arms and walking down the hill. Walter braced himself to kill once more, but he instinctively let himself drop on the ground as he saw the head of the zombie turn into red mist.

Without a second thought, Walter ran to the tree line of the forest. Bullets were flying around him, spraying dirt and patches of grass in the air as they buried itself in the earth. He could hear the shooter screaming something about dealing with the corrupted and doing God’s work. Was that guy actually laughing? Walter hid behind a thick tree stump. His mind was racing, frantically calculating, trying to see a solution. Zombies he could handle. Armed psychopaths were another story. He peeked around the tree stump and he saw his assailant. It was a priest.

His clothes were covered in blood. In one hand he held a book, probably a bible, and in the other a freaking machine gun. He must have a hell of a shot if he can neutralize a zombie from such a great distance, Walter thought to himself. The priest crouched next to the zombie that attacked Walter earlier. He opened the little book, said something and riddled its body with bullets until the zombie didn’t move anymore. The priest closed the book, closed his eyes for a moment and then looked at the forest with a creepy grin. Walter cursed softly and ran deeper into the forest as bullets were flying around him once more.

Branches, leaves and chips of bark showered on him. Occasionally the shower stopped for a moment only to begin shortly after. Wherever he went, wherever he tried to hide, the priest always seemed to know where he was. It was just a game to him, Walter thought as the laughs of the priest echoed around him. As he reached a clearing, he saw an old trailer standing in the shade of an oak tree. Without hesitation he opened the door and closed it with such a speed it even surprised himself. He crawled to the darkest corner and kept quiet. He even held his hands in front of his mouth and nose in order to keep the sound of his panting down.

“Oh sinner, where are you?”, the priest said in a childish voice. “We were just having fun.”

Walter remained quiet. His eyes were strained on the small, dirty windows that barely let sunlight through. He felt tears burning behind his eyes. Not because he was scared, but that he heard something else inside the trailer. He was so tired, so goddamn tired to keep running from everything and everyone. His eyes scanned the dark interior of the trailer. He heard gurgling from the far end where he could see the outlines of a bed. As he continued to stare at the sheets, he saw that it was moving slightly. The gurgling slowly intensified. Walter quietly shifted his weight, ready to silence the putrid creature if necessary.

“What do we have here?”, the priest said. His voice muffled to Walter’s ears.

Bullets ripped through the thin walls of the trailer exploding everything around Walter. The zombie was now loudly moaning, but it didn’t take long before Walter heard something splattering against the walls and on the floor. The priest stopped firing. Walter had to think fast. He could hear the heavy footsteps of the priest creeping towards the door. The bastard sure takes his time, Walter thought as he now stood next to the door, tightening his grip on his machete. The door slowly opened and the priest sniffed the air. Walter’s heart was racing as he stabbed the unsuspecting psycho priest in the neck. The priest tried to turn around, but Walter kicked him in his stomach making him falling against a table. Walter kicked the gun out of his hands and punched him several times against his jaws.

“Motherfucker!”, he screamed. “Why? What have I ever done to you?!”

The priest laughed as blood trickled down his chin. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You turned your back against God, creating this apocalypse. You need to be punished.”

Walter felt all his frustrations, aggression and anger he suppressed over the years suddenly floating back to the surface. “Sick fuck!”, he hissed and kicked against the head of the priest with his boot.
The priest was silent. Walter first thought that he was dead, but he softly heard him rasping. He grabbed the machine gun and walked out of the trailer. The forest was eerie silent. There were no birds singing and no insects flying around. They were coming. As if on cue, a zombie with a bloated stomach close to rupturing, shambled out of the bushes. He arms outstretched and his mouth agape. Walter aimed and pulled the trigger. He was a bit surprised by the fallback and the weight of the weapon, but it felt powerful. Just the thing he needed. The skull of the zombie exploded upon impact, splattering brains and skull fragments on the grass and shrubbery. From the corner of his eye, Walter saw distorted, humanoid shapes approaching.

He had no time to deal with them all. With a final glance at the unconscious priest, he ran to the forest, backtracking his steps. He heard what seemed hundreds of zombies marching through the forest, crudely plowing and snapping branches and small trees like a heard of elephants. They all were heading towards the trailer. As Walter finally reached the hill with the executed zombies, he heard a high pitched scream that made him smile. It wouldn’t take long for other zombies to join the feast until the priest was erased from existence.

But this time, he would never tell anyone about him.

He’s truly dead now.

Betty

2009-12-11T22:24:00.001+01:00

- - - - -
REBOOT SYSTEM_
ACCESSING ARCHIVES_
ACCESSING PERSONELL RECORDS_
ANALYZING DATABASE_
SUBJECT FOUND_
RECOVERING DATA_

* ERROR*

80% CORRUPTED_
ACCESSING REMAINING FILES_
RECONSTRUCTING “DIARY OF SHEPPARD”_
- - - - -

Day 45
Ever since I moved in here I haven’t slept more than two hours each night. It’s driving me fucking crazy. Every time I slowly drift of to sleep, I suddenly see the hideous faces and I hear the agonizing cries of the zombies I shot or encountered on my way down here. I’ve tried medication, but it only seems to intensify my dreams. I’m surviving on energy drinks and instant coffee, but I’m afraid that I’m starting to grow immune to the effects of a caffeine overdose. I can hardly keep my eyes open as I write this.

I checked the security system again today. In the control room I noticed that a few of the cameras were no longer operational. This made my heart skip a beat. I can’t go outside and fix the cameras with all of them walking around on the premises, so I’m hoping that the rest of the cameras will hold. At least until I have to go out for more supplies. On a brighter note, I counted the zombies and it seems that their numbers are decreasing. I wanted to inform Betty, but she was too busy with whatever the hell she’s doing nowadays to deal with me.

Fine.

Bitch.

Day 46
As I studied the footage of the week, I recognized one of the zombies. It was Sarah from Maintanance. Her stomach was nothing but a gaping hole infested with maggots and flies. She was shuffling near the entrance of the shelter, but she didn’t find it. As usual. They’re too stupid to find that button. They’re even too stupid to scratch their own ass. That was the only thing that stood out. Watching these footage is like watching the same episode of a television series over and over. It’s getting so bad that I can even predict their movements and actions.

Scene 1:
Zombie walks around, staring at nothing.

Scene 2:
Zombie moans, attracts other zombie(s) in the area.

Scene 3:
They all start to form a group and look for a prey that isn’t there.

Scene 4:
After bumping against everything and wandering aimlessly for a while they disperse.

Scene 5:
The routine starts all over again.

Do you understand what I’m enduring here? It’s because Betty insists that I do it, because I feel that I have more important things to do. Like finding a way to make contact with other survivors. Although the chances of finding anyone else is neglect able. 0.01 % Betty estimated. Well, I’m sorry that I still cherish some hope. That I want to believe that it’s not over. That this “foolish time wasting” is the only thing that prevented me from shooting myself. Out of all the people here, I thought you’d understand. But I guess we’re grown apart the last couple of weeks.

Day 47
It’s not that I don’t appreciate what she had done for me. I mean, it’s thanks to her that I was contacted and was able to escape before thing were starting to get out of hand. With minimum exposure to the undead, she was willing to let me in this bunker. I watched others who tried to get in fall victim to the corpses of the ones before them. At first I felt privileged and special, but that was before boredom and monotony set in and I realized that this so-called “last sanctuary” was nothing more that a huge tomb, filled with artifacts and memories of a world that is no more. Like the pharaoh’s from Egypt, I’m buried in one of the greatest technological accomplishment of man.

I still haven’t told her that I discovered the pens on the fifth floor. I accidently stumbled upon it when I pushed the wrong button of the elevator. At the moment the doors slid open, my nose was bombarded with a nauseating smell that made my lose my breakfast and lunch. At first I thought it were employees who were trapped when the power was temporarily out, but when I heard shuffling and chains rattling, I was too curious for my own good. I saw cages filled with zombies and robotic arms guiding them to rooms where they were experimented upon. Is Betty behind all of this? How would she react if I told her? Would I end up with a needle up my ass myself?

Day 48
I contacted with Betty. I asked her about the experiments and other curious events that had transpired before this conversation. She claimed that she was doing everything she could to safe mankind. I asked her if there was a security risk and she replied with “none”. I know that she has an analytical nature, but does she have to be so rude and impersonal? When I asked her what other things she was doing behind my back she excused herself and went back to work.

Fucking great.

I sure know how to deal with the ladies don’t I?

But of course, I don’t consider Betty a lady. She more a tool of science and I seriously think she sees herself as such. Why have small talk, when you can safe the world right? Those zombies outside aren’t killing themselves and there’s still no cure, so who has time to relax?

Day 49
The footage of today had something interesting. The zombies were constantly staring at the sky. I adjusted the cameras and discovered that the corpses were looking at the vultures who were circling above the compound. Some of the zombies stretched their arms, trying to grab them. I think it’s no surprise when I tell you that they didn’t catch anything. It was funny as hell though. But this raises a really important question? Is it possible that they’re changing their diet from solely human to animal? If this is true, it would be a lot safer to go out and easier to distract them. With cattle for example. If we can find some...

I consulted with Betty about this and she was intrigued as she saw the footage. It’s very hard to read her mind, but I think she was optimistic too. She said that my hypothesis was possible. That the lack of food acquired the zombies to change their preference of human flesh. She didn’t want to get my hopes up, but it certainly is the best news ever since the undead outbreak began. She only had to ruin it by giving the chances of this being true (10%).

Day 50
Betty finally made her intentions clear about experimenting on the zombies downstairs. She said that she wanted to gather as much information as possible to develop more effective methods of disposing them and maybe developing a cure. She presented her research to me and it sounded really interesting and plausible. But it required more people and resources and Betty is pessimistic, again, about achieving the goals she had set out to accomplish within five years. I immediately took this opportunity to ask her if she wanted to assist me in helping to get in contact with other survivors. She reluctantly agreed.

Fuck yeah.

Day 51
Had a bit of problems with the electricity today. Because I’m such a gentleman, I fixed the problems way before Betty started with her work, so she hadn’t really noticed anything. But I’m worried about the systems. I’m a researcher, not a maintenance worker. I don’t have the knowledge or the experience to deal with such delicate and complex machinery. I have studied the manuals carefully, so I know the basics, but I’m nowhere near as handy as Sarah was. She could fix everything within a couple of minutes. I swear she was a freaking genius with this sort of thing.

Back to the zombies. I’ve noticed a certain change in their behavior. They seem more alert, more active for some reason. They only react like this when prey is near. If they’ve lost their appetite for me, it’s maybe because an animal is near. If not, maybe people are nearby. I’ve activated the transmission beacon that Betty re-installed and re-configured for civilian frequencies. I played the pre-recorded message and waited for a response. I didn’t get any. I must have waited for hours before I gave up.

Day 52
I have no time to write much. The zombies in the pens below have become highly aggressive and hyperactive. They bash their heads open against the glass and try to claw their way through the fencing. I need to put them down. All 94 of them.

Day 53
Finally got the chance to sit down and recollect my thoughts. Despite Betty’s protests, I exterminated every zombie there. Even the so-called “domesticated” ones. Because they were so fluid all of the sudden, it was trickier than usual. After shooting the last zombie Betty was outraged, threatening me to get out of the compound. Yeah she was angry, but I know that she won’t let me go. She can’t stay here alone. She needs me. She needs the company. She needs constant feedback.

I’m too tired to write anything today...

Day 54
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Betty has gone haywire. She’s tempering with the life systems. To make matters even worse, she opened the entrance and blared the sirens. Zombies are now pouring in from the entire area. I could grab some ammunition and weapons before that floor was hermetically closed. I tried to talk Betty out of it, but she made new calculations and apparently I’m no longer fit to be in her company. I’ve distracted her by smashing some control panels and computers, but it won’t hold her attention for long.

That means that this will be my last entry before I get the hell out of here.

Here’s a warning for anyone that comes in here years after I’m gone. Don’t reboot Betty. She might be the best artificial intelligence out there, but she’s the real threat. The zombies outside are nothing compared to her.

I repeat: do not reboot B.E.T.T.Y

- - - - -
COPYING DATA_
DATA TRANSFER SUCCESFUL_
DELETE RECORDS?_
Y
ARE YOU SURE?_
Y
FILE SUCCESFULY DELETED_
SHUTTING DOWN SYSTEM_
- - - - -

Entry # 15

2009-11-09T21:12:00.000+01:00

As the world is crumbling down on its foundations, I’m lying in bed with a flu. Not THE flu, but feels like I’m dying nonetheless. Have you ever tried to check your barricades and supplies when the room is spinning and you feel like throwing up the first decent meal you had in days?

To pass the time, I’ve written down some of the experiences I had ever since this whole thing began. It’s not much, but it’s still a lot more than I initially anticipated. It’s remarkable how many (suppressed) memories come back once you sit down, or in my case, lie down and take your time to think about it.

Yeah, I’m still checking the radio and television in the hope of discovering something, a faint shimmer of hope that someone else like me is out there, trying to survive. Trying to find a companion. The world is suddenly very big and dangerous when you have to face it alone. I’ve thought about the concept of the last living man on Earth, but it scared me so much that I was almost had a panic attack.

I once saw a zombie carrying a blood splattered sign that said: “God no long watches us.” That made me start thinking about religion. I’m normally not a religious type, but in order to preserve my remaining sanity, I was willing to give it a try. It had been years since I’ve read it and I still don’t understand why so many people found comfort in it. I really don’t see it.

My head is pounding and my stomach seems like it has shrunken to a size of a peanut. I don’t know why the pills aren’t working. Fucking pharmaceutical companies. Seems like they were lying after all. Not even a placebo effect. Somehow I’m starting to worry about my illness. What if it’s THE flu after all? What if it’s airborne now?

If that’s the case, I’m fucked. Totally fucked.

Has anybody noticed that the sky is filled with birds and flies? I’m wondering why that is? Are they attracted to the zombies that are lumbering in my backyard? Or are they after me? Am I the only source of food left in the world? Does the fever cook my flesh and make me more appealing?

I drank a whole bottle of water, but my throat is still dry and sore. Now my stomach is complaining. I wonder if the zombies are complaining about the lack of food or the way they smell. I’ve looked out the window today. There are three zombies staring at the windows now. Their empty eye sockets are piercing through me and their moaning seem to suck the air out of me.

Ugh. I’m going to bed. Maybe things will be better tomorrow.

Scrambled brains with roasted flesh on the side please...

2009-10-31T17:18:00.000+01:00

I don’t think I can say something new about this whole mess what you haven’t already seen on the television, or worse, experienced first hand. My name is Bill, yes, not a very original name, but it does the trick. Anyway, I’m a trucker that stopped at this fine little dinner next to the highway on the day the world ended.

Everybody knew something was coming. Even I had the shivers when I looked at the news that reported increasing cases of extremely contagious rabies that swept the globe. I can still see the waitresses glued on the small television screen in the corners as they poured coffee until it spilled on the table on in the lap of a costumer. Yeah, it was scary, but I really didn’t think about it that much. I was on the road most of the time, so I was relatively safe from infection. Until I stop to take a leak or to grab something to eat. They said that the people infected with the disease were always scratching. So people were getting paranoid and slightly panicked if someone scratched his head.

I entered this dinner on a cold summer morning around 9 o’clock. I was greeted by an old hag named Susie (she lying in the far corner to your left with her head cut off) and she poured me my first coffee. We were having some small talk as more people slowly poured in. I finished my breakfast and went over to the men’s room. Well, I did my business and as I stared at my reflection in the filthy mirror, I heard a scream and people yelling. I opened the door and saw a man biting one of the waitresses in her arm. He held her arm tightly and continued to rip flesh and skin. Nobody did anything. They all ran to the corners or out of the dinner to their cars and trucks. They knew all to well what this meant.

I ran towards the man and kicked him off the chair. The man fell on the floor like a rag doll. The waitress cradled her arm, crying uncontrollably as blood seeped on her dress and fell on the floor. I stared at the other visitors who were repulsed by the gore fest that had played before their eyes. One of them even puked. The waitress collapsed on the floor and stared convulsing. The man regained his balance and attacked me. I kicked him once more and punched him on his left cheek. The man didn’t budge. It was only a minor discomfort to him and he attacked me over and over again.

I screamed for help and I saw a waitress running towards the phone. As I struggled with the man, gasps came from the terrified crowd as the waitress with her chewed off arm started to crawl towards me. Susie jumped from behind the counter and hit her with a frying pan, distracting her from me. Panic was now complete as a car collided against the dinner, shattering the windows. The driver flew trough the dinner, hitting the counter so hard that his skull shattered, spraying blood and brains in the air. The other passengers were crawling out of the car, entering the dinner.

A man from the crowd finally came to help as he hit the man’s head with a chair. The man introduced himself as Ben and he grabbed my arm, pulling me away from the chaos into the kitchen. I could hear the screams of people struggling to escape or that were attacked. I addressed the wounds Ben got from the flying shreds of glass. With some table cloth I was able to bandage the largest cuts. I peeked around the corner when I heard no more sounds of distress. Ben offered to go through the backdoor, but I was so stubborn to say that I had to help the survivors.

“Suit yourself”, he said and disappeared. Guess he wasn’t that much of a good guy. I entered the dinner and saw blood smeared on the walls, splattered on the floor, body parts lying on tables, to sum it all up: a bloody mess (pun intended). The only things that moved were the infected, who were, now that I’ve seen them in all their grotesqueness, definitely not alive. How does one walk that calm with a ripped off arm. How can anyone walk with a broken neck? They noticed me and started to make their way to me. I saw Susie, one of the most unselfish people of the bunch I’m sure, also walking between them. One of he eyes was dangling out of its socked and her lips were ripped to shreds. I grabbed all the kitchen supplies that could be used as a weapon and I attacked.

Morality was no issue as soon as I realized that they were basically the spawn of Satan. I hacked, I slashed and found quickly the best way to deal with them. Bashing their brains in or severing their heads from their bodies. When I developed a rhythm, everything went smoothly. Within fifteen minutes, I was standing knee deep in body parts and gore. I never felt this dirty and alive at the same time. From the corner of my eye I saw that I had attracted more of them outside. They were staggering towards the dinner with such a slow pace that I was ashamed for the human race that so many fell victim to them.

They might be slow and dumb, but when they’re with many, there’s no stopping them. I tried to barricade the place, but the hole that the car made was too big to cover it up so I was forced to hide in the small office behind the kitchen. I locked the door and waited until they were gone. I figured that they would get bored quickly when they found out that they couldn’t walk through the door, but I was wrong.

As I write this, they’re still pounding on the door and I’m trapped. I guess I should’ve taken Ben’s offer. I wonder where he is now. The only things around here for miles are farms. Oh well, at least he’s safe when the night falls. If they’re a bit like us, they will be fumbling in the dark and oppose no threat. That’s when I’m going to make a run for it. There’s a small window in here that’s just big enough for me to squeeze through. I reckon that there are probably enough cars on the parking lot that I can hotwire and get out of here.

If you read this, it means that I have either succeeded triumphantly, or failed miserably.

Either way, I really have to get out of this claustrophobic office.

I hope you don’t mind.

Bill.

Beneath the waves

2009-10-30T10:58:00.001+01:00

1. The road to madness
Travis took another long drag from his cigarette, savoring the taste and aroma because he knew that he would be forced to do without it for a couple of hours. He stepped out of his car, holding a newspaper on top of his head to shield himself from the worst of the rain. It had been raining heavily non-stop for a week now. News reports about massive flooding, people trapped, power shortages and even some religious nuts saying that this was a new Great Flood was becoming more common and lost its impact on Travis a long time ago.

He had some trouble battling the water that tried to enter his house himself, but he didn’t complain about it to anybody, not even to his colleagues. It was just a minor convenience in Travis’ life that was already filled with enough crap now that he was in a divorce with Jane. He finally had crossed the parking lot, but the newspaper did little to protect him. It has transformed into a squishy grey blob in his hands. Disgusted by the slippery texture, he threw it in the nicely trimmed bushes next to the entrance of the asylum.

He ran his hands through his wet hairs, trying to make it look a little decent as he opened the ridiculously small entrance door and walked over to the reception. Behind the counter was a nurse that looked like she has seen a lot over the years. Her wrinkled skin, bags under her eyes and crudely applied make-up made Travis suspect that this job was a lot harder than just helping visitors. The fluorescent lights only accentuated her less appealing features.

“Hi. Detective Travis Borne from Rose Valley Police Department.” Travis flashed his badge. “I’m here to see Dr. Verne.”

The nurse nodded and grabbed the phone next to her. “Would you please sign here?”, she said to Travis and handed him a list on a clipboard where he had to write his name and signature.

“Do you have a pen?”, Travis sighed slightly embarrassed. He couldn’t believe that he didn’t bring one himself, but when does one use a pen in this day and age with all the digital technology available?

The nurse handed him a pen as she was having a conversation with what Travis assumed was Dr. Verne’s secretary. He signed the form and gave it back to the nurse. The nurse tried to give him a friendly smile, but it looked more like as if she had stepped in something than sincere kindness.

“Okay.”, the nurse said. “If you wait over there, Dr. Verne will pick you up”, and she pointed at a couple of old chairs that were propped against a white wall full of cracks and an large framed picture of the asylum in its glory days, which was somewhere in the 30’s.

Travis sat down and glanced at the magazines on the coffee table in front of him. Most of them were torn and discolored, but there were a few relatively new. Too bad they’re only gossip magazines and local tabloids. He watched a couple of visitors, probably doctors because regular people aren’t allowed to enter the detention area, passing the security gate under the vigilant eyes of the guards. Travis could see the harsh light of monitor screens reflect on one of the guard’s glasses. It would give him a more sinister and stern look if only he wasn’t so fat and had a thick walrus-like mustache.

“Detective Borne?”, a female voice suddenly said.

Travis looked up and saw a tall, blonde woman standing beside him. “Dr. Verne”, he said and reached out his hand.

“Yes, I’m surprised that you figured that out so quick. Almost everybody thinks that I’m a secretary of some sort.”, Verne laughed as she shook hands with Travis. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to him.”

Travis nodded and followed Verne to the security gate. He handed his weapon and other items that could be used as a weapon entered the labyrinth of an asylum. The narrow and dimly lit halls created a creepy atmosphere that was only intensified by the echoing screams of some of the inmates. It reminded Travis of the haunted house attractions when he was a kid. Always frightened of what kind of monstrosity might pop out from behind a corner.

Travis deliberately didn’t look through the small windows of the cells. He knew more than enough that it was better not to. Occasionally they passed a few members of the medical staff, a doctor or guards. They all had a monotone and slightly depressed expression. As if they were tainted by the patients. Eventually Travis saw a couple of guards standing near a cell. They looked up and nodded when they heard Verne approaching.

“Detective, I heard that you know the procedures we maintain?”

Travis nodded. “Yes, unfortunately I had the pleasure to meet a patient or two in the past.”

“You should know that we normally don’t permit entrance to the cells themselves, but since your superiors insisted and the patient didn’t had any objections against it, we made an exception. The patient has been moved to a visit room where you can interrogate him. Did I make myself clear?”, Verne said sternly.

“Crystal”, Travis said and entered the cell. “Time to find out what the hell happened”, he whispered to himself.

2. Twisted minds and dark hearts
The air was moist and hot. Travis felt like he walked into a tropical greenhouse like those in the zoo. He always had trouble adjusting to the climate in there and this cell, not larger than 6 feet wide and 8 feet long, was a miniature attack on his lungs. He coughed and looked if he could find a clue, a scribble or a seemingly insignificant object that could tell more about the mysterious Joseph Adkins.

Travis saw a few dusty, old books lying on the nightstand. They were personal belongings of Adkins since each first page was initialed with “J.A.” and the year of purchase. The books were not unusual and dealt with several archeological subjects especially marine archeology which was something Travis never heard up. He opened the thickest book and started thumbing through it.

Verne also entered the cell and peered over Travis’ shoulder. “Have you found what your looking for?”, she asked with curiosity as she stared at a drawn picture of a gigantic squid attacking a ship.

Travis shook his head. “Not yet.”

Verne looked at her watch and gestured at the guards that they could go. Travis was unaware of Verne’s impatience as his eyes glide over the yellowed pages, examining the scribbling Adkins had written in red ink between the lines or beneath illustrations. Many of it was illegible but what he could read were references to other literature sources or locations. As he closed the book, something slipped out of it and clattered loudly on the floor. Verne crouched and picked up a necklace of a metallic little statue in the shape of a skull with tentacles on top of it.

Verne looked puzzled. “What’s this?”

“Turn it upside down.”, Travis suddenly said and he grabbed a smaller book that almost fell apart from old age. “Look, it’s the same as this drawing.”, Travis said and he pointed at a faded illustration of a man dressed in robes wearing the same necklace.

“Some kind of religion or cult.”, Verne said to herself. “I should have seen it coming. I don’t know why I agreed to let him have his books.”

“Why?”, Travis asked as he studied the walls and ceiling. Besides concrete that was crumbling from water damage and wear and tear, there was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Isn’t that obvious? You know that he talks about demons and monstrosities killing his wife and colleagues since he was found wandering aimlessly on the beach a couple of miles from here. It’s likely that his hallucinations and obsessions are derived from these books.”

“Have you ever seen something like this?”, Travis asked referring to Adkins’ sudden insanity.

“Well I don’t know the psychological history of Mr. Adkins. It’s possible that he was already under treatment for his illness, so I can’t give you more information about that until we’ve found out more. It is however possible that a heavily traumatic event can cause mental instabilities, however something like this is unusual.”

“How does a renowned archeologist turn into a crazed psychopath overnight?”, Travis mumbled to himself. It was too soft for Verne to hear.

After another quick glance, Travis gave up. Besides the books and the weird necklace there was nothing else that could explain it all. Not that he expected to find anything to solved everything, but still it would be nice if they found something more concrete than vague books with weird scribbling and a possible symbol of a satanic cult. Travis grabbed the books and necklace as possible evidence. You never know with these kind of cases.

“Maybe he can tell us more about this”, Travis said.

“Perhaps”, Verne said. “But I think it would only make him more agitated if you would show it in the middle of your interview. You never now how someone will react to objects that are the center of their delusions.”

“I’ll keep that in mind”, Travis said.

Verne grabbed his sleeve and pulled him towards her. “It’s not an advice”, she said with a stern voice. “I will not allow it. Understand? Or else I can’t guarantee your safety if Mr. Adkins decides to attack you all of the sudden. The guard can’t always prevent the patient from harming the guests so we want to prevent it as much as possible.”

They both stared at each other intensely for a while until a guard interrupted them saying that everything was ready for the interview. They both walked through the same scary corridors that were separated by gates and bars. Lighting flashed through the windows, casting weird evil looking shadows on the floor and walls. Travis kept thinking about the illustrations in the books and how they seemed to scare him. Nothing ever scared him like this before. It was on a more subconscious level. Some instinct that told Travis not to get involved with this. A feeling that told him that he had to escape now that he still had the chance.
But he kept on walking, somehow attracted to several of the books Dr. Verne was holding in het hands. Her hands that seemed so fragile and soft. Travis shook his head at the weird and perverse strain of thought that suddenly entered his mind. He had to concentrate. More screams coming from within the heart of the building. As if an animal was screaming for its life. And yet again, Verne and the guard that followed them didn’t seem to pay attention. As they turned a corner, he could hear the rain clattering against the barred windows. It almost sounded like drums from an ancient ritual.

They entered another part of the building. It was more recently build. It had more light and was far more comfortable to get lost in than that damp dungeon they left behind. Travis saw various signs pointing in opposite directions that he was glad that he didn’t had to find it on his own. He was always bad with directions. One time he had to ask several times the directions to the hospital where his wife was about to give birth to their son. Sure, they had just moved to Rose Valley, but that was no excuse if you’re a cop.

“We’re here.”, Verne said, she stared at his pockets and hands. “You know what I said about the objects. Hand them to me.”

“Sure”, Travis replied and he gave her the necklace and the thick book.

“Good luck.”, Verne said in a soft, gentle voice as the guard closed the heavy door behind them.

3. Submerged and repressed
Travis squinted his eyes as he was temporarily blinded by the extremely harsh fluorescent lights that made everything look sickly pale. He saw the guard looking at him and the patient closely like an impatient dog that could be released at any moment. The room was awfully depressing. The ceiling was warped from the water damage and covered in fungus. The tiles on the walls were cracked, discolored and there were occasionally a few little splatters resembled dried blood. Travis was suddenly more content with the small claustrophobic interrogation rooms at the precinct. At least those were cleaner.

Travis was slowly to the table in the center of the room. He examined the man that was sitting at the table. Dr. Adkins looked nothing like the pictures he saw in magazines and books when he was researching his case. He looked a lot thinner and his hair was almost completely grey. Combined with a beard of a few days and his dull expression, it evoked a little sympathy with Travis. But experience thought him that he should never judge a man by his appearance. He dragged the chair away from the table and slowly sat down.

“Dr. Joseph Adkins, my name is detective Travis Borne from Rose Valley Police Department.”, he stopped for a moment to wait for a response, but Adkins stared at his handcuffed hands that were lying on the table. “I’m here to find out what happened exactly a few days ago when you were found on the beach a few miles from here.”

Adkins suddenly raised his head and looked in Travis’ eyes as if he was assessing him, trying to figure out if he could be trusted. “You don’t want to know. Believe me.”, Adkins said softly.

“But I’m here because I want to.”, Travis replied. He could try testing his patience, but Travis had enough experience and more than enough time.

“I already gave my statement to Dr. Verne.”, Adkins still said softy, as if he was scared that the guard or someone else was listening to their conversation. If you could call this a conversation.
“Yes, I know and heard it, but there are still a few blanks that needs to be solved.”

“What kind of blanks?”, Adkins said, this time more louder and suspicious.

“Well, let’s start at the beginning. You were found wandering on the beach screaming and calling for help. Your clothes were covered in blood and you held a large bloodied blade in your hands. You almost attacked a tourist with her dog. Your boat was found not far from where you were found by the tourist. The boat was deserted with no sign of your wife and your two colleagues who were on an expedition with you.”

Adkins remained quiet, but Travis could see that he clenched his fists. He was prepared for the worst.

“What kind of expedition Dr. Adkins?”

Adkins’ fists relaxed a bit. “We were researching the Spanish Galleon a few miles from here that we found a couple of months ago.”

“Your expertise is marine archeology, correct?”, Travis asked, with the strange books in the back of his head.

“Yes.” Adkins replied. “I invited my wife to come with me because she always wanted to see me action.” Adkins smiled briefly, but quickly returned to his neutral face.

“And your colleagues?”, Travis asked.

“They were there for the same reason as I. To study the Gallion and it’s contents.”

“Contents?”

Adkins shifted his weight and leaned to Travis, who was still cautious. “According to legends they brought treasures with them from not so well-known tribe of Indians, the Wayccans. So far, we only found a few highly damaged statues and fragments of pottery in this area, but it all indicated that they were a sophisticated and advanced civilization. This was the perfect opportunity to get to learn more about them.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”, Travis asked when Adkins continued to stare at nothing.

“Yes... more... than one should.”, Adkins whispered. He suddenly jumped out of his chair and screamed: “Where is the necklace!? Is it safe? Tell me it’s safe!”

The guard grabbed him from behind and pressed him against a wall. Adkins continued to scream towards Travis who was still surprised by his sudden outburst. “They will come from the murky depths of the sea to avenge everyone that interferes with their Ritual! ”

“I’m sorry detective.”, Verne said as she barged into the room with a syringe in her hands. “Visiting time is over I’m afraid.”

“The Ritual! He will rise to wreak havoc and end all this is! They are His servants! They will...” Adkins slurred and collapsed in the muscled arms of the guard who carefully dragged him out of the room. Verne shook her head in disappointment.

“There were signs that he was getting better”, she said. “Come on, let’s talk in my office.”
The office was at the end of a long hallway that was decorated with paintings on both sides. Or pictures that were supposed to be art. Travis wasn’t really a fan of it. That the pictures were made by artist who themselves suffered from mental illnesses, did little to change his mind. Travis shivered as he suddenly felt cold. It disturbed him a little. Especially after Adkins ranting about the end of the world. He didn’t know why he was so affected by it. It never bothered him in the past.

Verne noticed this and smiled as she retrieved keys from her pocket. “Sorry, the heating here is probably as ancient as that Galleon on the bottom of the ocean.”

Verne opened the door and turned on the lights. It was a spacious office with a large desk in the center and bookcases and shelves against the walls. In front of the desk were two luxurious chairs and in the corner next to a file cabinet was an expensive looking couch and a coffee table. All the dark wood made Travis feel as if he was in the library of a mansion somewhere in foggy England than the office of a doctor in an insane asylum. Travis heard soft clattering against the windows on the background and he could faintly see between the blinds that the relentless rain was still going on outside. It certainly created the right atmosphere, Travis thought as he sat down on the couch.

Verne dropped the books and the necklace on the coffee table. It was probably the lights that played tricks on his mind, but Travis swore that he saw the necklace tremble a little. The books also seemed more sinister than when he last saw it in Verne’s hands.

“What do you think about all of this?”, Travis asked to Verne who sat down next to him with Adkins’ file. She sighed.

“I really thought he was getting better. Yesterday we had a delightful conversation about his job as an archeologist and even when I discussed his latest findings, he didn’t say anything about his hallucinations of demons chasing him for sacrilege .”

“Demons?”

“Yeah, according to him they are...” Verne was thumbing through the file. “Ah, here it is: The salt corpses of those that have sought Him will take vengeance upon those that lured them out of the sea and on the land. They're already dead and cannot die, they will only find rest when He rises.”

Travis was quiet for a moment. Was Adkins serious? His condition must be worse than he first perceived. Why would he, a man of science and reason succumb to superstitious folklore? He knew enough. Adkins wasn’t a reliable source. He probably went insane for reasons unknown and killed his wife and colleagues and dumped them into the ocean.

“I think I have seen enough.”, Travis said and he climbed out of the couch. “I’ll take the books and necklace with me as evidence although I’m sure what’s the point of it.”

Verne nodded. “Okay. Let me know if you have any questions. You have my card.”

Suddenly, a loud screech echoed through the entire building, almost shattering the windows. Travis and Verne covered their ears, but it was too strong. Travis couldn’t locate the source. It sounded like it was coming from every conceivable direction. The sound of waves crashing against the office door and the stench of salt and rotting fish that slowly entered his nostrils made Travis’ heart skip a beat.

Could it be?

4. Forgotten fear rediscovered
Adkins slowly opened his eyes, waking up from a drug induced sleep to find himself bound to his bed. He struggled to get free, but it was futile. Maybe when he was young he could have struggled free, but now he was too exhausted to do pretty much anything. He stared at the ceiling of his cell like he always did. Studying the cracks, holes and various kinds of fungi and insects that seemed to thrive in this environment. It took him a while to realize that the lights in the hallway were out. That was strange. He turned he head and looked out of the window to see that the lights outside were also off.

There was something strange about the sky too. Despite being night, the sky seemed very bright. It looked as if it was illuminated by something more powerful than the moon. The clouds were sickly green and were thickly packed together and yet it seemed fluid. It reminded Adkins of the pea soup his mother always used to make when he came home after playing an afternoon in the snow. Suddenly he remembered the conversation he had with the detective.

The drug was still having an affect on his mind, so it took him a while to get all the pieces together. A sense of dread and fear slowly seeped back into his mind, flooding his subconscious with images of what he had seen at the bottom of the ocean. He began the shiver and tears began to burn behind his eyes when he relived the experience of seeing his colleagues being dragged in the murky depths by something humanoid. What it was he didn’t know, he only remembered something shiny on the bodies of the things that attacked them as soon as they discovered the big chest in the galleon.

He still felt the stinging cold of the water and the sounds that were beneath him and seemed to come closer very fast. Too fast for a marine predator. Too fast for something natural. Luckily, he could safely climb onboard. As he looked back, he could see that the things stopped, floating between the boundary of the clear blue water near the surface and the pitch blackness near the bottom. They looked with curiosity and fear at the bright sunlight before they decided to disappear back in the depths.

Although his wife was skeptical about his story about the creatures, she was there to comfort him and to get him back on his feet. Before they were attacked, Adkins was able to grab an artifact that was lying on the chest. To his amazement, he was still holding on the amulet tightly as if his subconscious told him that terrible things would happen if he dropped it on dry land, or the thing that came as close, the deck of a ship. As his wife called the mainland for help, he grabbed the nearest liquor bottle to ease up. He was still nervous as hell and he couldn’t help but feel that this wasn’t over. Far from over.

They were probably gathering reinforcements or were planning an assault. Whatever those creatures were, they seemed persistent to stop Adkins from reaching the surface. They wouldn’t stop for this obstacle without another try. And they didn’t. The sky suddenly turned dark grey and a heavy rainstorm erupted almost immediately after. As the water clattered on the deck, making everything slippery, Adkins noticed that he hadn’t heard his wife’s voice. He dropped the bottle and ran to the living room finding his wife lying dead on the floor.

He saw several muddy footprints leading from the window to his wife. The footprints seemed to be made by a human, but it looked like two toes were missing. He took the microphone from his wife’s hands and tried to call someone. Slimy hands suddenly yanked him back. Adkins buried his elbow in his assailants stomach which seemed to easy his grip. He struggled loose and ran to the deck. The sea was rough and waves that seemed to increase in volume and strength, crashed without mercy against the small ship. He turned around and was suddenly struck by a blunt object from behind.

The last thing he remembered was waking up at the beach. With the amulet hanging on his neck. The rest was a blur and it took him too much energy to recall it. He had quickly made the connection between the creatures and the amulet. He tried to get rid of it, but somehow he always found it back in his pocket or somewhere near his feet. He looked at his nightstand and was shocked to find out that his books and the amulet were missing.

A wave of panic washed over him and with regained strength, he struggled once again to get free from his restriction. A loud screech broke his concentration and the building seemed to vibrate as salt air carried the stench of rotten fish in Adkins cell. He could hear water quickly flooding the floor and a thick layer of fog suddenly obscured Adkins’ vision. The research he had done in the days he was incarcerated here, came back to him as the drugs finally wore off.

His heart was racing and he slowly shook his head as shadows appeared in front of the small window of the door. Glowing green eyes stared at him and he heard claws scraping at the metal door. He wanted to call for help, but he knew that no one would come. Because if they’re here, they’re already dead. Like the prophecy said: “The salt corpses of those that have sought Him will take vengeance upon those that lured them out of the sea and on the land. They're already dead and cannot die, they will only find rest when He rises.”

The door opens and the stench of their bodies made Adkins gag. He closed his eyes as he could hear their feet splashing towards him. Rasping and gurgling, they tried to breath in our atmosphere. Adkins whispered a prayer and clenched his jaws. Bony hands slowly wrapped around his throat and Dr. Joseph Adkins gave a final scream as he could see their glowing, undead eyes even in the darkness of the void.

5. The awakening
Travis couldn’t believe what he was seeing as mud and various kind of rotting flesh streamed in the office of Dr. Verne. The stench was unbelievable and mad Travis’ eye sting and tears were obscuring his vision. Verne had climbed on top of the coffee table unsure what to think of all this. She looked out of the window and saw that the clouds seemed to glow strange and she was entranced by it. Her thoughts seemed to drift away as she gazed at the clouds slowly evaporate, replacing with something organic. Something gigantic.

Travis leaned against the door, trying to fight against whatever tried to get in the office. He knew instinctively that it wasn’t human. He could hear scraping on the other side and as he listened more closely seemed to hear someone speaking in Spanish. It was very faint and distorted by loud rasping and gurgling. Travis heard Verne say something about “being very beautiful and ancient”, but he didn’t care. Another impact, made him step back. Huge cracks and groaning indicated that the door wasn’t holding much longer. Suddenly a high pitched scream that seemed to come from everywhere and it made everything vibrate slightly.

The things on the other side stopped and seemed to chant and sing. It sounded otherworldly and sparked Travis’ curiosity enough to open the door slightly and peek at their attackers. His eyes went wide when he saw dark shapes of putrid creatures, glowing eyes that wore what looked like rusted armor encrusted with coral and other marine life forms. Suddenly, Travis made the connection with what Dr. Adkins had written about what killed their colleagues and wife. The creatures formed a small circle and folded their hands in prayer. Travis saw their mouths move and he felt an entity that seemed to be much older than the first human watching over them.

Figuring that this was the best chance to escape, he turned around to grab Dr. Verne only to discover that she was staring outside of he window with vacant eyes. Her mouth seemed to be moving, but there was no sound. Scared of what might lurk beyond the window, he slowly turned his head and was confronted with one of the most amazing and fantastic thing he’d ever laid his eyes upon. He looked at it for no more that five seconds, but the appearance was already burned in his mind and it seemed to affect his mind. A sudden headache overcame him and he grabbed his head and fell on his knees in agony.

As he carefully opened his eyes, he saw an alternate version of reality. Everything was the same, but somehow different. The walls seemed to pulsate like it had a heartbeat, the floor seemed to ripple as he moved his feet. Strange symbols appeared on the ceiling as the creatures walked into the office. Their once horrific decomposing appearance was now replaced with what best could be described as a ghost-like appearance. They seemed transparent, but Travis could still make out several details. Their armor was restored and their faces were no longer skulls. Their eyes however, were gaping holes that seemed to suck Travis’ sanity in as he stared at them.

“Give us the amulet. He calls for us.”, the spirits said together and one of them stretched out his arm.

Travis looked on the coffee table, where Verne was surrounded by a strange glow as she was citing passages from an alien language that was dead before man started to speak. The amulet was lying near her feet. He walked to the table, struggling to keep his balance. The air was stale and smelled like rust and something he couldn’t place. It was difficult for Travis to breath properly, but Verne didn’t seem to notice it as she rambled on without interruption. He grabbed the amulet that was getting warm as he touched it and he let it dangle for a while.

Verne’s alien language slowly faded away and was replaced with loud breathing. Too loud and too deep for any human to make. He looked at the spirits and through them to see the giant creature standing next to the office. The wall collapsed and large claws reached inside, going through the spirits who didn’t seem to mind and continued to stare at Travis intensely. Without giving it any thought, he threw the amulet towards the spirits who seemed to explode upon impact. Their shrieks made the room distort even more and the symbols on the ceiling glowed. Verne, exhausted by her trance, fell of the table and hit her head loudly against her desk. Travis glanced briefly, but was drawn back to the giant that had taken the amulet and crushed it in his hand.

Tentacles suddenly reached inside, grabbing Travis and Verne. Travis tried to get a hold of something, but it was too powerful and he found himself hanging high above the roof of the asylum. He caught a glimpse of Rose Valley. The city was flooded completely. Only the rooftops of the highest buildings were visible. The water that engulfed the entire region turned red and creatures, each more gruesome and bizarre than the Spanish corpses, emerged and shrieked in praise of the giant that was now holding him. Verne was the first to disappear in its mouth.

A muffled scream was the last Travis heard of her. He doubted that she fully understood what was happening even though he himself had enormous difficulty to grasp the events that had transpired in such a short time. Maybe it was better for her to end like this. The creature was now holding Travis in front of his mouth. He smiled and closed his eyes as he slid down his throat and felt his soul being torn away from his body and was absorbed by the creature.

Dr. Joseph Adkins wasn’t mad, but then again, who of us hasn’t seen or experienced anything that defied explanation or our wildest expectations? Does it not make us mad if we continue to deny our irrelevance in this universe and rule this world with an incorrectly acquired arrogance and power? Maybe we’re all crazy and this a part of a cruel game orchestrated by the gods who laugh at our stupidity. Deep inside of us, buried in our mind, there’s a part that wants to believe this. Do you?