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I couldn't think of a title... anyway, I really need to get back to writing... oh well... I hate the ending to this one... probably because I don't really want it to be the ending, but I want to continue the story... I just can't think of way to do so without butchering it. I always screw up anything longer than a few paragraphs (any advice on how to not do that would be appreciated by the way.) So... yeah... if you guys want me to I might write another one, but I dunno.
When we were little, our parents told us that we could do anything if we only believed that we could. Sitting here, watching the others sleep, I have begun to have my doubts.
They are scratching softly at the door. It makes it hard for me to sleep, but no one else even seems to notice it any more. I can’t understand that. I wonder if they can hear it in their dreams.
I’m curious about them, those things outside. I’ve never seen one before. All I know is what people tell me. My uncle says that he saw one once, that they look like huge bats. Mr. Marco says that they have tentacles. Steven says they’re vampires. Everyone says something different. Everyone agrees, though, you shouldn’t go out at night or they’ll get you.
They are scratching at the boards over the windows now. Mr. Marco is turning over in his sleep like he always does. My little brother is smiling. He is probably dreaming about Mom. I wonder if dawn will come any time soon.
Without even knowing that I had fallen asleep, I’m woken up. The scratching has moved again; it’s coming from under the floor. I try not to, but I can’t stop myself from crying. It wakes up the others and they try to comfort me, tell me that it’s all going to be alright. Then they hear the scratching too, and they start to look as bad as I feel. There was a family staying on the floor below us. It hurts knowing we are the only ones left.
As soon as my little brother realizes what is going on, he tears up as well. He doesn’t cry, though. That’s just the kind of kid he is. Mr. Marco makes a half-hearted attempt at cheering the two of us up, but it seems awkward and misplaced to me. I mean, people just died.
It occurs to me how they didn’t make any sound at all. I wonder if they were even awake when it happened. We are all wondering how they got in to begin with. We would see in the morning, though.
It doesn’t take long for us to calm down, but no one goes back to sleep. We all just wait around for dawn, not even really saying anything for a long time.
“What time is it?” Steven asks from the corner he usually sleeps in. It’s too dark to see him. Mr. Marco turns on the light on his wristwatch, and for a little while the room is illuminated in a faint blue light. Everyone looks haggard in it.
“Two Thirty-Seven.” He replies and the light shuts off. I can still see everyone but Steven in the faint moonlight coming in from under the door.
“Well,” Steven replies. He sounds as if he wants to say something else, but just leaves it at that.
I’m not sure how much longer they all sat there in silence before dozing off. I stayed awake until the scratching stopped, though. I usually do.
My little brother, his name is Sam by the way, wakes me up. It looks like it’s around noon.
“Hey, they want you for lunch.” He says. For a moment, his words mix with my dream, and I think he is saying that the things outside want to eat me.
“Alright,” I reply groggily. I get up and follow him outside, squinting against the sunlight. We descend the steps to the apartment that the other family had.
“How’d they get in?” I ask. I’m talking about the things that killed them. He knows what I mean.
“Dunno. The door was just open.”
“Oh,”
We always eat meals at their place because they had a solar powered hot plate. The electricity has been out for ages. I guess we’re just eating there now out of habit. Someone will probably take it up to our place today or tomorrow. That’ll make their apartment just as empty as all of the others in the complex. The thought makes me a little sad.
Mr. Marco and my uncle are sitting at the table, the plates are already fixed. It’s canned corn and refried beans. There is an open can of peaches, also. We sit down at the table and begin to eat.
“Did Steven go to get more stuff?” I ask around a mouthful of corn. I’m talking about food. The only stuff left in the supermarket that hadn’t spoiled yet was either canned or dehydrated. Steven was usually the one who went to get more when we started to run out.
“No, water.” My uncle replies. Similarly, around a mouthful of beans. Getting water from the creek a few miles away had been the job of Mr. Lee, one of the people that had died the previous night. Altogether, there were four. Mr. and Mrs. Lee, their son, and someone else that I didn’t really know. He only showed up around sundown, spent the night, and then went back out into town. He said he was looking for other people. He never found anyone.
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