The Bearded Man Awoke (fiction)

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Whilst the snow was still falling and landing peacefully on the cushion that was earth’s white carpet, the bearded man slowly awoke from his tranquil slumber. His arm’s slowly but steadily started to shift about in the snow, moving into a mechanical machine. At this time, due to the broad whiteness around him, he was unable to open his eyes. Using his hands as a second pair of eyes, he sensed around to see where he was. Once he felt the soft texture of the pure, forest white snow, he suddenly felt a gust of freezing arctic wind brush by him. He was sent into a state of repetitive shivering.

He tried to open his eyes once more and was successful. He looked up to see the blue, dead sky. He was imprisoned by tall grey trees, holding him captive. As his eyes got used to the environment, he started to shift his head from left to right and saw rabbits and branches and sticks. The rabbits, upon seeing him move, started to run at an exceeding speed, away from the frightening hairy monster.

Cold. That was it. Yes, he was wearing a decent winter coat, some cargo pants, and all standard equipment in the frozen wasteland. But it was utterly freezing. Jack Frost himself blessed him with the gift of hypothermia.

As he started to get up, he noticed and gasped at a piercing pain in his leg. He swore the vulgarity must have scared away any life around him. He looked down to see red liquid gushing underneath his pants, dripping from the moist socks he wore. The pain was agonizing, but he would have to go on.

He got his bearings, wiped the snow off of his padded shoulders, and started to slowly walk. Well, not really walk, as much a limp. Sprinting was one foot, Sleeping was the other. They didn’t work together. He crawled through the maze of tall trees, standing before him like mighty gods. The wind kept coming to attack him, blowing him off his feet. He didn’t know where he was but after one final gust of wind shoved him on the ground, he went spiralling and tumbling down a small hill, snatching onto rocks and razor sharp sticks. He landed face first, smashing his teeth on the ice.

The ice. He was in deep pain. Never has he felt this way before, the blood was still pumping away, he had to do something before it was too late. He saw up ahead, a small, desolate fishing hut on the ice. It was safe, for now. He started to scrape towards it, clawing his hands into the thick, chunky ice, it bit back at his fingers. His body tensed up immediately when he had hit the ice. Snow was still falling and was partially blinding him, as well as the mystical fog that enclosed him in the wilderness of Canada.

Finally, he reached the hut, the door was closed. He let out the world’s most painful cry for help. He heard nothing back, but the constant reminder of his heart. He mustered up enough strength to stand up, his body was slightly tilted, the culprit being his bleeding leg. He slammed his hand on the door handle, twisted it and shoved himself inside, the door closing behind him.

It was still freezing, but it was better than the soon to be the storm outside. He was still shivering, profusely. But, it wasn’t over yet. His leg was still bleeding, and looked around to find anything to cover it up. But it looks like he was graced by the lord, he saw a red box with a white cross. He softly swore to himself, a smug grin landed on his face.

He had difficulty trying to open the box, twisting and bending his thumbs. But at last, he opened it.  He stammered around, looking for what he will need at least, bandages, and with luck, antiseptic. He was starting to slowly go insane, but at last, he felt a soft and gracious material. He brought it out thanked the lord, bandages. Nothing else in there was useful, but the water purification tablets, but that was not the agenda.

He lifted up his left trouser, and saw the vile and revolting wound that was his left ankle, it looks like it was bitten. By what? He thought.

He started to brace himself and started to wrap it around his leg. The first touch of contact made the pain sizzle, and he himself cried out in pain. But after the first layer was applied, it was much better. He started to softly cry to himself, as the situation was just hitting him and choking him with the seriousness.

Tears soared throw the air and bombarded the wooden floorboard. He placed his head into his hands and started to weep. The cold started to cocoon him in a snuggly case of despair.

He then felt a sturdy and heavy object behind him, he looked around to see that there was a three fire logs. He then decided to continue. He got up from his rather uncomfortable position and saw that there was a stove next to him, and he had the grateful idea that many natives in these lands thousands of years ago decided to do. He decided to make a fire.

He placed the logs inside the stove but realised that there was something heavy clinging to his back. He had just realised that there was a backpack. He threw it off and started rummage throw it.

He found a pack of waterproof matches, a flare, a piece of cloth, a rope, a litre of water and an MRE. A wave of assurance washed over him, but when he opened a pocket in the bag, he found some accelerant. He tried jumping but his leg proved useless in that so he just sort of hopped around.

He bent down and started to light the soon to be fire. As the flames started to rise up, he used his new friend, accelerant, and sprayed it on the fire. He really didn’t have much experience using it. But, it did work. The fire erupted, and the bearded man slammed the hatch to the stove.

The heat, so pure, so golden. God’s rays beamed through the small vents in the stove. The man kept rubbing his hands and laid his hands on the invisible orb around the stove.

He was overcome with emotions and nostalgia. He felt like he was surrounded by a glow of peaceful zeal. But that quickly was swept away as the door blew open and a furious wind forced itself in. The man raised his arms in defence but he was kicked down. He hit his head on the back of the wooden, brown walls that surrounded him, and he felt the darkness start to overcome him.

But, in the distance outside, in the ferocious wind, and the deadly cold. He saw a figure emerge, breaking out of the ice. Its head glanced out and the man knew its dead, hollow eyes met his. The figure then brought its hand out, a blue tint was stuck on him, and its nails were as sharp as icicles. It then brought its entire body out. Its body wasn’t normal, it was distorted. It looked like its jam packed steroids every day on a month long gym workout. But then it started to moan and started to call out for the man’s name. The man gasped in horror and dismay. He brought up his arms to use as a shield, he was frightened after all. Every footstep brought terror to his heart, but he couldn’t look away, he was in awe, yet, also dreaded the moment it would step into the fishing hut. He had to think of a way to defend himself, he wanted to live after all.

He brought out the rope and cloth. And started to wrap the cloth around the rope. He then used the rest of the remaining accelerant and sprayed it on the cloth and rope. He then rummaged through his backpack and found the matches. He brought one out of the packet but dropped it on the floor, and rolled itself to the outside. He didn’t bother to pick it up and just picked up another match and struck that against the board of the match box, and the red phosphorous blew up and lit a bright and blazing flame in such a small space.

He held it against the rope and it was set alight. The cloth blew up into orange and black fragments. Ash started to drift from the rope and shrivelled up into dust on the floor. The man then roared out a battle cry, out of his mind. This was out of his world.

He started to swing around the rope, an entrancing wall of circling fire dominated the hut. But that didn’t stop the figure from coming fourth.

But the man didn’t stop. He was determined. He started screaming and shouting obscenity and vulgarity at the icy figure. As it approached, he could see claw marks dug into it, and it seemed to be oozing this vile black substance, much like pus. As it continued to march forward, the man could hear the thundering cracks in the ice it made. How was it not falling through? He must have been over 7 feet, and started to lunge forward at the hut.

The man readied his weapon and prepared to strike. But at this moment, he felt a rumble in the furnace behind him. He glanced behind, still swinging the rope wildly. But he saw a flaming and scorching hand reach out, bashing its way through the small door. He could hear the sickening screams of what seemed to be a flaming monster, scraping its way out of the inferno of the searing heat.

The man dropped his weapon and fell to the ground, being surrounded by all sides. The flaming monster peaked its head through the door and started to scream. The man shoved his hands into his ears, trying to block out the painful screeches of the burning man.

It started to step out of the furnace and the man could feel the blistering heat coming off of his body. Its eye, a bright white, much like a flare burning brightly, fending off wolves. Its teeth were blindingly bright, its muscles, animalistic in nature. It was fear.

But when it stepped out, it looked down upon the poor and scared man, it nodded towards him. The man, still panting, didn’t know what to think, other than that this wasn’t the bringer of death. But instead, it hopped over his body and stood at the doorway, blocking the heat, and the room was a nice warm feeling, everything had this soft like touch, the walls now felt like pillows made from the very feathers of an angel.

But it wasn’t over, darkness was about to overcome the man, but he was able to look up. And see the burning monster, equal in size, grab the other ‘thing’s’ throat and thrusted him up. Whilst there, it looked like the other monster, the ‘bad’ one, was choking, as if it had human elements and biology. It started to melt, from the fiery heat. The ice that coated the ‘bad’ one had started to melt, soon starting to sizzle and boil from the immense heat, which was experienced on the outside, but not in the hut. It was more like a warm summer day in the Bahamas.

The fiery being then threw the other monster into the ice, sending it crashing through it, giant chunks flew out of the ground, and as they started to soar through the air, and aiming towards the hut, the flaming monster grabbed the rope, still on the ground, still slightly burning. But once he snatched it, the rope ignited much like when oil meets a match. The entire rope was now broiling in an immense heat. It then threw the rope into the air and whipped the chunks of ice in the other direction. Shards of ice melted when it met with the rope, dense black smoke appeared from nowhere when it met.

When it was all clear. He threw the rope on the other side of the frozen lake, landing in the snow, immediately being snuffed out.

The man inside the hut was still under the aroura of the fiery being. It turned around and met the man’s eyes. The monster was filled with hatred but also, fear. It then bent down and covered the man’s eyes, and sent him to sleep. Its entire right hand was now not engulfed in flames. It was a beastly hand, one that should belong to a giant. Soft as silk, his hand felt like the man’s mother. He didn’t know how such a disgusting hand could have the touch of his mother. His sweet mother. But that didn’t matter at that moment.

The monster swept its hand from left to right in front of his eyes. And he went into a deep sleep. One which he would need. He wouldn’t know what happened in the morning when he continued out in the cold.

But he was thankful for surviving at least.

He was thankful that he never drifted into the long dark.


This is just a little thing I wrote after playing The Long Dark. If you want me to write more on this, I guess I can, but this is just something I wrote because I love this game. 

Criticism is very much welcomed especially (if you are like me) if you believe in freedom of speech. So, you can say this is a piece of dog excrement, and I wouldn't mind, it is kind of motivation. 

So yeah, hope you like it.


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As he drifted through the trees, the man kept on rubbing his hands, as if they were going to ignite into a nice cosy fire. But, he knew better. The man shuffled about the frozen wasteland in numbing weather. There was no snow falling, but there was a bitter chill lingering over every hilltop and giant tree. But, he couldn’t stop. As he continued to trek up the white, soft hillside, he noticed the wind had started to die. He didn’t stop consider these thoughts, he just continued to hike up.

When he finally reached the top, he noticed he was standing on ice. At that thought, he pushed himself away, almost tripping up in the process. When he stood up again, he carefully manoeuvred himself along the top of the, what he thought to be, hill. And when he thought it was safe, he then put a lot of weight on the ground, with complete confidence.

Then, he looked up. And saw a beautiful spectacle of frozen ice blue rivers, quiet farmland, and deer trotting in the distance. He could see mountains, in all of their glory with snow topped on there like sprinkles. They stretched and poked at the sky, almost teasing it with all of its might and honour. It was all elegant, hand wrapped. A creator of sorts most of made this wonderland of ice and death. The man looked down to see that he was himself, just standing by a frozen waterfall. He couldn’t believe it, he could see the reflection of himself, in the thousands of solid water particles that laid them, dormant. It was divine.

But he couldn’t gaze out for long. He was then slapped back into the reality of harsh weather, as a gust of wind blew him off his feet, and sent him rolling down the hill that he just trek up from. He went plummeting down, hitting tonnes of snags and twigs and broken branches from the magical trees. Finally, the rollercoaster ride stopped.

After the events of yesterday, he wasn’t going to wait around. His wound would surely get infected, so he had to trot fast. He rushed up, getting dizzy at his head. But he had no time to lose, he brushed the remaining snow from his shoulders and had to walk on. Whilst he was up there, he noticed a red barn. That would be his destination.

He didn’t have a care in the world for what happened the other day. He couldn’t think of it, being taken in by more delusional fantasies of a madman. All he could do was walk.

After an hour, endlessly floating in the mystic fog of snow, the man finally reached the red barn. Stacks of golden yellow hay surrounded the barn, no surprise there. A broken down tractor stood stationary by the two large doors that lead into the main hall. Thankfully he wouldn’t have to spend hours opening them because there was a side door.

He opened it and was immediately confronted by the ever looming darkness. He didn’t have anything to light the path, but as he peered inside, he noticed rays of god’s light beaming throw the open windows hanging above. So he would just have to trust that the sun stays out.

Once he steps inside, he slams the door shut, a loud slam echoed throughout the shifty structure and support beams. The wind finally let its cold hands let go of the man, as he walked further into the depths of the haven for animals. Thankfully he couldn’t smell the left over defecation from the various live stock. It would appear that all life was deprived from the quiet barn.

He saw that there was a blue tinted pickup truck in the middle. Rust curled up side rims, due to a poor paint job, the cheap blue was peeling off the side, revealing poorly made factory metal. He opened the door and saw that there was nothing but the vulgar scent of Chinese air fresheners. ‘Tall Pine’ it read, even when you are surrounded by them, you apparently need more.

After searching the first floor of the barn and coming up empty handed, he then proceeded upstairs. He saw a workbench with a sturdy thick hammer. He picked it up and inspected it to see that there were bite marks on the handle, he could feel the wet liquid that sunk it the wood still present. But never the less, it would be useful, he opened up his backpack and dropped it in.

He looked around for more such items. And found a cardboard box sitting neatly in the dust padded corner. He peered over and ripped open the box. He searched inside to find a 500ml bottle of water and a sealable bag of beef jerky. He quickly stuffed the consumables into his bag.

The rest of the barn was desolate. He reckoned it was about 7pm, the sun’s orange haze was quickly setting, saying goodbye to the now isolated world. The cold was just unbearable. Frost coated his jacket, it was that cold he thought there was a small, dark miniature cloud floating above his head flaking snow. He kept rubbing his hands as if to generate a small fire. But above all of this. Even in the apocalypse, people could get bored. Due to the repetitive nature of this whole event, the man decided to check the entire barn, in the dark again. He wasn’t tired, he wasn’t hungry, he didn’t care if it was cold, it was better than outside.

He went back to the cheap pickup truck and remembered that he didn’t search the glove compartment. After smashing it open with his heavy duty hammer, he searched and felt an old and chalky book. It felt grubby and sickening but after he pulled it out, he noticed it was a book. But he couldn’t tell what it was.

He wasn’t up to setting a match alight to see what the book was called, just for it to go out, and to wait for the morning to possibly read it. So he simply put it in his back pocket.

After crawling out, he snuggles up against one of the support beams and sounds himself asleep to the hum of the distant wind. Not knowing what could happen tomorrow, or any day in the following weeks.

But after the distant dreaming of hot, warm sensations. The sun slowly rose above the tall trees and distant mountains of Northern Canada. Birds, unaware of the current predicament in humanity, cheerfully sing in the valley of peace and solitude. A deer scuttled across the white and dirty yellow field. A rabbit chewed on the last remnants of grass and a wolf was chewing on a tender and juicy carcass.

The man woke to the sounds of the wind bashing against the large red doors to the barn. Snow kept pouring inside the small three windows, and gusts of wind kept howling like wild wolves. He got up and assessed his backpack. There wasn’t much, there was barely any water or food, so he had to think about what to do.

He decided to venture out on the road and head for the next shelter. So, he gathered his equipment and headed over to the small door to the side of the barn. As he just slightly opened the door, a barrage of wind and snow rushed inside, and he slammed the door shut. He did not expect the weather to be that harsh. He had caught his breath and shoved himself out. And instantly he was pushed on the ground by the wind, his one enemy. He got himself up and could barely see a thing. A dense fog surrounded the area and constant gunfire of snow blasted down on the fertile ground. But, he tensed up and rushed out towards the road he could just see. In order to keep the cold stabbing him in his frozen heart, he had to think of the warmth of coffee inside the hipster lead cafés of Washington, in order to stay afloat. But the constant rain of snow kept pulling him back to the concept of reality.

Constant artillery fire of frozen water kept the man at bay. It was like he was trapped in the middle of a large, sticky web. His hands were stuck to his chest by silky, cold threads. His feet were hogtied by ice, syrup like webs and his mouth was cemented shut by the arctic silver threads.

But despite the cold imprisonment, he had to move. He could feel that the inside of his mouth was dry, he was trying to cling onto the remaining saliva, but failed. He had to move. He swam through the snow, he was trying to find land. But as he walked the snow, and shifted his head from left to right to find some shelter, he noticed to his right, a structure. It appeared to glow a mahogany brown, its outline of curvature attracted him. He could see a silo soaring over the other structures below, what looked like a broken down and ragged worn barn. And a two story, farmers homestead. That was his target.

He then turned right and started to stalk the homestead. Saliva drooled from his hanging mouth, his eye revved up and started to twitch, and he entered a trance of delusion. He wasn’t himself when he approached the structure. He then started to gallop over towards the front door to the enclosed front porch. When he lingered near, he started to mumble nonsense. Stuff on the cold, the wind, and the men behind. The shadows that haunted him from the night before. He could feel the fear kick in, the adrenaline start to pump, the blood like a drag car, racing around his legs and arms, chest and head. He was on a deranged and paranoid high.

When he reached the door to the front porch. He burst it open, still in his narcotic like trance. He closed the door behind him and already felt the warmth of a nice fire. When he placed his hand on the door handle. He tried to jiggle it open.

It didn’t open.

He started to murmur to himself and about how this wasn’t happening. He started clawing at the door, bashing his face on it and shouting to let him in. There wasn’t another way in. And the horrors of the past night were lurking outside, and followed him with malicious intent.

He screamed vulgarity at the door, as if it would just let him in. But he wasn’t over. He started punching the door, making his hands bleed in the process. Finally in defeat, he slumped on the wall next to the door and began to sob. Fresh tears ran down his check, a valiant effort, but failed, none the less.

The monsters started to approach, their demented appearance could scar a kid forever. Their dead, hollow eyes blushed a light grey, their pupil’s non-existent and their bare naked chests had slashes and claw marks dug in to them. Their scabs had a frost coating attached to them, reminding them man that he was in their domain.

He could hear the screams of the monsters outside, surrounding him, he didn’t know what to do, and he could see them surround the windows. They started to bash their heads in the broken glass. Shards of see through lies scalped their faces and deformed them. It was a vile sight, as their black fantasy blood spurred and landed in his eyes, blinding him. He wiped the sticky and droopy substance from his face, but the black, sickly material started to move.

He screamed at the feel of the wet and sloppy. Some of the remaining substance from his face started to move towards his mouth and the material that was on his hands wrapped around his wrists. They grew tighter and became almost a second skin. After a minute, it fully encased his hands in a tar like substance. He couldn’t move them apart. Then it started to crawl around and inside his mouth. He tried to scream but it was shoved down his throat, sealing his vocal cords. He could feel it cling to his teeth, and spread throughout every crevice of his mouth, filling it. After squirming around the ground whilst this happened, the black goo then formed a tight seal on his mouth silencing him.

He then just floundered about on the ground of the wooden floor. He kicked his legs against the door to open it, but to no hope. He looked back towards the monsters, now starting to break down the door. He tried to scream, but he could only feel the humming inside his throat now, not a single sound came out of his mouth.

They started to talk, and began to scream a deathly chant of gurgles. The man backed up against the door, hoping it would break under his weight. But he understood this was the end.

But. He felt the door open behind him. He felt himself fall back and he plummeted on his head. As he looked around and saw the pictures of families, dead, dirty yellow flowers and the crackling of a fire in the background. He saw a silhouette shut the door, but as he closed it, he couldn’t see the monsters outside. And as he noticed this. He could feel that his palms were open, and free. No substance was holding his hands, but free.

At this sight, he gasped for air. They entered his lungs and finally, to him at least, they started working properly after his personal endeavour into hell. He started to spaz on the ground and the silhouette that surrounded kept his arms to his sides. So stop him from having, what the silhouette thought, from having a seizure.

The silhouette dragged his buff body towards the living room. Where the warm sizzling sensation of a fire burrowed in the fireplace. His body was dumped by the fire, to warm up the frozen body. The man’s eyes fluttered like a flock of birds whizzing by a busy street. He could hear the silhouette run up the stairs, knocking off small items and frames in the household. He could the whooshing of heavy cloth, coming off the bed frame. The silhouette then marched downstairs, carrying the heavy blanket with him. He ran through to the living room and covered the man in it. Tucking in the sides into in gaps, making sure he could warm up as fast as possible. The frozen man began to mumble and attempted to speak. But he felt a warm, soft, bulky hand put a finger to his lips, the silhouette managed to produce a human hand…

The warm hand then moved to his head, to check his temperature, pretty cold. The silhouette then moved the man’s lifeless body closer towards the fire, but placed a gate in front of the fire, so the flying, pieces of wood can fling themselves on the very easily flammable blanket. The silhouette then made the sure the man was in the most comfortable position.

The silhouette then grabbed a fluffy pillow from the couch across the fireplace and placed it under the head of the man. The man felt like he was in heaven, his head on a nice, silky pillow. The silhouette then sat down next to the man and started to lift the blanket up to his neck.

It then peered over the man, and as he did, the man could notice his face was starting to appear. A black, bushy beard appeared came out of the mist of darkness. Green, bright eyes reflected in the crackling fire. Plush white cheeks illuminated in the yellow and orange lit room.

The green eyed man inspected the man’s body and saw that there was a dirty bandage on his leg, he looked closer and saw that it was pretty nasty. The flesh was what you would see on a rotten corpse, and the bite marks were dug in pretty deep. The green eyed man looked up to the man on the ground, looked him in the eyes and said, ‘Don’t worry, my lad, I’ll fix you up, just get some rest.’ His rugged voice was powerful and entrancing, but yet, soothing. And with that, the man on the ground was sent to sleep. After the storm, the monsters, the weird black substance, he needed the comfort, the sleep.

The last of his vision went to the green eyed man comforting him, patting his shoulder, to remind him, he wasn’t alone.


Well, I believe at the end, that was the first piece of dialogue I've inserted in this story. Please, critique, as mentioned before, say anything you like, and then, rate the poll, thanks. Hope you enjoy.

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I agree with Wastelanders post above and I already told you before, your style of writing is really intriguing and engaging and really draws you into the story.

Only I didn't understand how he suddenly started hallucinating and the part about the monsters. Was that a hallucination or real? But please continue this story, I'd love to read more!

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The roar of the fire echoed throughout the wooden, sturdy house. The orange and yellow flooded the living room, and leaked through the walls into the main hall, leading to the upper floor of the house and the entrance to the homestead, but those were still shrouded in darkness. Picture frames of smiling farmers, children screaming with joy and glee and mother and daughters hugging each other on graduation day hung around the previously occupied house.

The green eyed man, loomed around the kitchen, a metal storm lantern emitted a mixture of yellow and white into the grey textiles that were poorly ‘glued’ to the walls above the stove. He had a nice and cosy fire inside the stove, he also had a cup of coffee brewing above the stove, taking in the left over heat from the black dragon. Whilst waiting for the water to boil, he was reading ‘Guide to the Wilderness!’ a 200 page guide for ‘Those prepared to survive’. That was the tagline that was at the top of the cover art, next to the looming campfire, surrounded by tall, green trees with a yellow background.

But as he was getting to Chapter 5 ‘Guide to making a shelter’, he heard the devil’s belly brew. He dropped the book on the kitchen counter and made his way over to the stove. He lifted the pot off of his makeshift apparatus and placed it diligently on the counter. He brought out two mugs from the kitchen sink and placed them also on the counter. He place a teaspoon full of coffee inside the mugs and then teaspoon of sugar also. He then poured the boiling water into the nostril killing coffee and sugar. He then stepped outside into the clear dark blue sky. The starts smiling at him, and he smiled back, he grabbed a bottle of milk dug in the snow and went back inside.

He checked the sell by date and he was sure that he was within limit. He opened the cap and made a leap of fate with his nose and dived into the depths of hell… and he came out unscaled. It the milk was fine. As long as it was white.

He poured it into the mug and stirred both cups with a butter knife, surprisingly there was no teaspoons in the entire house. The powerful scent of coffee brewed with the water made the green eyed man water. He was reminiscent of olds times in university. In the dimly lit room of the on-campus sleeping quarters. The cream/white walls (he couldn’t tell due to the amount of stains from both coffee and tea or… ‘Happy times’) the bright light of a computer monitor showing poor resolutions of adult content. That was his roommate’s computer. He didn’t have one. All he had was the stacks of green and red books on famous English literary works. But every morning at 6am, he would wake up to the sound of screaming seagulls in professional town dump, Dundee, Scotland, make a coffee inside the dorm and start studying F. Scott Fitzgerald until it was 9am, where he would go down to the lecture hall and listen for a solid two hours to a boring and pretentious teacher, who was clearly having an affair, due to his spiked up hair and bite marks on his neck. Not the best thing to be reminiscent of but, better than this.

He picked up the two mugs and shuffled his feet towards the warm sensations of artificial fire logs burning and sizzling in the background. He made his way through the open doors to the living room and saw the man still sleeping, peacefully. He smiled and placed the two mugs on a coffee table on the side of the room and sat on the couch overlooking the fireplace. Sitting down he then continued to watch the man on the ground, analysing him.

He cleaned his wound, having to use the anti-septic he had, when he poured it on, he was surprised that the man didn’t jump up and stab him with the nearest sharp object. But it had been at least 11 hours since the man fell asleep, considering he went to sleep about the same time when the man came in. So it was about time to wake him up.

He got up and started to nudge the sleeping man at his side. The man began to mumble and grumble. The green eyed man slightly laughed and continued to nudge the sleeping prince. He noticed the man was starting to slightly open his eyes, his blue eyes. ‘Come lad, time to get up.’

The man finally opened both of his eyes, and when he saw the body of another human being, after all he’s been through he really wasn’t surprised. He started to wipe away the yellow crust that showered in his eyes whilst in the realm of sleep. He looked up to his saviour, in his green eyes. The man on the ground let out a giant sigh, and then looked back. ‘You… um… Hi.’

The green eyed man then responded ‘Hello.’

‘How long was I out?’

‘At least 11, maybe 12 hours.’ The green eyed man’s voice made the other man feel safe. It was a slightly mature voice, but at a young age. Early, late 30’s maybe. The blue eyed man thought. But never the less, the green eyed man continued.

‘Tell you what, I think its better we exchange names. My name is Robert. Robert Kimsson. Yours?’ The man stared into Robert’s eyes, a look of sympathy.

‘Alan, good to meet someone else Robert.’ Alan started to shift out of his blanket cocoon and started to swim away from the fireplace, as it was too hot for once. ‘Well, Robert, if you don’t ask me asking-‘


‘What the hell happened yesterday? With the people… You did see the people yes?’ Alan had a voice of sheer terror, quivering.

‘Those things… are something that I have no business to inquire with. But, all I know is that they are in fact real. I’ve met other people in the wild who have met them. So…’

‘You aren’t the only other?’ Alan asked in sheer curiosity.

‘You’ll be surprised what lies behind the mountains, at the highway, or the lighthouse. Last time I travelled through there, there was a group, I’d say 8, hold up in that god damn gas station. So, there are others.’

‘I see.’ Alan stroked his bushy beard.

‘But those monsters. There are not a lot of things that can stop them. I mean, I have a rifle, two shots gives them in but, I don’t want to waste it. But what I hear is that the higher you get, the less of them you see.’

‘So we go to a mountain?’

‘No, because climbing some of these mountains, such as Timberwolf, in these conditions, you will surely die from them or the cold. But, I’ve seen a pattern. They’re appearing only in fog or storms or at night. But, even at night, I don’t see them as much. And I think that is because they know.’

‘They know what?’ Asked Alan, entranced by Robert’s story telling technique.

‘They know that we go out during the day. Barely anyone goes at night. So, what I think, is that they hate light, or direct contact with the sun. And they need to wait till a storm or fog for them to be able to walk. That is what I think.’

‘So just stay in the light?’ asked Alan.

‘The light is your friend.’

Robert got up and bobbed over towards the coffee table where he had the two mugs of coffee, he picked both of them up, taking in and storing the rich and foreign smells of the coffee beans. Then he walked over to Alan and handed him a mug, ‘Here you go, lad.’ He said.

‘Thanks Robert.’

Alan started to slowly sip the delicious and scrumptious coffee. Just the feel of the burning hot liquid through the mug made him think of home. Home in the American north-west. In where the tall trees stood high and mighty, not as intimidating as Canada though. He would be able to go down to his local coffee shop, order the cappuccino with three sugars, sit down by his window overlooking the green trees and desolate mountains that connect the United States of America with Canada.

‘So-‘Alan brought back the conversation. ‘What was that stuff I was in… yesterday? If you saw it, because it-‘Robert cut him off.

‘Was it black and acted like bloody duct tape?’ Alan nodded his head. ‘I don’t know, but I’ve got the stuff on me before.’

‘Go on.’ Alan asked for another story.

‘Well, I was in a hut in the south of here. Still in the valley though.’ Alan agreed his head, understanding the story. ‘And, there was a god damn blizzard, had nothing to light a fire with, so I just stayed inside. Until, I heard one of the bloody things outside, smashing through the door, I nearly bloody pissed’ myself.’ Robert heard a small chuckle come from Alan, and smiled with him. ‘So, all I had at the time, was this little knife, so I hide behind the wall, as it is coming in. I jumped out, but then it shot something out of its bloody mouth, this black, gluey thing. Any way, it glued my mouth and eyes shut, smeared all over my face, I don’t know how I was able to breath.’ Alan just kept passively nodding, understand the dilemma. ‘So, I’m knocked on the ground by the thing, and it gets on its legs, and starts to come over to my legs, and starts wrapping the same stuff on my face, around my legs.’ Alan opened his mouth in awe, shocked by the ordeal. ‘So, my legs are coated with the stuff, couldn’t move them, and it starts to get to my chest, but I grabbed a bottle somehow from the side and smashed it against its head.’

‘Lucky hit?’ asked Alan

‘Aye it was lucky. And I was able to get the stuff off my face. I still saw it, and mind you I’m still wrapped up, I grab that knife that I dropped and just slice it against its neck, and BANG it goes down.’ Robert slammed the table next to him, giving Alan a little fright. ‘So, on the ground, I shove the body outside, and was able to close the door. But I’m still wrapped up. So with the knife, I spent 6 hours trying to get the stuff off.’ Alan’s eyes bulged at the number. ‘Aye, if it weren’t for that knife, I would be still stuck there, probably dead. But…’ Robert lingered on with his words. ‘There was one plus with being stuck in it. It was that it was pretty comfy.’ Alan laughed at his ‘joke’. ‘No I’m serious Alan.’ Robert said with a smirk on his face. ‘It was comfy and warm, so if you find yourself in the situation and don’t have a knife on you, just wait for me, don’t struggle, kind of like a claustrophobic bed sheet.’

‘Well, you can find yourself giving up just to be wrapped up by Spiderman, I’ll stay inside and hold down the hatch.’ Alan said, getting an explosive laugh from Robert.

‘Aye, well… Well look at that.’ Robert said as he looked outside. Orange and yellow started to shove itself in through the glass. A yellow orb started to dig itself out of the mountains, and started to hoist itself up in the tanned sky. Robert and Alan smiled when they saw it. Still knowing wonder is still in place in the world. ‘That, is why I don’t shoot myself in the bloody morning.’ Robert got Alan’s attention. ‘Because every morning, I see that, and It makes anyone smile. That is why I stay.’

Robert got up and started to turn off the lantern in the kitchen he still had lit, ‘A waste of fuel.’ He muttered to himself. Meanwhile Alan got up from his bed on the wooden floor, and started to inspect the living room, still under the gaze and nose of the burning fire. He moved around the shadows of the past by gazing at the family portraits. He saw one of them had about 20 people in the frame, but not Robert.

‘Hey Robert!’ shouted Alan.


‘Where are you in this picture?’

Robert tangoed through to the living room and was met with Alan’s blue gaze. ‘What that?’ Robert eyed the frame and picked it up, laughing at it. As he did, Alan felt slightly uncomfortable. ‘What this? This ain’t me, this isn’t me’ bloody home!’

Alan then understood why he laughed, and joined in with slight caution. ‘Oh… Then where are you from?’

‘I’m from Edinburgh! Not from land of the maple syrup. I’m from the land of sheep lungs.’ Robert collapsed in laughter, roaring at his own little joke. Alan slightly snickered. He was getting to know him just a little bit.

‘So you are not-‘

‘Nope.’ Robert said, simply. ‘Anyway, since it is sunrise, and it looks clear, we are going on a field trip.’ Robert walked through into the main hall, and trekked to the cupboard underneath the dusty and murky stairs. He opened the door to reveal an arsenal of tools. In the corner a filthy and greasy American wooden bolt action rifle. Attached to the stairs, tools of all kind. Hatchets, saw blades, hacksaws, ball pin hammers. A workman’s DIY dream. He grabbed the rifle, and attempted not to make anything crash down from doing so. When he successfully tempted fate, he grabbed a two boxes of ammo from the top shelf. Alan walked through to see what all the noise was.

‘Here, carry these.’ Robert threw the two boxes of ammo to Alan, he just barely caught them. ‘If we need to use them, which we won’t, but if we do, just keep them safe.’

‘Alright.’ Alan responded.

‘Anyway, if you need anything, go ahead and choose, you’ll need an axe of some kind so we can gather more firewood.’ Robert told Alan, as he shifted away to the kitchen so he could gather any necessary supplies. While Alan searched the cupboard for anything he may need. His blue eyes glared upon a large axe. A long, slender handle, and sharp, stinging axe head. These were the axes lumberjacks would use if their chainsaws gave way. It was heavy, but it would work. When he picked it up, he underestimated the weight, and nearly fell over into the pile of razor sharp tools. But, he kept his balance, and was undefeated.

He came out and saw Robert, in a furry and soft parka, bulky cargo pants and a ski mask no fully put on, just hanging around his neck. But when Robert saw Alan, he realized something. ‘Christ you got nothing on.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Alan.

‘I mean look at you. If you go upstairs and search one of the rooms for clothes you can be… better equipped. I mean look at that flimsy thing, it’s so thin.’ Robert said whilst feeling the light fabric of cloth.

Whilst Alan went upstairs, Robert went back to the kitchen. He checked the cupboard and picked out a 4 cans of pork and beans and a two litres. He then shoved them inside his backpack at the side of the kitchen. After zipping it up, he picked it up and threw over his back and heard rumbling running down the stairs. He saw Alan in a thick woollen jumper and a clean, green insulated vest. ‘Right that is much better. I’ve packed food so you can carry all the logs.’

‘OK, that’s fine.’

‘So… Let’s go.’

They stepped out and instantly the cold breeze punched them, winding them. After stepping on the front porch both men walk out into the blinding white snow. Their feet squished on the soft solid water. Once fully outside, they drudged on, making remarks on how cold it was. Deer scuttled along the homestead, shaking off snow from their soft, smooth fur. They saw birds speeding off towards the mountain, Timberwolf, its teeth shooting up towards the sky. The bitter cold scratched at the duo, as they walked along the road.

Tall trees surrounded them, holding them as their grasp. Robert kept hold of his sturdy rifle, situated on his back. Alan, next to him, had found a slot he could fit his large axe in. They hiked along the black and white road, small pockets of ice skewed out of the ground. Small rabbits bounced along the ground and road. Some even ran up to Alan and Robert, but then ran back, from their massive size. But after all of this. Alan still didn’t know where he was going.


‘Hey, Robert. Where exactly are we going?’

Robert had a smeared face. ‘Look up to your left.’

When Alan looked up, he saw a red and white tower scrap the sky, poking and teasing it. He could see some poor, shoddy fencing surround the compound. Some rocks were crumbling down and were trembling before them. ‘What the hell?’ Alan asked.

‘That’ll be… Maybe a deer… perhaps a wolf, I don’t know.’ Robert said, and Alan gave him a looked of anger, scowl of rage. ‘Look, don’t be angry, that’s why we bought the rifle, plus, they’re more scared of you.’

They started to hike up the hill, around the snowy rocks and cliffs. After scouting through the bushes, the trees and the occasional bird flying past them, they reached the hill that would lead up towards the tower.

But then, Alan started talking. ‘So, what is at the tower?’

‘Well, there was a group held up there, but then, they got taken by the bloody things at night, because they didn’t have any lights.’ Robert said. ‘So that is why you are getting wood.’ Robert pointed towards his axe. ‘Stay here, hack some down and I’ll head into the building.’ Alan went off, pushing through the snow to find some wood to slash at, whilst Robert journeyed into the radio hut.

Robert slightly pushed open the door to the dark valley of fried electrical and broadcast equipment. Rays of light slightly blossomed through the frozen windows, so he had decent visibility. He took his first step into the abandoned safe house. Empty, desolate boxes of salty crackers, half eaten bars of vile granola bars, and mucus filled packets of beef jerky sat rotting in the open, where 5 gentle sleeping bags appeared to be cut open. Robert investigated further, and dug deeper into the shaken crime scene.

He ignored the door that led into the sleeping quarters, and continued further into the communications room. To his left, nothing but smashed screens, dirty syringes and filthy knives. But to his right, laid two corpses, next to each other, one man, and one woman, from what it appeared. Seeing dead bodies wasn’t unusual, but what was, was that they held each other’s hands. Both of them had defiled gold rings, showing the symbol of marriage. He inspected further and saw that the woman had a gunshot wound derailed in her head. Dried up pieces of blood clotted around her golden hair, and her pupil-less eyes tinted misty white. Her face had a smile, which made Robert shiver.

As for the man, it looked like clumps of hair were ripped off, exposing his scalp. His teeth appeared to be bashed in by a solid object, but never the less, he also had a bullet wound, through the back of the head. A solid hole exposing his mouth was open as the back of his head. In his left hand held his wife’s white hand, in his right, a revolver.

Robert didn’t want to touch a dead corpse, especially one from this vulgarity, but he had to check. He forced opened the hand with the revolver, a loud crack from bone gave way, and it looked like he just broke his wrist. Never the less, he opened the cylinder and found four bullets inside. The two, well, in their owners. Overall, suicide. Robert put the man’s hand at rest.


He continued to fiddle around and found empty water bottles, open packets of crisps and store brand cola. He also noticed a frozen hand stood dead in the corner of the dark room. Clusters of ice chunks fused itself on the hand, crimson red was also splattered in the palm of the half open hand.

After a well audit examination of the room, it would appear that there really wasn’t much but the revolver and mouldy chocolate bars. That’s when he remembered that he didn’t open the door to the sleeping quarters. He approached the handle with grace, pulled it down and tried to budge in, but a loud slushing sound was emitted from the other room that he attempted to get into. But he couldn’t get it, it was like it was glued shut.

He kept trying to open it but as he did, it just came back and forth, making sounds of squishing and slurping. When finally he heard something break, and the door was half way open. When he looked in, he saw this black-tar like substance welded from the door to the wall. He grabbed a dirty knife from the other side of the room and tried to cut it, getting flashbacks of his ordeal, but trying to slash at it, made it simply attach to the knife, and come down with his swing. When he saw the droopy sticky material, he threw the knife to the side, but the strings of jet black simply planted itself on the wall, with the knife hanging with it.

He then kicked the door and when it hit the wall, he saw black liquid mush fly from the wall, and land in the room. The door was now cemented to the side. When he looked inside he saw black tendrils meet up to form web like patterns splattered all over the room. In the room he saw body parts, fingers and hands strung up, glued and smeared in black goo. He looked around to also see cans and open wrappers torn open, fleshed out around the dark, black mucus like room. It would appear that one of the monsters had been there, and the two bodies outside the room didn’t want to be hung up like this.

He felt like he wanted to leave, there was this weird presence, like someone was watching him. He turned around to inspect the other side of the room to see that there was a torso fixed to the wall, wrapped in moist, black thick threads, arms folded in the middle much like an ancient mummy of the past. Its legs and head, missing, probably taken from him for their feeding. He did want to barf, but kept it in.

After walking out, he had some of the black goo attached to his feet. After finding a blunt knife, and smeared it off, he then left the poor sanctuary for another day.

When he stepped into the cold abyss once again, he could see Alan, packed to the brim with logs, jagging out of his backpack, he has clearly been busy. But, from what Robert saw in there, he wasn’t in the best of moods. When he trudged over to Alan, he asked him what was in there. Robert responded with, ‘If you want flashbacks for when we survive this, go in there, otherwise, we are going back.’ Robert shifted his eyes from left to right, checking if anyone was watching them. And then, Robert took out of his pocket the rusty revolver from the radio hut, and said, ‘Here, take this lad.’

When Alan felt the grip and the heaviness of a weapon he never felt before, he had to admit, he felt powerful. With his finger on the trigger, he heard Robert say ‘Right, easy there, you got to watch it so you don’t randomly fire it. Just keep your finger off the trigger unless you need to.’ Alan understood the order and put the revolver in his back pocket. ‘Right, now, we go.’ Robert said. And with that, Alan and Robert started to trek back down the hill, with more wood and fuel for the fire and a new weapon.

When the pair arrived back at the homestead, Robert told Alan to give the fire a few hours until they light it, they don’t want to waste it. Darkness lingered in the study room. Filthy books laid waste along the dusty floorboards. Broken lamps hanged off the exquisite fine desk, and the leather coated chair sat there, waiting for another visitor. Rays of orange light shined through the snow coated windows, and lit up the room much like a firework display. Alan caught a glimpse of the shining disco room, and stepped into the ball itself.

He noticed colours of orange, red and blue were painted on the covers of the hundreds of books that showcased themselves on the bookshelves, along with expensive 63’ Bordeaux wine teasing Alan, for a drink. He was amazed that when the family left, that they never brought the most expensive thing in the house. 

He opened the cabinet door towards the glass bottle and snatched it for himself. He tore out a wine glass from under the study desk and started to pour it. The smell killed his nostrils and physically had to step back. It deep rooted smell, tracing back to Europe, to the grape farms, behind the hills of the feculent smelling of the French. He retracted that thought, and focused his attention on the wine.

That was until Robert marched into and saw what Alan was conspiring against him. But then he said, ‘Look mate, put the bottle and glass away, that’s from the 60’s, 70’s. Drink what you poured, because you’re going to need it.’ Alan immediately dropped the bottle and glass on the table. ‘We have company.’

‘What? A fog roll in?’ Alan asked.

‘No you twit.’ Alan was taken back by the insult.

‘You’d… you call-‘Robert interrupted him.

‘People, lad, people.’

Alan trembled over to Robert. ‘Where, where are they?’

‘Walking over the road up here, I think one of them has a rifle.’

Alan then ran into the living room where he left his revolver and axe, Robert peered over him. ‘Just take the axe, I’ll get my gun.’ Alan nodded and vigorously snatched his heavy woodcutter axe. As he walked back into the dark and misty hallway, he saw Robert in his bulky parka, fur coating his hood. His ski mask was also covering his lips and round nose. He held his American rifle over his shoulder and Alan noticed he had a manky hunting knife, held underneath his forearm, the handle just grazing his palm.

The two, ready, opened the door to the wooden, broken front porch. After they exited and were met with snow burrowing underneath the door to the open field, they hid behind the broken windows and began to spy on the group trekking up to the homestead. The pair stalked them. One man, short, held the rifle over his shoulder, eyeing the home, not noticing the dynamic duo. Another, man, giant, held a crowbar in his right hand, and had a hood watching over his head. And one more, wearing a black bandana over his face, held a storm lantern.

‘It ain’t even dark yet.’ Robert muttered to himself. ‘Let’s meet them.’ But Alan grabbed his arm, holding him down.

‘Robert, these guys could be-‘Robert interrupted him.

‘Don’t worry lad, these guys I know, and trust me, they couldn’t hurt a fly.’ With that, he got up, with Alan behind him. He opened the door and was met with a cold brush of freezing air. Robert closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the scenario. Once he opened them, he was met with three figures drudging towards him and Alan. He then grinned an invisible smile.

The three men immediately laid eye contact on Robert, and were taken back by Alan. They had never seen each other. The orange light that emitted from the lamp reflected off of their belt buckles and silver toned boots. The short one with the rifle then took his rifle off of his back, and place the buttstock on the ground, he held the barrel, aiming upwards. ‘Robert! Haven’t seen you for a while.’ The short one shouted, with a sinister smirk graced upon him.

‘Sam. Let’s not play games.’ Robert said, Sam’s goons got on edge, both of them tightened their grip on their weapons.

‘Come on, friend, you don’t hate me. And who’s your friend?’

 ‘I’ll put it this way,’ Robert spoke, ‘if you were on life support, I would take the plug out to charge my bloody phone.’

‘Wait, your phone is working?’ Asked one of Sam’s friend, mate with a powerful shove from him.

‘You idiot, you understand god damn sarcasm?’ Robert laughed. But Sam wasn’t over, he aimed his gun at Robert. ‘You think this is funny don’t you? Huh? Well how ‘bout I shove one right up you, you, you!’ Robert cut him off.

‘See, the thing is, you can’t shoot,’ Robert pointed his gloved finger at Sam, ‘you can’t punch someone if it was on your life.’ Robert pointed to the tall, hooded one, which gained a snarly reaction, ‘and you… I don’t know who you are but you appear to be just making sure strawman over here can feel safe in constant light, even though, it’ll be about another two hours till the sun sets!’ Robert forcing his hand at Sam. Sam then shoved the iron sights to his eyeball, aiming at Robert. ‘Oh come, don’t pretend you can shoot-‘A large flash split open from the three men. Orange and yellow exploded as a blinding white projectile hauled itself out of the barrel of the gun towards Robert. But, it didn’t connect with his tender flesh. No red spewed from his leg, nor did it graze him. It piled into the miniature mountain of snow next to him, missing him by a mile. Alan jumped back when he saw this, and raised his axe high in the cold air.

Robert quickly threw off his gun from his shoulder and aimed it right between Sam’s squint eyes and shouted, ‘Don’t you dare! Put down the bloody gun!’ But Sam didn’t comply. He continued to remove the shot cartridge and pulled back the lock, and was in the process to aim again, but. A blazing bullet entered Sam’s leg, crushing the bone, scraping the white matter that was stitched in between the femur and tibia. He screamed in pain, throwing his gun to the side, due to his clumsiness. He grabbed his leg and then tumbled over on himself, bashing his head against the soft pillow that was the snow. Blood shelled outside the agonizing wound, he continued to howl into the blue sky. He gripped the wound with his weak fingers but then immediately retracted them due to the gross and sponge like feeling on it, along with his fear of blood.

Robert then aimed at the other two men, yelling them to go away, and away they did, trenched in fear, they ran from the bogeyman. Sam, who was still bleeding on the ground, started to scream vulgar insults at Robert. Robert then crept up on Sam, and crouched down besides the screaming through teeth Sam.

‘I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you and your lover, AH!’ Robert punched Sam’s perfect, snarky teeth into oblivion, shards of dental flossed teeth went flying in the air, landing in the white snow. Robert went over to Sam’s dropped rifle, threw Alan his rifle, and aimed it at Sam’s other knee.

‘So, you try and shoot at my head, and you fail, you try and not get shot, and you fail, you tried to save your other knee-‘Robert then let loose the bullet, the wild animal rushing towards Sam’s other knee, and then, it squeezed into his leg, bone cracking underneath the extreme pressure. Sam then immodesty roared out in anger and whimper, he whacked his hand against the snow, as if he could pushed a button to end this torture. ‘You fail. And now I have a fish here, squirming about, in where I need to waste another bullet.’

‘Wait-‘Sam kept gasping for air. ‘You just- You just put a mother-‘and with that, one finally bullet squeezed out of the barrel of the hunting rifle, and entered his head. Alan looked away in disgust, he never expected his day to end like this. Not in a bloody duel between two maniacs. When he heard the last echo of the rifle round, he looked back to see Robert walking back to him, blood smeared on his face. Alan was trembling before him, and when he was confronted by him, he was quivering. But, Robert just held out Sam’s rifle in one hand, and had open hand in the other. Alan knew what he was meaning, he handed him his rifle and was given Sam’s.

‘Go inside, get the fire running, I’m washing up.’ Robert said, Alan then ran scared inside. Robert huffed and proceeded to do the same process.

Whilst withering inside the cosy homestead, Alan huddled up to the warm, engraving fire. He snuggled up in the smooth blanket, the combustion of heat made him melt. When Robert walked in, he stiffened up, and looked into Robert’s green eyes.

‘What?’ Robert asked. He was met with Alan’s cold dead snarl of a stare. ‘What? Alan what is wrong? Hmm? Me shooting a guy?’

‘You didn’t just shoot him.’ Alan delivered a straight answer.

‘Oh, so I made an example? Big deal.’

‘Big deal? Big deal!’ Alan forced himself up. ‘Shooting a poor man’s knee caps, making him suffer, and then shooting him. That is what I have a problem with.’ But Robert wasn’t having it.

‘Right, sit down, because you have no idea what they did. What they did to others, like you who have the same damn ideology that you have!’  

‘Right, go ahead, tell me.’

Robert stood over Alan much like a giant. ‘When they line up people, on the street, and shoot them, and let their blood run down the road. That’s when you realize, what you do is nothing compared to what they do.’ Robert straightened his shoulders. ‘But you, have no damn right to complain! In where I take you in, fix your leg, make you not get taken by those monsters outside, taken to some cave, hoisted up on a wall and torn in half, that is what I saved you from, but no, you bloody complain. So shut it, if you have problem, leave.’

Alan was speechless, he wanted to punch him, be he Robert continued in a slightly calm, humble voice. ‘Listen… We can’t be caught up like this. If we fight like this, we’ll both be dead, alright. Yeah, shooting him in the caps, pretty grim, but if that is what it takes to survive, and scare them off. Then I’ll take it, because I don’t want to be on the other end. If you want to talk, fine, but I have to do what I believe will work. And so will you.’

‘You understand that since you killed him, they’ll be back, because I know they were a part of a bigger group.’

‘Aye, they were, and so when the time comes, we could block the door and slip into the basement through this little, hidden trap door in the kitchen. I remember a friend knocked me out one time, went in there, and must have left, so we hide in there.

‘Sounds like a good friend.’

‘Aye, good.’

The two sat there and contemplated by their current predicament. The orange fire was the only light source that made them gaze away from each other, catching their attention.

‘Look.’ Alan said. ‘What do we do for the next few, days, weeks…? Months?’

‘We survive ‘til spring, until then, we hold off. And survive.’

‘So that’s it huh? Just survive.’


What do you do when you make your first part 4 pages long, your second part another 4 pages long, and your third part 10 pages long? This, remember to rate the poll. Criticism is welcomed. Hope you enjoy.

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