Chapter Text
(Music: Lost - Crim3s & Open again - Thom Yorke)
The first time you saw it, you were smoking. No one cared about the fumes inside. It was your house, after all. They were lucky to be staying in it.
The knocks on the door were heavy. Heavier than any one person should be able to make. You stood up, slowly. Cigarette forgotten, still smouldering in the ash tray. You reached for the rifle—more habit than decision at this point, and looked out the door.
It wasn’t like anything you’d seen before. The other ones, the ones you shot when their eyes looked wrong, or their teeth were too pearly…they at least tried to blend in. To look human. To lie and worm their way into the home so they could eventually kill you. But this thing wasn’t even trying to hide it.
It looked emaciated. Like some kind of cheap halloween decoration that kids would’ve laughed at, months ago. But now, you knew that smile was real. That wasn’t a person. It stood hunched on your doorstep, and maybe it knocked like it knew what a person fucking did, but it was over seven feet tall.
“Howdy,” it said, not dropping that wide grin for a moment. Its cadence was all wrong.
You pulled the bolt back slowly, making sure the both of you heard the telltale click. This thing was getting a bullet right to the face if it tried anything.
The visitor outside cocked its head a bit, grin pulling even wider if it was possible. It was all milky, almost dead skin, pure white in the night that swathed the outside world. It was death in a package that suited death—pure, but stained with the dirt of graves long since dug up. The blood of old kills staining its fingers, stuck under its nails. You stared at it for a long moment.
“What do you want?”
It shuffled a bit closer to the door, craning its neck down to look through the peephole better. “Nice house you got here,” It said in that odd, mimicking tone. Like it knew what it was supposed to say, but only from a life long ago. “I like it.” It continued, eerily still.
You took a deep breath in. The door separated you from whatever fucking thing was out there. And so did the rifle, clenched tight in your hands.
“I’ve got a gun.” You said, tone unwavering.
The pale visitor laughed. “Mm. Gives courage to the coward, doesn’t it?” Then, without missing a beat, it leaned close enough that its forehead thunked against the outside of the door, muttering almost conversationally. “Sooo…you alone?”
You glanced behind you. People were in the rooms of your house. But was that what it wanted to hear? Did it want to get the most people possible, as quick as possible, and think this was the easiest way? Should you lie?
No, you decided. There was probably no point to it. People were breathing in your house, and if this thing could hunt, who’s to say it couldn’t hear them? Finally, you just spat the words out.
“No. I’m not alone.”
The visitor frowned. Inhaled deeply, like it was trying to fucking smell the air. It’s face stayed neutral after that. “Lucky. Lucky guyyyy. They’re whispering inside. I can hear.”
You’d been right. The thought that it could detect breaths and such gentle noises was…frightening, to say the least. But you kept quiet, and it didn’t stop talking.
“Shame. But who knows where everyone ends up in a few days?” It stated, flashing gums again. With that message, and a few more seconds of eerie silence, it turned around and walked off. You watched until you saw that bare, moonlit back disappear into swaying fields, the night turning quiet again.
・・・・・
The next evening, you looked out the window. The sun had just barely set. The sky was still bright enough to see by, providing the right amount of light without being scorching. You skimmed the surroundings, eyes narrowed. This place wasn’t something you wanted to let down. Until your gaze froze on a lump left on the right side of the house. You squinted. Looked closer the best you could. It was round. Furred, or no, covered in—
You stood up straight. Covered in hair. Unruly, long hair, matted and sticky looking. Hair that should’ve fallen on a neck and shoulders that was nowhere to be found. There was a head outside your house. And, when you looked closer, a few other parts. A torso, cracked open down the middle. Spilling intestines. A leg, or the stump of one at least. You could practically hear the flies from here, already buzzing in your ears and the back of your mind.
It was disgusting. It would start smelling soon, wafting back towards the house when the wind changed, and people would see it long before that. But no one went out once they were in. That kept everyone safe. It kept you safe. Jaw tight, you blinked slowly, running a hand over your face. There was nothing you could do, not if you wanted to stay secure.
God. You needed a cigarette. Maybe a beer, too.
More parts kept appearing throughout the next few days, or nights. Visitors could be outside whenever, right? Maybe? If so, that spindly fuck took full advantage of it. There was a neat, almost circular shape forming around your house. Unspooled intestines. Fingers. More heads than you’d ever wanted to see. Other chunks of what was once human, gnawed on and tossed down. It disgusted you, to see how many people had died to this…thing. The stench was terrible now, wafting through the walls and almost permeating the air. And worst, you had no idea why it was doing this.
Was it hunting? People had started worrying, inside. Asking questions, and when you snapped or took too long to answer because you didn’t know, they began to curl away. Towards each other, speaking in quiet whispers, darting eyes flicking over you before skittering away again.
You felt like you were going insane. Sometimes, you wished you’d never taken anyone in at all. At least no one that couldn’t keep their mouth shut and head down. You always took it back, right after, reminded yourself over and over that it was better to be with people, no matter how stir crazy and distrusting they were, than to be alone. That thing wanted you alone—and it wouldn’t get it.
But not a day later, like a terrible wish granted, FEMA was at your door. Asking for one person. You pointed at random, gave someone away without hesitation, watched their long march to a car to get to a ‘quarantine zone.’ It was worth it for them to leave you alone. The suits were…just as bad as visitors, sometimes, and much more human. As long as you had one person, just one with you, you’d be fine. The house was getting…too crowded, anyways. Between the smell of decay from outside, the terrifying ring that thing had set up, and the odour of too many people in too small a space, you needed it better. At least a little bit.
Supplies dwindled—but not the kind that you’d thought to hoard. Not food, or water, or ammunition. They came back every day, masked faces staring straight ahead into the peephole, armed and visibly dangerous. They stole someone away every time. At first, it was okay. You had four people in the house, and they came from the government, so obviously they must know it wasn’t safe to be alone.
But people stopped coming to seek refuge after the air around your home grew too heavy, filled with the stench of decomposition from the boundary that visitor had created. You’d have done the same—not taken the chance, deemed the person inside the home a vigilante, growing a garden of fear and warnings taken human shape, and skipped to the next place with a roof and a door.
As that last finger raised, pointing almost through the door, a low voice demanding another, you stiffened. That wasn’t what was supposed to happen. You needed someone here—that thing might as well have said so itself when it asked if you were alone. Didn’t they know that? Were they testing you, being stupid?
You didn’t want to give him up, the quiet man that just sat around, not bothering anyone and occasionally reminiscing or hoping for a beer. He was the most tolerable of all of the people you’d let in. And if you let him go…that thing would kill you. You were sure of it.
But not complying would bring death faster. They’d just shoot you through your door without hesitation. People were already talking about the odd circle of remains around your home. It’d been there a while, and that thing kept leaving more. If you disobeyed FEMA now, that would bring a shot to the head before you could even say a word.
So you let him leave with the agents. Opened the door wide for the first time in a while as you watched him go, evening wind whipping your face. It smelled like death. Not just around you, but on your skin, in your hair. Maybe that wasn’t far off.
You went back inside.
The darkening sky was a solemn event, this time. The house was completely silent. No hum of whispers, quiet breathing, the smell and instinctive sense of having people around. It was just you. You treated yourself that evening. Broke out a good bottle of wine. Only one glass, though, because when that thing came for you, you’d still fight it the best you could. You wouldn’t go down a coward—not like what your father’d always said about you. Either you’d kill it, or you’d kill yourself before it could get you. Simple as.
The knock came like a death bell. Once, twice. A third time. The sun was fully set now, an almost blissful night replacing the scorching heat of day. You could hear grass rustling outside. If you closed your eyes, thought hard enough, it was just another desperate person at your door. You raked a hand through your hair, slow and casual, leaning back into the chair. It didn’t shake. It didn’t.
Then, you stood. Got to the front door in a few long strides, rifle loaded and in hand, pointed straight at the peephole even before the pale visitor outside said anything. He was there, of course, grinning that same cheshire smile. “Still holed up in here, huh?”
He—it. It said. The tone was more human, now. Still eerie, the wrong sounds stressed, but better. Like it was finally trying to act like one. On the night it was here just to kill you. It could’ve been funny, and it was, somewhere in your mind. But you didn’t need to give into the hopelessness so fast.
“Sure.” You said, short and clipped.
It stared straight ahead for what felt like minutes, the silence running like sand through an hourglass. Then:
“Everything’s been decided for us, you know?” It tapped its finger against the door frame, the slow clicks irritating. “A blessing isss what that is.”
You felt your brows pull together. Was this thing rambling about fate or something? Devotion? Sure, you had the cross in your home, on your mantle, but you didn’t believe what it was saying. You couldn’t. Otherwise the end of days had already come, and you’d been left behind.
Still, you decided to bite. “You’re saying I can’t do anything?”
It cackled, mouth opening wide. “Yes! You’re one man. What's oneee person gonna do?” It got itself under control quickly, face returning to that too-wide smile. “So. Liiiiisten. You alone?”
There it was. That question you’d dreaded, the one that would sink this whole ship, no matter what you tried. The visitor was here already. It could sense people, before. And even from the outside, the house looked deserted, the decomposing parts left around it too much for most people to stand, and FEMA stealing the rest.
Still, you squared your shoulders. Huffed out a hard breath through your nose. Looked it dead in the eye through the peephole. “No.”
The visitor’s grin stayed put as its chest rose up and down in harsh, shuddering breaths. As if it was following scents that had long since gone stale. It already knew.
“All by your lonesome.” It said idly, eyes narrowing in something that could’ve been close to mirth. “No one worked out?”
Before you could protest, or say anything, it continued.
“Shame. Guess I’ll slip in reeeeal quick, then. You should enjoy some company in these deeesperate times.”
Immediately, you were moving, widening your stance and leaning your full body weight against the door. “You’re not welcome.” You hissed, even as the wood creaked terribly.
“Don’t say that. Be a good host.” Came a muffled reply.
Then, what had been a door a few seconds earlier imploded. You stumbled back with the force of it, head spinning, looking down at your hands first. Embedded with chips of wood and beading red slowly.
You looked up.
It looked taller inside. It was maybe half a head from touching the ceiling. And it was just as disgusting as you’d thought, even worse up close. You could count every long rib, see its collarbones and shoulders, the sunken eyes and jut of hipbones. It looked nothing like a person. Maybe it didn’t even need to, based on what it’d just done. The only thing left of your door was a hinge, barely staying bolted to the frame, swaying quietly.
It started at you. Stepped closer, slower than you expected. You did the only thing you could. Scrambled for the rifle strap lying a few feet away. Braced it on your shoulder. Aimed to put its ugly fucking heart at the other end of the barrel.
Then pulled the trigger.