The Others

Monday 11th June

They were at the door again today. Knocking, shouting, begging to be let in. I’m not stupid, I didn’t let on that I heard them. I went to the window, peeled back a corner of the yellowed newspapers to try and get a look at them. Such cunning disguises they have! This time a dumpy looking ‘woman’ with straight, mousy brown hair and a crucifix round her neck. She left a box of something on the porch, but I shan’t go and see till nightfall. It’s not safe in daylight anymore.

Lunch was tuna for Mavis and a few crackers for me. It’s getting harder to open the cans, my hands are so arthritic. Mavis was fussing, spitting at me when I took too long. I told her she doesn’t know how good she has it – she could be out there on the streets being hunted by those monsters, turned into cat casserole or feline fricassee. She’s an ungrateful wretch though, and didn’t come close until the can was open. She watches me the whole time she eats, I think she suspects I’m one of them. The Others. Lord knows what they did to her before I found her and brought her in.

I worked on my defenses after we ate. The front is pretty well fortified, they’d have to blast a hole through the front door to get in. The back is another matter. There’s a clear path right to the back door, if they get past the locks. It was growing dark by the time I finished stacking up the boxes, shifting piles of books and furniture to blockade the door. It’s not perfect, but I think it will hold for the night.

I crawled back through the tunnel to the kitchen, where I found a can of tomato soup I’d forgotten to log in my book. It’s been a while since they cut the power, but I still have my old camp stove. It was kind of cozy having a hot meal for a change. I couldn’t find a pan, so I just heated it in the can. Mavis begged for a share, but she’s a greedy old thing, and I told her she’d had her rations for the day. She sulked for a bit, but when I climbed back to the front room she settled on my feet. She’s pretending to sleep right now, keeping an eye on me while I write my journal. I’ll get a few hours sleep, and then I’ll go see what they put on my porch. Some kind of trap, I’ll be bound. Or maybe a bomb. Who knows what they are capable of.

Tuesday 12th June

It took a few hours to unblock the front door enough to go outside. I’m getting too old for this malarkey. I opened it a crack, watching the shadows to see if they were lying in wait. Nothing moved, but you never know, they are crafty. When I was sure they weren’t hiding in the bushes I ventured out. I could feel the pressure change in the air from their ship. They think it is well hidden with its cloaking devices, but you can see it if you look closely, the way the sky is darker in the middle and some of the stars are blurry. They might fool a younger person, but my rheumatism doesn’t lie. It’s always there, hovering above us, watching.

The box was labelled “St. Francis’s food pantry” just like the last two. This time it contained cat food as well as the other items. Do they know about Mavis? Who told them? She has been acting strangely lately, more aggressive. I wonder if they are using her to get to me? I’d like to ignore the food, after all, they might have poisoned it. I won’t take any of the fresh stuff, but the tins should be okay. There’s chicken noodle soup, and some tins of fruit in syrup. The rice pudding is definitely a surprise – I haven’t had that in weeks. I’ll have to check the can for puncture marks. They could be injecting something into them, hiding it beneath the labels. I don’t know how they infect people, so I don’t want to take any chances. I still don’t know how they got Margaret. She was always so careful.

Wednesday 13th June

Today was exhausting. They came back, two of them this time. The mousy ‘woman’ had a ‘man’ with her. He had a priest collar on! Astounding, the levels they stoop to. I have to give them credit for ingenuity. They banged for a while at the front, before walking round to the back. I heard them rattling the handle – ha! Good job I was two steps ahead of them. Realizing they weren’t getting in that way, they gave up. The ‘man’ wrote something on a piece of paper, and pushed it through my letter box. I heard the spring as it snapped closed after him. I don't plan on reading it.

Lunch was tinned peaches for me, and Friskies for Mavis. She wolfed it down like she’d never been fed before, and rubbed up against my legs all afternoon hoping I’d give in and open another can. I don’t know what they put in it, but it certainly had her in a state of excitement.

I’m almost out of space in this journal. I know Margaret had some spares in her room. I’m loathe to go up there – I’ve not been back since she was taken. I’m not even sure if I can get up there anymore, my legs aren’t what they used to be. I guess I’ll have to though, if I’m to leave a record of these events.

Thursday 14th June.

It took most of Wednesday to get to Margaret’s room. The way was blocked, some of the stacks of journals had collapsed since the last time I went upstairs. I used the hand rail to haul myself up over the piles of clothing and papers, squeezing between black sacks and storage totes until I reached the landing. It was claustrophobic even for me, crawling down the hallway to the room at the end. Past Mama and PopPops’ room. I thought about going in, having a rest on their bed. It’s still just how it was when we were young, though a bit dusty by now I’m sure. But the door was locked. Of course - Margaret had the key when she was taken.

Most of the corridor was filled with dolls. Creepy looking things. They make me shudder, with their eyes as crazy and dead as the Others outside. Dolls were Margaret’s thing, I never liked them. I wriggled my way through them, feeling their scratchy hair brush against my face and hands, cold porcelain hands reaching out for me. It was the stuff of nightmares. Eventually I reached the doorway to her room.

Everything was dark up there, the piles casting ominous shadows. Margaret liked her space cluttered, feeling safest when she was surrounded by all her things. It was her that taught me how to make the tunnels to get around, and ways to boobytrap them so that the Others couldn’t get in.

I crawled inside the first tunnel, my knees bleeding from the thumb tacks she had left littering the pathway. I reached the first branch-off, and noticed the pile of tins she had gathered the week before she was taken. Part of me wanted to take them for myself, they might still be in date and all food was valuable. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to touch them, these items that were perhaps the last things she touched before she left me. So I turned down the other path instead, towards where her wardrobe had been when we were little. When the Others came, she took to sleeping in her wardrobe, telling me it was safest – they wouldn’t think to look there.

I found the leg of her desk as I groped about blindly, and was able to pull out the bottom drawer enough to get a new notebook. The year on the front said 1976, but that didn’t matter. Time didn’t have much meaning anymore. I wanted to keep going, to curl up in the nest of blankets at the bottom of the wardrobe like I had when we were younger. Back when we had held out hope that the Others could be defeated, and we were still able to leave the house in daylight. Simpler times.

But the tunnel was blocked. A jumble of dolls and teddy-bears clogged the way, their small hands reaching out towards me, as though pleading with me to join them. Boxes had tumbled on top, collapsing the path ahead, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to dig my way further. As I wriggled myself back out of the tight gap, I noticed something shiny in the hand of one of the dolls… A skeletal hand, some kind of a Halloween prop perhaps. In the palm was a small silver heart locket. I remembered it well – the birthday Mama gave it to Margaret, fastening it around her neck with a laugh. “You look so grown up now!” she told her, and I remember the jealousy I felt, and how much I longed for one just like it.

I reached out and grabbed the chain, placing it inside the notebook as I dragged myself back through the maze of pathways. It was a relief to leave that room behind me, and the grinning faces of those scary dolls, like little dead children. The air smelled like rot and decay, and I longed for the safety of my armchair, and the company of Mavis, such as it was.

It was midnight by the time I made it back to my own space. I tried to clean up my cut knees as best I could. I couldn’t stop shaking, and for the first time since she was taken I found myself crying for Margaret. I decided to hell with the rations, and opened a second tin of Friskies for Mavis, while I ate the rice pudding. The cool, creamy dessert soothed my nerves, and I felt like I might finally be able to sleep.

I put the locket next to the photo I keep beside my chair. Our family smiling out at the camera, Papa’s arms around us all, Margaret’s hair flying wildly in the wind, sticking to her ice cream cone. It seems so very long ago now.

Friday 15th June

Mavis got out today. Somehow the Others managed to push open the front door far enough, and she ran to them. I can hardly believe it. Maybe she was their spy all along. I will miss her, though it means I can eat the rest of the tuna rations myself now. Maybe this is how they catch us all in the end, waiting for the loneliness to drive us out. I’m stronger than that, though. I’ve been alone a long time, they won’t catch me that easily.

I’ll build better defenses, shore up the barricade with heavier boxes. I’ll burn the whole place down before I let them take me too.

They are knocking again. I won't answer.