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Inhabitants

"Experience is a hard teacher because she gives the test first, the lesson afterwards." - Vernon Sanders Law

By Hannah HorrorPublished 6 years ago 3 min read
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We can only go up from here.

You can panic. That's fine. You have time to panic, but you don't need to. You can, but you don't need to. You've already run into the wrong direction, you've already lost your backpack of supplies, but sure, panic. You can, but you don't need to. It was well known time was dwindling whenever you hesitated. The way they operate looks to be more than just mindless, maladroit rage. They're improving, honing their savagery and correcting themselves. They began with individual spouts of attacks—you could deal with that. That was fine. Over the next few weeks, they've shown a rapid growth in their hunting. They seem to hunt together now. You've seen them work together before. It was still chaotic, but not like this. This was new. This was organized. Too organized.

It took years and this whole time you thought you could just distract them; it was working, but the distractions became harder to believe. Soon, distractions were just a part of the day. They learned to work around this. This was bad. All of the prep, the movies, the conspiracy scares? Nothing prepared you for this part. Here is where you stand alone. You can hear them tearing at the walls, barricades toppling in the distance, the faint squeak of their dirtied sneakers. They were coming now and all you've done so far was panic. Which was fine, you had time to panic. All of your thoughts swirled from day to day celebrations to the time you were too stubborn to apologize to the time you wish you had paid attention when asked. There was so much to look back on and boy, was it too late to change it now.

Outside of your hideout, they were communicating. Their language was unknown to you. Again, something you should have paid attention to. Language barriers. Maybe, even though you lived in America, you should have learned more than English. This was far too advanced for your expectations of them. There was so much you wanted to go back and change your life. Even your personality. Perhaps you would have noticed something had you been a little more open to everyone's paranoia. Nervously sweating, you wipe it as much as you can.

They'll probably smell it.

Around you were dusted floors with splotches of sludge beneath it. Dried splatters on the walls. This beautiful home had been destroyed, acreage burned and scattered with remains. Stopping to think how you had even made it through that yard was unbelievable, but here you are, lurking in a butler's room shaking in your stained slacks and scuffed shoes. Snot dribbled over the already dried mucus and soot covering your crying face, this was a mess. They were going to find you soon. You could hear them extracting the others from their hiding places. You could hear your own people telling them that you were somewhere in this house. They were just as crooked as you were.

Knocking turned to beating and soon they were working on that doorknob. You have never hated a doorknob so much in your life. Running probably wouldn't work now. They would hear the window open and come swarming in. What was the point now? Oh, man, you should have listened. There were signs everywhere. No one believed it would happen. Even if they did take minor precautions, no one believed it would happen. They were too stupid. Too unorganized. Maybe they had potential but as long as there was a distraction? It could be contained. It could have been. Until they stopped attacking one day. Until they stopped killing each other. Until they started listening to one another. That was the first mistake you made, you didn't think they would listen. You didn't think they would mind. You didn't think they would feel umbrage—together.

Collective chants of implacable voices struck you back to reality for just a moment. You were no longer in a room fearing for your life. Instead, you were watching as a crowd of pleading and vengeful eyes begged you to listen to them—you, their leader, who had so carelessly placed aside their words taken with a grain of salt many times before. Clearing your throat, you calmed the crowd softly. Then you shushed the reporters and pointed to a citizen behind them.

"I'd like to hear what he has to say." That's all it took. You can relax—you have time to, but you don't need to. Not yet.

fiction
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About the Creator

Hannah Horror

A lover of poetry, music, games, food, the wonders of our mind and all things horror.

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