Neophobic

They only came out at night.

And they terrified Greer every time, despite his size and strength.

Now, he stood inside the front door watching through the peephole, as he had done every night since the troubles began.

No one knew what caused the disease, turning normal people into hideous monsters in as little as four hours. News reports tried to pinpoint the origin to a virus, a popular theory since the last pandemic. But alternative media spoke of an alignment of the planets in conjunction with an equinox as a meteor flashed across the sky like some ancient druidic mythology.

As the weeks rolled on and people stockpiled their toilet paper once again, the deniers and conspiracy theorists refused to believe.

Until the world witnessed it live on television with Barbara Griffin during KBS News’ 6:30 report. In the middle of yet more coverage of the disease, she suddenly lurched forward in her chair, slammed the news desk with both fists and looked back up into the camera with pitch black eyes. Her luscious blonde locks were quickly overgrown with black needles, like those of a porcupine, tearing apart the silk of her peach blouse as they extended down her back. Her plump lips distended into a bloated purple maw filled with sharp teeth.

Then the image was suddenly replaced with the test pattern, now broadcast on an endless loop as the world continued its descent into anarchy.

And Ms Griffin was never heard from again.

Whatever the cause, hysteria stormed across the globe as quickly as the disease. Two pandemics all rolled into one.

Scientists called it Neoplasia, but people were quick to just label the sufferers as Neos. Their hideous, malformed, monstrous shapes unleashing chaos across every corner of civilisation.

All Greer knew was that he could take no chances. Locked within the familiar safety of his home, he dared to survive. Alone. Every night.

He checked all four locks on the front door again. Secure. Secure. Secure… As his hand reached for the fourth latch, he heard the howls from outside.

They were coming.

Through the peephole, he surveyed the street, the view distorted in the fisheye lens. Long shadows were stretching down the middle of the street, backlit by a streetlight beyond his field of vision. A gaggle tramping their way through suburbia looking for fresh meat.

Greer had faced a few of them, one or two at a time, usually while foraging. Their ferocity was as he expected but he had fought them off, even killed a couple to survive. He figured, if it came down to it and he had the element of surprise, he could probably take on three or four.

But now, the shadows in the street hinted at a pack of nine.

Their whoops and howls echoed among the houses. Most of the homes were now empty, either deserted as Greer’s neighbours had fled for safety, or purged of any resident who had succumbed to the transformative disease.

In the beginning, the government mobilised quickly to contain the outbreak. The Cleaners were tasked with locating and removing Neos – to who knows where – but, when the Neos started to outnumber the norms, the system rapidly descended into desperate hunting and killing.

Greer placed a hand on the fourth lock and gently turned the latch.

Unsecure.

Just as the dark shadows in the street slowly came into view, he turned the latch the other way to quickly lock it.

Click.

Despite the caterwauling outside, the metallic sound carried on the air.

Greer drew a sharp breath. Through the peephole, he could see one of them stop and cock their head towards Greer’s house, sniffing the air to pick up his scent. The others instantly stopped and looked too.

Greer pressed both hands against the back of the door and dared not move.

Suddenly, they broke into a run, leaping over the front hedge and thundering across the yard, howling and snarling. As one, they charged the front door.

Splintered wood flew across the living room, the door burst off its hinges, and Greer was thrown back beneath the detritus.

He knew this night would come. He could only hide for so long.

Drawing in a huge breath, Greer scrambled to his feet and turned to face the horde as they poured through the doorway into his living room. Nine teenagers armed with clubs, knives, axes – the vigilante Cleaners – stopped in their tracks as he rose up before them, bigger and stronger than they had ever seen before.

Greer opened his bloated purple maw, flashed rows of jagged teeth, and roared. The hundreds of black quills down his back shivered, chittering like cicadas.

The teenagers saw their own reflection in the blackness of Greer’s eyes, briefly.

Then he tore them to shreds.