Zombie Hounds from Hell

Wednesday, January 4, 2023—

Today is the fourth day of the zombie apocalypse.

Four days— since the undead dogs rose from their graves.

Four days— since the End of the World began.

Although— when I stop to think about it, I guess this necrotic nightmare actually started nearly a week ago, when all the canines all over the world died overnight.

Wolves, coyotes, foxes, jackals, every species of dog both domesticated and wild— every canine everywhere mysteriously dropped dead on Tuesday, December 27th, 2022. Every dingo in Australia, every hyena in Africa, every red wolf in America— all dead.

In all the horror movies I ever saw, zombies were created from either some biological catastrophe or because hell was full and a CLOSED sign had been hung on the infernal gates.

They say truth is always stranger than fiction, right?

I never kept any kind of diary before the Last Days started, but I feel compelled to keep one now. And not because I give a shit about who ultimately listens this, if anyone. I do this for my own sanity. Talking into this voice recorder helps me organize my thoughts.

I’ve been having trouble concentrating today. I’m suffering because I’ve gotten so little sleep. The thought just crossed my mind that, 'I’m a zombie', and I was faintly amused.

I’m exhausted.

I can’t stop thinking that I’m alive today because I’m a social outcast. My inability to get laid actually saved my life.

Who’da thunk it?

I would have loved to have been in Times Square at midnight, wasted on leftover Christmas booze, hanging onto some hottie girl. Instead, I was getting drunk in my apartment alone watching it all on high definition TV. Like everyone else, I suppose, I was horrified and spellbound when the dog packs began attacking people. Then I saw the videos of the dogs being shot and getting up again... dogs shot repeatedly and still attacking, and I thought... Hell, I said it aloud, “This isn’t real!” For a while, I believed it must have been like when Orson Welles did his War of the Worlds thing on the radio back in 19whatever. I assumed I must be watching some kind of crazy New Year’s horror movie and I just missed the warnings at the beginning stating it was ‘Just A Dramatization’.

It quickly became hideously apparent that there really were rampaging packs of zombie dogs tearing up people in Times Square... because it also started happening here in Queens!

Suddenly, it was like 5,000,000 people were all screaming at once, while another 3.5 million were firing off guns!

My normally quiet little neighborhood suddenly sounded like a battlefield!

I locked up the house and then came down here to the bunker.

My family has owned this property since 1944. Sometime in the 1950s, because of the 'Red Scare,' my grandfather had this bomb shelter dug— a basement beneath our basement. It’s big enough for six people— the size of my grandfather’s family back then.

For more than twenty years, nobody ever came down here. This bunker sat empty, barely remembered. Mom locked it up after dad died and then Mom passed away in 2019.

Thank God I had the foresight to open it up again and stockpile down here! I’ve always been concerned about government lap dogs showing up at my door to take my guns away, ever since They stole the last election from our greatest President ever.

One thing I had never been concerned about?

Zombie canines from Hell!

But I don’t beat myself up for that. No one expected it would be hellhounds that would rise up to claim the Earth!

I suppose using that term isn’t being entirely fair to the zombie dogs. I don’t know for certain if they’re from Hell.

They might just be from New Jersey.

I gotta maintain my sense of humor, right?

Right.

It’s suddenly quiet now. I don’t hear any of them howling. I’m going to try to sleep again.

LATER– 3:33 a.m..

This howling drives me crazy!

The monsters are back and there must be thousands of them! They go wailing through the streets like some kind of galloping banshee parade! All that barking and growling and screeching! These huge fucking packs of Mongrel Undead create this looooong sound that seems to rumble through the city like grounded thunder! The only thing I can equate it to is the rumble caused by dozens of guys on a lengthy procession of motorcycles.

There are way too many of these abominations! What hope does humanity have against billions of these ravenous beasts?

Zombie dogs don’t sound like regular dogs when they bark and wail. I can’t even describe it. It’s like all those dead fur-balls are singing or something— like they are chanting some kind of demon mutt marching song.

I know that’s probably just my imagination.

I still can’t get an Internet or television connection down here. And the alerts I get from the Emergency Broadcast System on the radio are sporadic and often garbled. I know people are gathering at every major military base around the country. I know the army is engaged in skirmishes with massive zombie dog packs in both Boston and Baltimore. Philly too... but I’ve heard absolutely nothing about NYC.

Dad used to play with ham radios. I haven’t a fucking clue what happened to his old ham radios. I suppose they’re still in his attic on the farm. I wish I had something like a ham radio right now!

I don’t like thinking about mom and dad.

I won’t think about them.

The zombie parade has finally passed by.

There is still sporadic barking in my neighborhood. It never ceases completely any more. But that great monster herd of zombie mongrels has moved on.

I’m going to try sleeping again.

5:33 AM–

Terrible nightmare. Everybody died. I don’t want to think about it— not about to record it here!

I love medical dramas. Grey's Anatomy, The Good Doctor, Nurse Jackie, ER back in the day. My all-time favorite was House, before it was canceled. In my inaccessible home above me, I have all eight seasons of House on DVD.

“It’s never Lupus,” they used to say all the time on House.

Now, suddenly, in this Brave Howling New World the new motto is, “It’s Always Lupus!”

That’s a joke.

(tittering)

Get it?

I’m still absolutely clammy with sweat. I can’t stop shaking.

My parents have a kennel on the farm where they live. I come from a long line of dog lovers. Mom and Dad have six German Shepherds, three Irish Setters, two basset hounds, a Shitzu, a boxer, and a Scottish Terrier. And I just saw every fucking one of those dogs all goryed up and zombified in my dream!

I don’t know how much more of this shit I can take!

January 5, 2023—

I caught several conflicting broadcasts on the radio this morning. People are still being told to Stay Inside their locked homes if they are safe. If travel is necessary, we’re told to move only in large groups, and report to the fortified shelters at Fort Hamilton in Brooklyn.

I have no large group. There’s only me.

I’m not going anywhere.

It's reported now that the zommutts cannot be killed by any known means! This isn’t The Walking Dead. A shot to the brains does not end the threat of the Panting Dead. Shoot a zommutt in the head and the body just keeps coming. Even decapitation only cripples them. The army is now dealing with the zommutts by either incinerating them or burying them alive in concrete.

Instead of calling them ‘zombie mutts’, I’m now calling them zommutts.

That was obvious, right?

Is it also obvious that nothing seems obvious anymore?

Most of what I heard on the radio was useless and exasperating. Everyone on all the radio channels are speculating about what caused this. And no one knows! Supernatural? God’s wrath? Mutagenic Plague? Some other unexplained natural occurrence? Extraterrestrial?

The only people who know for certain what is happening are the evangelists and I’m certainly not listening to them.

I don’t want to listen to anyone’s theory about what has caused dead dogs to rise!

I decided, in fact, I didn’t want to listen to the radio at all anymore. I turned it off.

Then, a little later, I realized how quiet it had become above/outside. No gunshots, no zommutt howling, no screaming...

I turned the radio back on.

Wouldn't you know it? I was just in time to hear something that totally freaked me out!

A news announcer guy was saying that Under No Circumstances should anyone engage an undead canine, regardless of the weaponry they possessed. And that segued into several eyewitness accounts of zombie attacks, which then culminated with the broadcast of a recording of the demonic roar of a gigantic pack of zommutts.

When the recorded zommutts on the radio started to wail, all of a sudden, all around me, other zommutts started howling too! The house above me sounds like it's packed with zommutts. And I didn’t even know they were up there!

THEY’RE EVERYWHERE!

LATER—

THEY’RE HERE!

I don’t understand how they got into the house, let alone how they got into the basement! Of course, they know I’m down here! I was surprised at first but now that I stop to think about it— hell and damnation! I shouldn’t be surprised that the wolves are at my door! Dead or not, they’re still canines, right? They still can smell like muther-fuckers!

They’ve got my scent!

Is it possible to die of fright? I think it probably is possible, but I also don’t think it’s possible for me.

My heart may be beating fast but it’s a healthy heart.

I may not die from fear but, right now, I wish I could!

I can’t bear this! I can’t record any more. This isn’t helping.

January 9, 2023– I think.

There is nothing on the radio but static. The last thing I heard was two days ago— yesterday? I’ve lost track of time.

The last broadcast I heard was disheartening, to say the least. The President is supposedly considering tactical nuclear strikes on certain cites now completely overrun by Hellhounds, including, of course, the Big Apple.

The City that Never Sleeps is now the City That Never Stops Barking!

(crazed laughter)

I’m not calling them zommutts anymore. That isn’t hideous enough. I’m calling them Hellhounds now. Capital “H.”

I’ve got a gasoline-powered generator down here and enough fuel to run it for maybe three weeks? If I ever need it. Right now, I’m still getting power from the house.

I’ve got enough food to last at least six months, maybe longer.

The door down here is reinforced— strong enough to protect me from the Hellhounds.

But eventually I will run out of food.

The monsters outside my door have the patience of the dead. I can hear them even now, sniffing and panting, some even whining like they're hungry– making ‘real dog’ sounds.

Any minute, one of them will yip or yawl like a ghoul to remind me how unreal these Hellhounds are!

I’m tired of microwave dinners.

I’m tired of being scared.

I’m sick to death of having nightmares!

JAN 10, 2023—

The power from my house went out. I’m now on generator power.

I have batteries for my radio... but there is still nothing on it except static.

I keep thinking that eventually I will have to m— Nope! I am not speaking that into the atmosphere, even to get it out of my head!

Middle of the Night—

It’s a conspiracy!

I only sleep long enough to have horrible nightmares.

Otherwise I can’t sleep because of their howling!

They won’t stop!

The Next Day—

I honestly don’t know what day it is for certain. I know I’m not keeping track of time right. I sleep so sporadically, I don't even know when it's day or night anymore. (heavy sigh)

I just did something I shouldn’t have done!

I’ve thought about doing it before. Repeatedly. Often. But I always talked myself out of it before. Over and over, I told myself, “Don’t do it. It could just creep you out and make everything worse.”

I don’t know what possessed me! There is a small sliding hatch in the door— a peephole. I just looked out into the hallway and I wish to God I hadn’t!

All of them!

All my father's dogs are out there!

SIX GERMAN SHEPHERDS, THREE IRISH SETTERS, TWO BASSET HOUNDS, A SHITZU, A BOXER, AND A GODDAMN SCOTTISH TERRIER!

WHY ARE THEY AFTER ME?!?

My parents live in West Virginia! This is New York City! How many miles is that?

This is insane!

Why would they be after me?!?

They’re all covered in blood. From what I can see, they even tracked fresh blood down the stairs. Who’s blood can that possible be?

I’m certain I don’t want to know!

I never should have looked outside the door. I never should have done it. My God, why am I so fucking stupid?!?

Days Later— I don’t know how many days it’s been since my last recording…

(panting)

I can’t take it anymore!

There are at least two dozen hellhounds piled up outside my door! They’re packed in like sardines!

No one is coming to help me! No one is ever going to find me!

Those monsters want me and THEY WON’T EVER GO AWAY!!!

(For the next two minutes the recording captures inarticulate screams.)

This is my Final Entry– Two weeks into 2022???

(sniffling)

Today I die by my own hand. I'm not sticking around for the gasoline to run out so I'm plunged into perpetual darkness. When the generator stops, all the food left in the freezer will start to rot too.

Not my scene.

I have so many guns here, but none of them will ever be fired ever again. I’m too much of a coward to Go Out Fighting the demon dogs... and equally too much of a coward to put a bullet into my own head!

In the reports I heard previously, it was confirmed that Hellhounds eat their victims after they kill them. They crack open people’s bones to get at the marrow inside... and they do seem to have a special appetite for people's brains!

I heard nothing about human beings coming back as zombies after being bitten. Thank God! In fact, the early reports suggested that wasn’t the case. People don’t become zombies. People just die.

Only canines are doomed to roam the Earth forever.

Still: I worry.

I hope I don’t end up a zombie.

(weeping)

I hope I took enough pills to kill me... not just make me sick.

I hope the military does send a nuclear strike down on NYC! Incinerate all Satan’s varmints in nuclear fire! BURN 'EM UP!

I wonder if the… Did you see that? I swear, it’s like th… Whu... That was sk... DID YOU SEE DAT? HOLY FUCK SAUCE!

Where'd th come from?

(crying)

(giggling)

(muttering)

(humming)

🎵🎶🎼 Scooby Scooby Doo, where are you? I need dum help frm do now!

CUJO! CUJO! CUJO!

What is it, Lassie? What's wrong, girl? Is it Timmy? Is he trapped in a hell?

See Spot Run! Run Spot Run!

Spot ~s~s~s~s~s~s~s~ splot

🎼🎶 how much is that doggy in the windw?

🎵🎵 da one with di waaggily taaaail 🎶

🎼🎶 how much is dat doggy in da windw? 🎵🎶

Where’s the bones? Who took the milk bones? WHERE’S THE ALPO?

whut big eyes you av grndma

..................... what big TEETH!!!

⚡_____⚡ 🐶 ⚡____⚡

I hope you enjoyed the horror show!

Thank you kindly for your support!

__________________Bolt ⚡