As I mentioned, I like to write short stories. But I don't like to share them with anyone. Friends or family. They're mainly for my entertainment only. I don't like to have myself exposed for the world to see. This is only the second time I've posted one for anyone to read. To read the other one just search this site for "tony the gerbil". Why am I sharing this one? I think it's because it may actually be my best one yet. And trust me, that ain't saying much. And for those of you who downloaded the font, you can see why I wanted you to. I've done this story in a journal format. I've broken it up so that it looks more like it was written on paper rather than just typed out. I also need to give a warning out. If you don't like cursing, then this story may be uncomfortable for you at times. I curse on the blog sometimes, but I went a little further here. And there is a scene that also may make some uncomfortable. It's not sexually graphic, but I mean we're all adults here after all. It's goes into a little detail, but nothing bad. So read it and let me know what you think. Whether it be a bad or good review. Also notice no title. I don't usually title them.
The following is from a journal that was found in a motel room in Phoenix, Arizona on March 12, 2004. It chronicles the final days of it's author, James Davidson.
|August 5, 1999|
My name is James Davidson. I once lived in a town called Wellstone in Oklahoma. I'm 38 years old and I'm the only survivor from my town. I wanted to start this journal so that people who are lucky enough to have remained un-infected will know what has happened to their world. Why would I say that? Because I've been to almost every state in this damn country and they've been there. It's a matter or reasoning. If this continues the way it has, then chances are that the whole country will be infected soon. It won't take too long to tell because I just can't rehatch everything that has happened.
|It's just too painful. Let me start by saying that his name was Alexander Geist, or at least that's the name he went by when I knew him. I've found that over time he has used many allies. I don't know his true name, nor do I care to. Geist was German. He graced our little town with his presence in June of 1997. Within a month the dead animals started showing up. At first it was only a couple of dogs and cats. But then livestock started to die. That's the first sign that you need to look for. I don't totally grasp the reasoning why, but I think it's Gregor, Geist's lackey, that kills them. I'm guessing it's to keep Geist alive until he's ready to begin his real feeding.|
|By September of '97 it was noticed that people were starting to disappear. One or two here and there. Then whole households started dropping out. Two of them were a friend of mine, Frank Yellowfeather and his daughter Anne. He was the principal at the school I worked at. Although he had gone missing, I did see him again. More on that later. As I'm sure you know, it happens fast. Between June of 97 and December of 97 almost the whole town of Wellstone had been infected. There were only a few of us left. Me, a handful of children, some of their parents and my best friends Larry and Hannah Benton.|
|On December 12, 1997 the remains of the town had gathered to work out a plan on where to go and what we should do once we got out. I don't know if I'll be able to finish this part, but I'm going to try. It was at that meeting that the remaining survivors were taken. All except Larry and myself. It was decided at that meeting that we would find a bus and take it out of town. "Anywhere but here" was the destination everyone agreed on. Myself and Larry were chosen as the ones to go and find the bus.|
|While we were out trying to get one, they attacked the people we left behind. Everyone of them, all 23, were taken. We found a school bus that we were able to get started. When we returned we had the shock of our lives. As we walked into the meeting hall Larry and I both commented on how quite it was. Deep down I knew it wasn't good. Without even knowing it we had both started to walk a little faster. Then ran. When we busted through the doors, the hall was empty. Except for the blood that was left on the floor. Not a lot. They don't leave much. Only enough to let us know they had been there. Larry fell to his knees and began to cry. He had just lost his wife. They'd only been married for a year. But it wasn't a hysterical crying like you would think. After six months of watching everyone you know being taken, crying is a hard thing to do. It was then that we left Wellstone. And I've never been back since.|
|It's getting late and I need to try and get some sleep. Sleep. Ha. What's that? But before I put my pen down for the night I need to give you the rules that I've discovered. You may have discovered them as well, but just in case you haven't I'll put them down. They may just help you survive.|
1. Crosses don't work. Don't believe the stories. A cross will do nothing against them. Geist himself actually wears one around his own neck.
2. Garlic doesn't work. No effect at all.
|3. They're fast. Fast beyond belief. One second they're standing right in front of you, then in a blink of an eye they're gone. |
4. They have to be invited in. That's the one myth that's true. But they try everything they can to get in. Pleading, demanding and even hypnosis. Don't look into their eyes and try as hard as you can to block out their voice.
5. The biggest and worst one. They can come out during the day. Sun light really doesn't affect them. But they do feed only at night. So they have to sleep during the day. They still need to rest. But they're able to stay awake for a good week sometimes.
|August 6, 1999|
I got a little sleep last night, but the dreams won't let me rest. As I was reading over what I wrote last night it hit me. I've been on the move for a little of a year and half now. I truly can't believe it's been that long. While many things have become a blur over that time, many more things are fresh in my memory. There've been days when I sit and wonder why I was able to get away. Why I'm the only one left. I'll sit there and wish for death. I've even come close to killing myself more than once. But for some reason I don't do it. I would damn him to hell for starting all this, but I fear it would do no good.
|If Alexander Geist isn't from hell itself, he comes from a place damn close. Some may be asking why I keep saying that I'm the lone survivor from my home when I said that my friend Larry Benton left Wellstone with me. That's true, he did. But I lost him not too long after that. We decided we didn't need the bus after all. What would have been use? So we took my car. Where were we going? "Anywhere but here". We headed down south to Texas. We wanted to get out of Oklahoma, in case it was happening in other towns. I mean, the chances of it happening in two states and no one reporting it. They were remote. Right? After a couple of days driving we wound up in a small town in Central Texas. I can't even remember the name of it.|
|Everything seemed fine at first, until we noticed dead animals turning up. Sign one. After everything we had just been though, to wind up in another state and it begin to happen again? We thought maybe we were cursed. We had no idea that it had been happening all over the country. I found that out later. But that's for another time. After the fourth or fifth dead dog in as many days we decided it was time to leave. But before we did so we tried to warn people. But as you can imagine, no one believed us. Would you have at that time? You know the old saying, "If only I'd known then what I know now". Here comes Rule 5. For some damned reason Larry and I decided to split up and get some supplies to take on the road. He was to get food while I was to try and get some money from the bank. We were only apart for 15 minutes. But that was long enough for Larry to become the first human victim. I don't want to go into too much detail, so I'll keep it brief.|
|I walked around the corner and saw one of the damned things feeding on Larry. I almost had a heart attack right there. So I just turned around and walked away. I know how horrible that sounds, but there was nothing I could do. I just got in my car and headed west. That was the last time I ever saw my friend and I don't care to ever see him again. I also talked about Frank Dawson yesterday. I said that I saw him again after he went missing. Rule 4. I was sitting home one night and heard a knock at my window. I opened the curtains and screamed. There was Frank, who had been missing for two weeks at the time. But he didn't look like Frank. You probably know how these things look. White as snow and elongated jaws to make room for the teeth. He tried every thing he could to get in. He begged me, telling me he as cold and could he come in to warm up. That he had been kidnapped and need to call the police. When none of that worked he resorted to violence. He started to pound on my doors.|
|Rule 3. It's almost as if he was pounding on both my front and back door at the same time he was moving so fast between them. He broke every window in the house. But he couldn't step foot in. That's when he cut the power. I had never been so scared in all my life. I was curled up behind my chair having a panic attack. This went on for what seemed like hours. His voice. His voice was the most horrific thing I'd ever heard. Pity and pure hatred mixed. Finally he stopped. I don't know what happened but I think he may have worn himself out and had to find a place to rest. This was in October of 97. Some may be asking why I stayed between then and December. Why didn't I just pack up and get the hell out of there. Why didn't anyone just pack up and get the hell out? I wish I could answer that, but I can't. But I wish to God we had.|
Five Hours Later:
They're here. God damn it, they're here. I had to leave. I'm writing this while on a bus heading south to Arizona. One of the few states I haven't been to yet. Why don't they just stop? Why can't they die?
|August 8, 1999|
Just arrived in Phoenix about an hour ago. Totally out of money. I've been working odd jobs where I can. Looks like I'm going to have find another.
Seven Hours Later:
Decided to watch a little t.v. Watched the news. It's happened. It was bound to happen sooner or later. I was hoping for later. Reports from L.A. of people disappearing by the hundreds. They're in the big cities now. Unless something is done, and quick, this country is fucked. No. This world is fucked.
|August 9, 1999|
I lied Even after almost 2 years of this, crying is an easy thing to do. I think I need to finish the meeting hall story. I've heard that talking can be very therapeutic. I've never believed that horseshit. It seems that talking about bad things would only bring the pain to the surface. But hey, when the pain has never left in the first place what have you got to lose. When I talked about the meeting of the town a few days ago, I said that Larry lost his wife in the attack. He wasn't the only one. My wife Beth was also taken.
|Along with my daughter, Sarah. She was only 13 for Christ sake. She had her whole life ahead of her. Very smart. She could have been anything she wanted to. It's not right for this to have happened to her. Or Beth Or anyone for that matter. Beth was the most beautiful woman on the face of the planet. Long black hair, dark brown eyes and a smile that would melt even the coldest heart. We had been married for 15 years. When all of this started in June, it was only 4 months until out 16th anniversary. I had it all planed out. I was going to take her and Sarah to Australia. It would have been Summer down there by then. It was the one place all three of us had been wanting to visit. It would have been perfect.|
|I also talked briefly about the dreams. They're not dreams. They're worse. They're real. This is where I need the therapy I talked about. In them I'm walking down the street. My street. As I reach for my doorknob to open it I get this weird feeling all over. Like something inside is waiting for me to enter so it can pounce and rip my throat out. As I open the door I hear music playing. And a smell. It smells like those scented candles Beth liked to burn. As I walk down the hall I notice that the door to our bedroom is slightly open and the music is coming from there. As I open the door, I'm greeted with the most beautiful site.|
|The room is lit only by the candles and there is my wife Beth, lying naked on the bed. Rule 4. Her voice as she calls to me is the sound of angels. "James, come to bed. I've got a surprise for you". She has me. Before I know what's happening I'm walking to her. I don't even know it's happening. But I want to go. I need to go. I lie on the bed and look into her eyes. They're no longer dark brown. They're red. No pupils. Just blood red. "James, I need you to come home. Sarah and I need you". That's when I realize that something is very wrong.|
|Underneath the sweet smell of the candles, I can smell something else. I foul rotting smell. It's coming from Beth. And just like that the spell she's been casting on me is broken. I get and run out the door as fast as I can to the sound of her screaming in anger. As I'm running back up the hall, there's Sarah. My sweet little angel. She's ash white. Red eyes just like Beth. Distended jaw. "Daddy, please come home. I miss you... I love you daddy". Her mouth is full of razor sharp teeth. That's when I wake up. Covered in sweat and holding back a scream of my own. You see, it's no dream. Even with just over 900 miles between us, they're calling out to me. Wanting me to return "home". The scary thing is, my resolution is becoming weaker all the time. I'm afraid that I may actually do it one day. God help me but I almost want to.|
You know something. I was right. I don't feel a damn bit better after telling that.
|August 11, 1999|
shit shit shit shit. God damn it. I'm fucking bit. It was Geist. I don't know how the fuck he turned up here with me but he did. I can't believe that son of a bitch got me. I need to get this down before it happens. It was that little fuck Gregor that I saw first. He just came out of nowhere. One second I'm walking to the store, the next thing there he is. I can already feel it happening. I need to be quick. It's not like some stories will have you believe. It wasn't a quick second of pain then blissful pleasure. It hurt like hell. He came up behind me. I never even saw him. It was like a hot fire poker being shoved into the back of my neck. Just in and out, that's all it takes. Everything went black and the sound of a child crying. Then it was over Im so tired how funy is ths loooks like i am goin home afer all
Well, there it is. I can usually crank one out in about an hour or two, but this one took me about three days. Now I feel I have to point some things out. You'll notice quite a few errors. Most of them were done on purpose. You see, James Davidson is tired and has been on the run for almost two years. He just started the journal to put down what was on his mind. It's not like he was sitting down to write War And Peace. Second. There's gaps in the story. That was also intentional. He had no idea he only had six days to live. He had meant to tell a little more, when he had time. Third. You may have noticed an almost familiar name. I once did a trace on my family, which isn't easy do for Indians because good records weren't kept. I was able to go back to around 1880 or so. I found that our name use to be Yellowfeather. Somewhere down the road it was changed to Greenfeather. I don't know why. I used it just for my own amusement. And fourth. There is no town called Wellstone here in Oklahoma. At least I don't think so. I looked but couldn't find one. I made it up. Well, I hope you liked it. If not, too bad. I pour my heart and soul out to you and... sorry about that.