Sometimes They Come Back

Book by: iFeelSick

Summary

(prologue)

I never thought I would end up here. And by here, I mean the crawl space under some house’s porch that probably once belonged to someone. But that someone is probably now dead, in one way or another. I’m crouching in the cold dampness, listening to the torrential downpour of rain, trying to keep as quiet as the dead. Or maybe that’s the wrong expression, for I’ve come to realize that the dead can be quiet noisy.

Right. So I’m hiding in this crawlspace, being as silent as humanly possible so the flesh-crazy zombies don’t hear, find, and devour me. No pressure.

I scratch at my itchy scalp. What I’d give for a hot shower. Or a cold one. I’m not picky. I’ve already cut my hair short with my eight and a half inch switchblade. Now it’s just a short, choppy, black mess of unwashed hair. I’d cut it even shorter, like I did before, but sadly, my switch was lost just last week in the eye socket of a ghoul.

I still have a backpack full of supplies and a crowbar to bash heads, but I loved that blade. I guess it’s just one more reason to detest the dead.

Chapter1 (v.1) - Creep

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: December 25, 2009

Reads: 189

Comments: 4

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: December 25, 2009

A A A

A A A

I kneel in the cold mud in the crawlspace. My feet and legs start to ache from it, but I dare not try to repostion myself more comfortably. I can hear the hungry moans of the undead just outside my not-so-secure hiding place. All I can do is keep quiet and hope they don't smell me.

I wince at the pain in my legs that is reaching epic proportions. But I've known worse pains. And I'm still not sure which life Iprefer; on the run from zombies, fighting for survival, or the one I had before the outbreak. I used to live with my mom and her stupid, drunken boyfriend. They were my only family, and I can't saythatI'm sorrythey've been cheerfully gorged on by the dead. The only thing I'm sorry about is that they were eaten completely, and I never got the chance to bludgeon their reanimated zombie faces.

I don't hear any moans, so Idecide to risk sitting back and giving my legs a break. I sigh in sweet relief.

Big mistake. An earsplitting, gutteral groan breaks the silence. It sounds like it's right over me. Sure enough, there's pounding and thumping on the wooden boards above my head. There are zombies on the porch. How lovely for me. I know it's only a matter of time before their moans attract others, they break the boards, and I'm completely surrounded. It's time to go.

I army-crawl toward the exit, a small break in the fencing. Poking my head out, I see zombies already beginning to converge on me. I can also see that the rain hasn't let up a bit. It seems the forces of nature are doing their absolute best to make me quite uncomfortable.


© Copyright 2016 iFeelSick. All rights reserved.

Sometimes They Come Back

Status: Finished

Genre: Horror

Houses:

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Horror

Houses:

Summary

(prologue)

I never thought I would end up here. And by here, I mean the crawl space under some house’s porch that probably once belonged to someone. But that someone is probably now dead, in one way or another. I’m crouching in the cold dampness, listening to the torrential downpour of rain, trying to keep as quiet as the dead. Or maybe that’s the wrong expression, for I’ve come to realize that the dead can be quiet noisy.

Right. So I’m hiding in this crawlspace, being as silent as humanly possible so the flesh-crazy zombies don’t hear, find, and devour me. No pressure.

I scratch at my itchy scalp. What I’d give for a hot shower. Or a cold one. I’m not picky. I’ve already cut my hair short with my eight and a half inch switchblade. Now it’s just a short, choppy, black mess of unwashed hair. I’d cut it even shorter, like I did before, but sadly, my switch was lost just last week in the eye socket of a ghoul.

I still have a backpack full of supplies and a crowbar to bash heads, but I loved that blade. I guess it’s just one more reason to detest the dead.
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