Keep me up, please.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
The mind can be a powerful thing, but can you really trust it when everyone around you is dying?

Submitted: December 11, 2012

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Submitted: December 11, 2012

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It was December 15th, I believe. I find it difficult to say, though. The days had started to meld together. I had locked myself in my room. It was my best defense against the truth. I was breaking slowly, but then again, I had nothing left to lose. My family was gone. My friends were gone. Or maybe it was all in my head. Maybe if I just went out of my room to check, I could prove to myself that I was just going crazy. The thought baffled me. I was simply mad if I were to leave my room. I remembered that night as if it were yesterday. Of course, it had been several months since the accident, but the memory was fresh in my mind, aching like a raw wound.


Forgetting all concept of time wasn't all that difficult. I had practically buried myself in the memories and guilt. Any other thought was secondary.

I always had to remind myself to write down my thoughts. If I didn't, I'd probably go mad. 

Long ago or what feels like long ago, they had sent doctors to try and get me to come out. They called me crazy; they said that I had made up the accident, that they could get my family to talk to me, if only I would come out of my room.

I knew better than that, though. I knew it was just a trick of my mind, trying to get me to leave the safety of my bedroom. I couldn't, it was madness. I told myself that every day. I practically lived by those words. Leaving your room means death. 

It's what had happened to almost everyone else. They had left to carry on with their daily lives, then, they simply vanished. I remember the day Bill disappeared. It had been a Friday. He called me and said he was going to go out to the bar. It was around 12:30 a.m., I believe. I denied, having mounds of work to complete. I called at around 3 a.m. to check on him, though I received no answer. The cops had found what would soon be reveled as his bones in the bottom of the lake the next week. 

The discovery had been all over the news. Everyone was talking about Bill's death. You see, Bill was a very important person. He was friends with nearly everyone in town. Of course, it was a rather small town, population only reaching about 400 or so. Nevertheless, everyone loved him. He was a rather charming man. Tall, dark hair falling over one eye, which shone bright blue. Despite his good looks, he was by far the nicest man I would ever have the pleasure of meeting. 

Two weeks after the discovery of Bill's bones, they found what they discovered to be a local butcher's bones in the bottom of a river two miles from the lake.  

The deaths increased, more and more bones being found, mainly at the bottom of bodies of water. 

And then, I turned on the news one day to see the next missing person. It was Laurie, the sister that I cared so deeply for. They found signs of a struggle in her home downtown, though there was no sign of breaking and entering. 

That was the day that I died.

Not literally, but seeing that report, something inside of me had been killed, heartbroken beyond repair.

From that day on, every little bump scared me, every rattle of the window in the middle of the night convincing me that I was next. I continued to watch the news, seeing the deaths increase.

But one day, they stopped.

News anchors were constantly being replaced, the previous anchor's bones ending up at the bottom of some lake or river.  It didn't take long before they simply gave up hiring new news anchors, and just started showing lists of the dead across the screen. I guess they couldn't risk any more deaths. The fact that they stopped hiring news anchors didn't cause the dying to stop. The people kept dying, of course.  Anyone who survived had grown accustomed to it, gradually accepting the fact that they were going to die.

But not me.

I refused to accept the fact that I would somehow be captured, my bones ending up at the bottom of a body of water for someone to find. That's the day I locked myself in my room. Of course, I stored up on supplies. Several weeks before, when I had planned this all out, I went to the store and got everything that I could grab. At this point, you were free to take anything without paying, since the employees were long gone. 

  I had had to move stores several times during the weeks, but I had acquired everything that I needed, ranging from food to weapons. Maybe I was going a bit overboard, but you could never be too safe during this situation. I usually sat near my door, shotgun in hand. I rarely ever got visitors, except from the neighbors who often asked for food. Of course, I didn't give them any. I had worked hard to get this food, and it was their own fault that they didn't think ahead like I had. Everything I needed was down in the cellar. My weapons had been put in a special, quick but challenging to open cabinet. There were six locks, though I only kept three locked, so that if anyone tried to pick the locks, they would always be locking three of them. I liked the idea, praising myself for thinking it up. I had done the same with all of my windows and doors, making sure that no one could get in.

I was lazily sitting in front of the door, then, someone knocked. They knocked again, and again, and when they banged on the door a third time, I was sure that they weren't intending on leaving any time soon. 

Forcing myself up, I looked through the peephole, seeing the enlarged face of a man dressed in a black suit, white undershirt, and black tie. He had sleek gray-black hair and shining blue eyes. Come to think of it, he looked a lot like Bill. Looking at the two behind him, I noticed that one had long blond hair with glittering green eyes. She reminded him of the woman that worked at the store, the one that always gave him a discount without anyone else noticing. The second person that stood behind him was slightly shorter than the other two. He had black hair that reached down to his shoulders, beautiful hazel eyes, and a pointed chin. He looked similar to an old friend of mine.

The first man that resembled Bill banged on the door again, opening his mouth to shout something, though I only caught a few words through the thick wooden door. "Must….house….not….alone…."

The words piqued my interest, though I thought nothing of it. After roughly half an hour, the near-clones finally gave up and left. They walked stiffly back to their car, driving off. I returned to my place in the chair in front of the door, the words ringing in my mind.

I was unable to focus most of the day, finally forcing me to fall back onto the couch, accepting the blissful sleep that overcame me. 

Unable to remember the dream I had had, I pulled myself from the couch, my feet aching as I shuffled to the kitchen. There on the counter sat a can of ravioli, which I must have placed there yesterday and forgotten. Picking up the can, I ripped open the top and shoveled a bite into my mouth, not bothering to heat it up. There was movement out of the corner of my eyes. At least, I thought there was, because when I spun t o look at it, the source of the disturbance was gone.

Settling down for the night couldn't have been a worse idea, but I was exhausted. The wind caused the old house to creak, which in turn caused me to shiver. I didn't like the idea, but I didn't have much of a choice. Taking my place on the couch, sleep easily wrapped its icy fingers around me, pulling me into the inky abyss of unconsciousness. 

I don't remember anything else. All I knew is that I should've stayed awake.


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