I’d like to preface this all by saying thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to my uncle Dustin. Without him, I certainly wouldn’t be here and there would be no ‘Undead Guide’ for me to share. I suppose this isn’t so much a guide as it is an open letter, detailing the things he taught me and the hardships we faced along the way. If somehow, someway you’re out their reading this now, then you can find me at [REDACTED], things have only gotten worse.
Love, Elise
Like most cataclysmic events in human history, there are those left behind to study it. Sometimes it’s easy to pinpoint when things went awry, other times not so much. The perpetrators of my hometowns massacre made it obvious from the start.
The town of Gatluns Bend had remained untouched, no advancements had been made since I had come to understand it. The same wealthy families remained at the top, the same hardware store and steel mill chugged steadily as well as the various restaurants which dotted the main drag along town. The population remained steady at just over twelve thousand, never falling too far beneath or rising too far above that number. How quickly things can change.
It was around August when they began demolition of the Gatlun Steel and Wire plant, a mainstay of the Bend since its inception just after the Second World War. Shock and confusion trickled through the streets, rumors swirled of the Gatluns infinite wealth finally running dry.
No, no, something far more sinister had been at play.
Truthfully, I would take those snobby, rich fucks any day of the week over the monsters who’d decided to set up their lair within the confines our little town.
Construction of the new building was met with even more rumors and hysterics. The street corners, filled with newly unemployed steelworkers, were buzzing with anger and defeat as they waited to catch a bus to jobs they had to find outside of Gatluns Bend. Any and every idea of what this new building could be was thrown around, some even threatened to burn it to the ground if they had the chance.
The people were angry, and rightfully so.
It was late October when the building had finally been completed, the newly erected structure was tall and expansive, sitting angrily on the skyline amongst the squatty, neighboring businesses. It loomed high above the bakery which sat next door, the owner, Miss Godfrey, cursing its existence each time I stopped by her quaint establishment for some blueberry muffins. I would listen tentatively, unaware of the silent beast which had taken up residence on her doorstep.
“It’ll probably end up being a god damned dog food factory, with my luck”, she said, the corner of her lip tugging upward in disgust, “put me straight out of business”, she gripped the confectionery so harshly that it began to squish out from her balled up fist.
“Oh, Miss Godfrey, you know this town will never stop loving you and your muffins!”, I said as enthusiastically as I could manage. Her stormy expression seemed to ease a little, her wrinkled eyes softening as they met mine.
“Hopefully it won’t be another bigger, better bakery, right?”, she said with a laugh. Her shaky hand reached out and patted my shoulder, a beautiful moment I wish I had soaked up more when I had the chance.
The rest of October and much of November went by the same, the building sat quietly, void of any human life as the townsfolks anger began to bubble over. Former steelworkers, including my uncle, had begun to gather outside of the ominously tall structure, bearing signs and chanting hateful words for the hardships it had brought onto them and their families.
Things began to take a bizarre turn as Thanksgiving rolled around. Two small booths, on the roads entering and leaving Gatluns Bend respectively, were erected, a small group of people taking up residence inside them. Tall, barbed-wire fences jutted outward from the booths, making them impossible to avoid. Though it didn’t seem they have folks much of a hassle for going about their business.
When the newspapers arrived on our doorstep a couple days before Thanksgiving, we were relieved to find some explanations as to what was going on. Ellie Everett, one of the more respected journalists in our town, had managed to snag an interview with the owner of the new establishment. For now, things didn’t seem so dire.
A grainy photo of the new owner was plastered next to the article, a caption accompanying the text. The caption beneath his picture read, “Aaron Baysingar, Owner and Operator of the newly-founded Superior Industries”. Despite the lack of details, the man on the picture seemed utterly ordinary, still I couldn’t shake the unease I felt while looking at him.
The article detailed his plans to employ the former steelworkers, to stimulate the economy. The blocks of writing were full of promises to inject the town with new life, bringing in a new era of expansion and growth we hadn’t seen in decades.
This gave the people hope.
He admitted that the booths outside of town may have seemed ‘intimidating’ but were for safety purposes only, to ensure that the people of Gatluns Bend could rest easy at night. Of course, we’d need it with the massive influx of people who would surely take up residence in our small town. Truthfully, as hopeful as this made everyone, I couldn’t help but feel angry. Angry that change was on the horizon, that the beauty of the natural things around us would be bulldozed and become listless blocks of housing.
To most folks, it all seemed too good to be true.
All my family, as small as it was, gathered for Thanksgiving at our house, just as they had every year prior. Mom had carefully decorated the house, a cute ceramic squirrel sat centermost on the kitchen table amongst a jumble of plastic rust-colored leaves. The old Halloween lights, which she kept up through Fall, lined the garden window which gave way to a perfect view of the withering flower garden. If you couldn’t tell, Fall was a favorite of mine. Was. It also helped that our house sat about a mile on the outskirts of town, a decent chunk of woods separating us from the rest of the Bend. As I sat in the living room, watching the road for our family members to arrive, it was almost easy to forget about that damn building.
Holidays were always a welcome break from the lonely monotony my mother and I had come to know. Even on our best day we were like acquaintances, but still I loved her more than anything on this planet. Though we were never ones to show much affection, it was the little things she’d do and say that made me feel important.
Like every year before this one, my uncle Dustin was the first to arrive, helping Mom finish up the last of the cooking. I could hear him and Mom chatting in the kitchen as I sat in the living room, paying little attention to the football game he’d put on the TV.
“Hey butt sniffer! How’re the Lions doing?”, he shouted. Even though he couldn’t see it, I rolled my eyes and smiled.
“Probably losing!”, I shouted back. I had learned to speak fluent smart ass from Dustin, even though he’d always have something to say in return. This time, instead, he simply laughed.
Looking back, as I sat in our comfy recliner waiting for the rest of the family to show up, as the house had just begun to buzz with life again, I can’t help but choke up a bit. I guess the old sayings true, you don’t know you’re in the good times until you’ve left them.
“I’m sorry Han, but this turkey smells a little… off. Don’t ya think?”, Dustins voice drifted into the living room, imperceptible to someone who might not have been listening so closely. I didn’t hear my Mom reply, I figured she must’ve shot him daggers in return. At the time, I couldn’t blame her, she’d spent hours preparing the food.
“Where’d ya get it from?”, I’m not sure what made me so curious about an otherwise mundane conversation, though I found myself leaning in the chair to hear them a little better.
“Just the grocery store, I think it was from that new place they just opened up down the road”, she snapped, her tone thick with irritation. The house fell still, deathly quiet, without another peep from Dustin. Still, I could hear them meandering about the kitchen as they finished setting up the table for the rest of our family.
It wasn’t long before the rest of them gathered, my grandpa, my sister and her boyfriend with their niece and nephew in tow. As I said, we’re a small bunch, but the house was teeming with life as the kids zipped to and fro, stampeding from one end of the house to another. I’d do anything to be their age again, even though I’m not far displaced from that time in my life, it was a period of wonder and sweet ignorance.
Pretty soon everyone had lined up near the counter, eager to get their fill of Moms Thanksgiving supper. I sat at the table, waiting for the line to dwindle as everyone took their time chatting about the recent happenings of their life. It was beautiful, truly.
Dustin and Taylor, my sisters boyfriend, showed off their tattoos to one another, having added a few more since the previous year. Mom and Grandpa talked about and admired the decorating job she’d done, telling her how much Grandma would’ve loved it. My sister paced anxiously through the house, keeping a watchful eye of the children, making sure they weren’t sticking forks in any electrical outlets. It was serene, chaotic, but serene.
Eventually they had all gathered at the table, unabashedly chowing down on the feast which lay before them. Well, everyone except Dustin. I’ve never been much of a big eater, though I couldn’t resist a slice or two of Miss Godfreys pumpkin pie, with a generous amount of whipped cream, of course.
“You alright Dustin? Usually you’re headed for plate two by now!”, Taylor remarked, which gave the rest of us a chuckle. Oddly, Dustin frowned and scratched at his thick beard, choosing his next words carefully.
“Yeah, it’s just… where’d you say you got the turkey from?”, he finally responded, glancing over at my Mom. That one had struck a nerve, a familiar expression of annoyance washed over her face.
“Oh for Gods sake, from the grocery store!”, she huffed, everyone else had gone silent as they watched the train wreck occur before them, “it came from that factory they just opened up, it’s just a food packaging plant, might as well go out your application in their”, she continued, though I could see in Dustins widening eyes that he was about to lose his composure.
“I don’t trust those bastards, screwed me and the rest of this town over”, he stood up from the table, walking towards the living room, “like, why the hell do they have guard posts outside of town? Doesn’t that seem a little fucked up to you?”, he bellowed, plopping down on the couch with a sigh.
“Well moneys tight right now, not just for you, and it was all I could afford”, she said sternly, in the sort of tone where you know not to say anything back. Dustin remained silent for the rest of the evening, though the ravenous children seemed to keep the awkwardness at bay.
So much for a pleasant thanksgiving. At least nobody got into a fight, I thought.
The rest of the evening went by without a hitch, talk and laughter picked up once more and Dustin eventually emerged from the living room to help my Mom finish up the dishes. I rose up from the table and made my way over to the trash can to clear my plate, lifting the lid I couldn’t help but study the discarded remains of the packaging which our turkey came in.
‘SUPERIOR INDUSTRIES - 1 WHOLE TURKEY BREAST”, it read in a blocky, red text. A silver weather vane, the companies logo, was plastered just above the writing. I must’ve been standing their, staring for a moment too long before my grandpa nudged my elbow and said, “Don’t stand their too long, you might fall in, Elise”.
He smiled at me.
As the night began to wind down and the folks began dispersing slowly after the typical hour-long Midwestern goodbyes, I found myself lounging on the chair in the living room, my eyes growing ever heavier. I must’ve begun to drift at certain points as my last memory before I eventually fell asleep was Dustin tapping on my head, “I’m headed out, Elise, stay out of trouble”, with an awkward side-hug to follow. I think I can pinpoint that as my last good memory.
I’m not really sure what I dreamed about, if at all, in those fleeting moments of peace, before all Hell broke loose.
It was dark out, pitch black in fact, when I was awoken by my mother. Her hand was heavy on my shoulder, steadying herself against me. My stomach dropped to the floor when I looked up at her, her eyes were terribly sunken in and her face was as white as porcelain. Her lips seemed to quiver as she spoke.
“I… I don’t feel good, I think I need to go to the hospital”, she stammered, her voice was wavering heavily, hardly audible at times. I jumped up from the chair and helped her out to the car, jamming the keys into the ignition.
I couldn’t believe my eyes, we hadn’t even made it a quarter mile down the road before traffic was at a standstill. Even at the busiest times of year, when people were going apeshit over Black Friday deals, the roads were never this busy. My mom groaned and rocked in her seat, clutching desperately at her chest as bits of foamy saliva had begun seeping from her mouth. I tried my best to comfort her but it seemed to fall on deaf ears.
I began to pound on the horn of my Moms car, joining the cacophony of angered shouts and blaring horns which lied ahead of us. Some people had begun flying past us on the shoulder of the road, as I clamped down harshly on the wheel, hoping we wouldn’t get rear-ended. My heart pounded angrily in my chest as a new set of headlights washed over the rear view, speeding past us into the night. Suddenly, the car dove into the ditch and flipped several times before coming to a halt, lounging against the side of a guard rail.
A phlegmy groan escaped Moms mouth before she let out an ear-piercing scream. Her hands, as pale as a sheet and knobby as though all the moisture had been sucked from them, flailed helplessly, clutching for anything they could get ahold of. Suddenly, she fell still.
“Mom, Mom?!”, I screamed, grabbing her shoulders as tears began to well up in my eyes. Everything felt so still, so silent. Her eyes were dull and hazy, as though a grey mist had washed over them. I shook her gently, hoping my pleas would bring her back.
The car which hurdled by us just moments before had begun to catch fire, small plumes of smoke escaping the underbelly which laid skyward. Suddenly, the drivers side door was thrown open. One of our gas station clerks, Josh I think his name was, clawed his way from the wreckage. His long blonde hair was blood-stained against the side of his head, his chest heaving up and down with startling frequency.
Just before the vehicle became totally engulfed, another figure emerged. I watched as Josh craned his head upward, making eye contact with his passenger before kicking violently away from it. The person stood, hunched severely so that their hands were mere inches off the ground. It lurched forward.
My heart pounded so ferociously that I swear it drowned out all the noise around me. I nearly vomited as the creature jammed its hands into Josh’s gaping mouth before tearing his jaw clean off. Headlights illuminated the sinewy muscles which held his head together stretching and eventually snapping under the creatures immense strength.
I wanted to scream, to close my eyes and wake up from this nightmare, but all I could do was stare as my mouth hung open in shock. Abruptly, my mother began to twist and writhe, guttural, gurgling screams escaped her undulating mouth.
Then, she froze. A needle-thin stream of black pile had begun to pour over her lip and pool in her lap. Her head snapped towards me, her eyes were a milky white.