I don’t know if I’m what you’d classify as fearless or if it’s the mass amounts of alcohol and other… illicit substances that have fried the fight or flight portion of my brain. When the barricades went up and shit hit the fan, I felt oddly calm compared to the rest of my fellow Butterfieldians… Butterfieldites? I’m not sure what you wanna call them, though my fellow inbred experiments of Butterfield (or what’s now left of it) were running about like monkeys trying to operate a toaster when the first creature the folks who’d barricades our town had released.
Poor old Gretchen Van Vleet, the librarian and perhaps the oldest crown in the roost, was the first to be captured and experimented on. As sad as it was (and please excuse my morbidity as the only interaction her and I had was when she kicked me out of the library for allegedly smelling like pot) I simply couldn’t refrain from documenting the chaos which surrounded me.
I wasn’t there personally when ol Gretchen morphed into a creature from the sixth circle of Hell, though the aftermath was sorely apparent in the gore which she’d left behind on the walls and sidewalk of our local grocer.
Two people had been killed, there limbs torn clean off as though a gorilla had escaped its exhibit and terrorized the streets. There jaws were detached and flung with such ferocity that some of the teeth were still embedded to the side of a car down the street.
Eyes gouged out, of course.
One of the two killed, Officer Grigsby, was completely unrecognizable beyond his badge. With the loss of Grigsby, our towns police force was halved.
Okay, okay, enough with the jokes.
Seriously, it’s all fun and games writing this all down, though I can’t help but shiver at the description of Gretchen as she transformed from a decrepit, old woman into a grisly, demonic creature before going on her rampage.
Apparently, according to my little brother Mikes friend, he was stopped at the now-empty gas station across the street when it all happened. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t take a word that spewed from his mouth, but the conviction in his eyes, his dead eyes that now gazed into infinite nothingness, well I couldn’t help but to hang on to his every word.
The suns head peeled just above the storefronts through the main drag of town, sliding steadily beneath the horizon. It has been three days since the barricades were erected, seemingly overnight, and dozens of armed guards patrolled the barrier, ensuring no one could leave.
Matt’s (mikes friend) beat up shit box of a Honda yelped and lurched it’s way into the gas station, letting everyone in town know as his brakes screeched to a halt at the pump. He’s formulated a plan to drive his already beat up car through the barricades in an attempt to escape. Since no fuel trucks could enter town, the reservoir quickly ran dry.
Matt wasn’t the first one with this idea, dozens of others had tried reasoning with some of the guards at the perimeter.
These folks were quietly detained, never seen again.
Sam Hickey, one of the boys we’d went to school with, and his girlfriend were the most creative in their escape plan. Allegedly theyd went through the woods in our park, hoping the thick brush would conceal them from any guards. Theyd raided there parents gun safe, they were armed to the teeth as they set off into the woodlands of Butterfield Park. Still, less than 24 hours after they carried out their grand scheme, there in the middle of the town square, sat their outfits neatly folded on a bench next to the fountain.
Creepy shit, huh?
Anyhow, I’m getting off base. Just before Matt could hop in his car and return home, he heard a commotion across the street. A few people gathered in a circle just outside of the market had begun screaming for help, some feebly attempting to dial 911 with their shaky hands.
A shrill, inhuman screech emanated from the center of the crowd, sending everyone scurrying over one another, desperate to get away. Gretchen stood there, towering over the terrified onlookers.
Even though her eyes had already developed that milky film that comes with age, they were now entirely void of any activity. The pupil and iris overtaken by the whites of her eyes. Her jaw was stretched so impossibly wide that it seemed the crown of her head was resting on her neck.
Ligaments popped and snapped as her arms seemed to dislocate and stretch towards the ground, revealing knotty, blue veins fit to burst as her skin tightened and became translucent.
Whatever humanity Gretchen still had was quickly cast aside as she plunged her long, knobby thumbs into one of the bystanders eyes, then ripping his jaw clean off shortly thereafter.
I’ll spare you all of the details.
However, there is one piece of Matt’s story that shook me to my core. He told me, as he watched the chaos unfold, unable to look away from the horrors before him, the look in the monsters eyes, in Gretchens eyes. Even in the absence of a pupil, of an iris, there was an unmistakable sorrow in those eyes.
There is no gas left and the walls of the towns market continue to grow thinner with each passing day. We’re fortunate that in our poverty the food pantry left us with dozens of dry foods which should last us a while.
Oddly, the internet seems to be working fine, though all of our calls for help seem to fall on deaf ears. I’m not sure who these people are who’ve enslaved our town, though I plan on leaving before nightfall.
I will find answers.
I write this now as I sit next to my sleeping brother, his buddy Matt rocking gently to and fro against the wall opposite of us. His eyes are dead, weary and dead.
The local news fills the void of silence, the only channel that seems to still work. I don’t trust a word that they regurgitate from the teleprompter. They ought to know that we know.
Anyhow, my fellow cryptic hunters and enjoyers of the bizarre, I’ll update you when I can. Any suggestions on what I should bring would be greatly appreciated.
As I said, I will get answers.