“Hurry, everyone! Get in the house now! We can’t delay. They’ll catch up to us any moment!” shouted Dylan, Ridgewood’s communal pastor.
I brushed past him into the quaint (and ordinary) white-picket-fence blue suburbia home. Graham, a friend of mine, followed close behind, and four other strangers came in after.
“Who’s house is this?” I asked as I swiftly shut a pair of gray curtains over the living room window.
Pastor Dylan closed and locked the front door. Then he turned to look through the peephole. “It’s one of… theirs. They won’t be using it anymore, so I figured we could hold up here until this mess gets sorted out.”
Graham proceeded to close the curtains over the remaining windows, and one of the other four of our band of stragglers (an older woman) began checking the kitchen cupboards. “But what exactly *is* this mess? What’s even going on?” I asked, itching a patch of poison ivy I got a few days prior.
“I would ask that we all remain calm. The Lord has given us a test, and we are his chosen few that must survive it.”
“A test? A fucking test?!” asked an older man, who I assumed was the partner of the woman perusing the kitchen.
“Don’t raise your voice, Ed!” said a man who had to be around his mid-forties.
“You can’t tell me what to fucking do, Matt! You shouldn’t even be here, you piece of shit carjacker!” spat Ed as Pastor Dylan gingerly walked over to them.
“That was fifteen fucking years ago, Ed. When will you let it go? I was in a bad place, doing bad things. People can change, and I’ve been clean for all this time!”
“Let’s not lose our heads. Not in a time of immense trial. We must all remain cohesive and steadfast in our mission from God,” said Pastor Dylan, holding the crucifix swaying from his neck.
“Tell that to those psychopaths out there,” said a younger woman in her early twenties.
“Oh, Mara, when will you learn to trust in the will of our Lord and savior? When will you accept his gift as it was bestowed upon you?” asked Pastor Dylan, getting too close to her.
“When you can explain the horror show outside. People are beating each other senselessly, killing their neighbors. Ravenous mouth-frothing lunatics ripping themselves limb from limb for seemingly *no* reason. Explain how *that* is a ‘gift from God.’”
“Child, the gift is the ability to overcome this hardship. The test, now that is something I’ve yet to find the answer to. My hypothesis? Lucifer has finally come to wreak his unholy kingdom upon our fair town.”
“Why?” began the older woman, emerging from the kitchen empty-handed. “Why Ridgewood? There wasn’t anything on the news. Ed and I were sitting in our parlor watching TV when it all began, and none of it makes sense…”
“Maybe it started close to the new station, so they weren’t able to get the word out fast enough?” said Graham, giving me a nod.
“Yeah, and we all barely made it here with our lives. The real question is, why aren’t we affected?” I asked, plopping down on a well-worn couch.
“I’ve already told you, young Danny, we are God’s chosen! We will bring forth his good kingdom against the evil of the devil. It’s as simple as that,” said Pastor Dylan.
“Forgive me if I can’t subscribe to that level of zealotry, Father,” said Matt, moving further away from Ed.
“Zealotry or not, we have come together to weather this storm! And we must all get along if we want to see the golden light of our heavenly sun.”
“Well said, Dylan. As always,” said the older woman.
“Thank you, Linda. Now, we have work to do. Graham and Danny, can you both search the rooms for anything useful? Ed and Linda, can you return to the kitchen and count our rations? Matt and I will keep watch for… them.”
“I’m not sharing a house with that fucking criminal!” said Ed, pointing a condemning finger at Matt.
“Careful, old timer, you might pump that blood pressure up way too high for your heart to handle,” said Matt, scowling.
“What did you say to me, punk!” asked Ed, but Pastor Dylan placed his hand on his shoulder.
“Ed, please. Pacify your nerves. The kingdom of heaven welcomes all who accept the Lord. Matt has been a devout visitor at the church for many, many years. I trust and forgive him for his past deeds.”
“I just don’t like him, Father. What if he’s one of them?”
“One of them? I’m not one of those… things! If I was, don’t you think I’d be trying to kill you right now?” asked Matt, cowering in a dark corner.
“Yeah, maybe. Or, you’ve just got some kind of control over it!” said Ed, spitting with each word.
“No more, Ed. Take Linda, and go to the kitchen. Please. We will discuss this further later,” said Pastor Dylan.
Ed stared fiercely at Matt for a short time before huffing and walking with Linda toward the kitchen. When Pastor Dylan’s eyes fell on Graham and me, we sprung up and ventured down the nearby, dimly lit hallway.
The home appeared to have seven doors. Two led to bedrooms, one to an office, one to a bathroom, and one to a closet. But the last door was locked by a heavy-duty master lock to which we didn’t have the key.
“Father, do you know what’s behind this door?” I asked, pulling on the lock.
“Door? Oh, I think it leads to a basement. Many of these homes tout a single story, but I’ve always said a basement counts as two!” he said with a friendly grin.
“They’re outside,” said Matt, peering through the living room curtain.
I quietly walked over to him as he moved away from the curtain. A roving group of at least fifty… people were passing through the street. Even from the window, I could see their bulging-red eyes and the white foam frothing from their seething mouths.
“Look at them all…” said Graham over my shoulder.
“Shh… We all need to whisper now. If they hear us, we’re likely dead,” I said, letting the curtain softly fall into place.
“What’s going on out here?” asked Ed, far too loudly.
“Quiet down! They’re in the street,” said Matt.
“Fuck you. I don’t care who’s where just as long as *you* ain’t there!”
“Well, I am *here*, old-timer. Deal with it. We can scrap when this is over if you still hate me.”
“It would be my fucking pleasure,” said Ed, cracking his knuckles.
BANG, BANG, BANG!
I ducked. “What the hell was that?” I asked, darting my eyes all around.
“I… I think it came from below us,” said Mara, putting her ear to the floor.
“Below? But there’s a lock on the door–”
BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!
“Oh fuck. That was from outside,” said Graham, moving away from the outer walls.
“Matt, go check,” said Pastor Dylan, gripping his cross again.
Matt obliged, striding swiftly to the living room window. “Yeah, I think some of them heard that,” he began. “They’re pounding against the siding.”
“I say we send him out there as a distraction. Buy us some more time,” said Ed, crossing his arms tightly.
“Ed, please. Be reasonable. Could you really live with ending someone’s life?” asked Pastor Dylan.
“Humph! No, I suppose not. But I still don’t like him!”
“That’s fine–”
BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!
“Fuck, what if they get in?” I asked, anxiety bubbling in my stomach.
“Everyone be quiet. They might go away if we keep our voices down…” said Pastor Dylan.
“And what about the sound in the basement?” asked Mara, casting her gaze on the basement door.
“We’ll deal with that *after* they leave us alone,” said Pastor Dylan.
“Father, we still don’t even know what *they* are,” said Linda, holding onto Ed’s arm. He seemed displeased by her touch.
“Yeah, maybe they just need help?” said Graham optimistically.
“No, dude. Did you not see Justin and his mom? They were destroying each other. Nobody in their right mind would gnaw their own son’s arm off,” I said. The statement made me shudder.
“So, are they… zombies?” asked Matt.
“Fucking moron. Of course they’re not zombies! They must be high on something. Some new age shit that’s driving them crazy,” said Ed, though I wasn’t sure he believed any of it.
“They have become servants of hell. What more do you need to know?” said Pastor Dylan.
Matt moved over to the curtain again. “It looks like they’ve lost interest. From here, they don’t look much like zombies. But they bite flesh, and that speaks on the contrary…”
“They’re *not* zombies,” said Ed, growing further irate.
“Maybe it’s some kind of airborne thing?” suggested Mara.
“If that were true, why weren’t we affected?” I asked, scratching the poison ivy again.
“I’ve already told you all,” began Pastor Dylan. “We are warriors of God. We will bring about the new world.”
“We’re in the clear. For now,” said Matt, moving away from the curtain.
“Father, don’t you think it’s a bit odd that only seven of us were ‘chosen’? Surely it would take an army to stop such a destructive force,” I said, looking at Mara, who was picking at her cuticles.
“As a man of faith. It is the only possible conclusion. I see havoc, terror, and fear in the eyes of all of you. Only the vileness of Lucifer could create such things. If any of you have evidence to the contrary, I’d love to hear it.”
“None of us know anything…” said Mara quietly.
BANG… BAAAAANNNGG!
“That was downstairs again,” I said.
“Matt, the curtains,” said Pastor Dylan.
“No, there aren’t any around,” said Matt.
“What the fuck is that sound?” asked Ed.
“Ed, darling, please stop swearing so much…” pleaded Linda.
“Sorry, honey. My blood pressure is through the roof.”
Linda smiled endearingly at him as Pastor Dylan checked the basement door. He jiggled the lock and felt above the door frame. “Did you two happen to find a key ring during your search?” he asked Graham and me.
“No, nothing,” said Graham, turning out his pockets.
“There wasn’t much of anything in those rooms, Father. Mostly clothes and electronics,” I said, continuing to watch Mara dig at her skin.
“The key has to be somewhere…” said Pastor Dylan unassuredly.
“What if the keys are with… you know, the owners of the home?” I asked.
“Patty and Jeff always traveled lightly. I can’t imagine they would bring a key to their basement door whenever they left.”
“But, Father. It could have been on a keyring. You asked us yourself to look for one, thinking that one already existed. It could be that today they decided to bring it with them, in which case, we’re fucked,” I said, shooting a glance at Graham, who swallowed nervously.
“I have a hunch that the key is somewhere in this house. But night is approaching, and I’m sure we’re all hungry,” said Pastor Dylan.
“I don’t know how anyone could have an appetite after what we saw out there…” said Mara, burying her face between her knees.
“You have to eat, Mara. You’ll be of no help to anyone malnourished and exhausted,” said Pastor Dylan.
“Yeah, and we can’t have you wasting away!” said Graham, smiling at her.
“We’ve got all the makings of spaghetti, that’ll be a filling meal for all of us, and hopefully, there will be more information tomorrow…” said Linda from the kitchen.
“Remember to keep your voices down. We know they’re attracted to sound. Even the slightest utterance could send them stampeding toward us,” said Pastor Dylan, receding into the hallway.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To search the rooms again. I don’t know how much I trust leaving discovery to a couple of twenty-somethings,” he said, winking at me.
“Suit yourself,” I said, kicking my legs up on the couch.
Graham sat in a chair next to the living room window and occasionally peered at the street. I figured if something dangerous was close by, he would notify us. Mara laid on the floor; I couldn’t imagine it was comfortable.
Linda and Ed kept as quiet as they could in the kitchen. Sometimes the banging of pots and pans would ring out. Each time put me further on edge, but Graham never said anything, so the sound must have been quiet enough. My stomach rumbled when the pleasant smell of beef cooking wafted through the air.
I was starving. I hadn’t eaten all day. But having spent all my energy running left me without the willpower to stay awake.
I closed my eyes and passed out.
Graham shook me awake about two hours later, or so the clock said. For some reason, I wasn’t sure they were working. “Hey, man. Food’s been done for quite a while, but everyone agreed that it was best to let you get some shut-eye. Pastor Dylan said we’d need to take shifts staying awake to watch the street, so get some leftovers in the kitchen.”
“What?… Oh, sorry… I’m way out of it. Give me a moment to collect my head,” I said, sitting up and rubbing my eyes.
“No worries. There’s plenty of food left, so help yourself.
“Don’t take too much. We need to make this last,” said Ed, glaring at me from the chair Graham had been sitting in.
“I won’t. I don’t eat that much,” I said, lying through my teeth.
“Just hurry up, Danny. We’ll need your eyes to help keep us safe,” said Pastor Dylan.
“Yes, Father,” I said, groggily rising to my feet.
BANG, BANG, BAAANG, BANG!
“Shit! There it is again,” I said.
“Believe it or not, that’s been going on since about ten minutes after you passed out,” said Mara.
“Really? Do we have any idea what it is?”
“No, Mara says she can’t hear anything whenever she puts her ear to the floor,” said Matt from across the room.
“Nobody fucking asked you,” said Ed.
“Ed, stop! Why must you start petty squabbles amid the chaos?” asked Pastor Dylan.
“I’m sorry, Father. I can’t seem to keep my mind off it.”
“Well, see to it that you do. Sooner rather than later,” said Pastor Dylan as he faced the basement door.
“Wait, did you find the key?” I asked.
“No, it’s the strangest thing. I found a keyring in a room that Graham had apparently searched and somehow missed. Regardless, none of the keys go to this lock. I can’t make heads or tails of it,” he said, glancing curiously at Graham.
“Don’t look at me,” said Graham, sitting in the indent on the couch I had created.
“Maybe it’ll turn up later. We need to figure out what’s down there because the more noise in here, the more awful things out there want in,” I said, beginning to walk to the kitchen.
“They aren’t ‘things,’ they’re people…” said Linda, clinging onto Ed.
“Right… people,” I said, disappearing from the living room. The spaghetti was cold. Also, no one would let me use the microwave, which made it taste like three-day-old dog food (don’t ask how I know that.) But I scarfed it down and rejoined the others, who were all deadly quiet.
Mara was asleep on the floor, Ed and Linda sat on the other end of the couch, Matt sat against a wall, eyes closed, and Pastor Dylan was still examining the basement door.
“Ready to watch?” he asked as I approached him.
“Ready as I’ll ever be. Are you going to rest?”
“I think I’ll inspect the rooms a little longer before settling in. I’ve got a feeling the key is closer than we know.”
“What do you think is down there?” I asked, leaning against the wall.
“I’ve been contemplating that since we first heard the banging. Maybe one got in? That’s about all I can conclude at this moment.”
“If that were the case, wouldn’t they climb the stairs and bang on the other side of the door?”
“You’ve got a point. But what makes sense anymore?” he asked, looking down at his cross.
“Don’t worry, Father. I’m sure we’ll find a way out of this.”
“It’s good to have optimism,” he began timidly. “Take a place by the window, and if anything happens, alert us *quietly*.”
“Will do,” I said as he smiled reassuringly. The wooden chair next to the window wouldn’t make for comfortable sitting, but its hardness meant I wouldn’t fall asleep quickly.
Things had been progressing rapidly. I hadn’t had a moment to think about the eerie turn of events. Our town of Ridgewood had gone mad. It was as if lunacy was carried on the winds, infecting the minds of many. Why were we unaffected? I couldn’t say, and I wasn’t sure I believed Pastor Dylan’s proclamation of holy war.
But the people in town had turned on one another. Some form of rabies, maybe? For no apparent reason, they started killing anyone who wasn’t as hostile as they were by any means necessary, and their lust for annihilation was insatiable.
However, they had devolved into a more primal aspect—one unfettered by the woes of the human condition. And as I sat there, peering behind the curtain, utter havoc was all to behold. Cars turned over, buildings were on fire, and trash lay strewn about the streets.
The flickering street lamps showed signs of power failure, and I wondered if we’d soon be living in the dark. But I couldn’t stare out for long because seeing severed extremities, pools of blood, and other viscera unsettled my stomach.
“Anything out there–”
“Oh shit, Graham! Don’t sneak up on me, please,” I said, breathing rapidly.
“Sorry, I was just curious,” he said, shrugging.
“If you’re curious, look out there yourself.”
“I would rather not. It’s nightmare fuel.”
“And you think I would? I’d much prefer to be sleeping like nearly everyone else.”
He looked left. Then right. And then behind him before leaning closer. “You know that key? The one Pastor Dylan is looking for? Well, I found it. I’ve been keeping it a secret because I’m afraid of what’s in the basement…”
”*You have it?!*” I asked in a harsh whisper.
“Shhh! Don’t tell anyone, please! Especially not Pastor Dylan,” said Graham, patting the outside of his jacket pocket.
“Why shouldn’t we tell him? What if there’s a bunch of useful supplies stashed down there?”
“Because he doesn’t seem… right. I think he’s become too infatuated with that door and what’s behind it. I worry about the ladder. Is it some kind of mon–”
BANG, BANG!
BANG, BANG, BAAAAANG, *BANG!*
Everyone who was sleeping shot awake. Pastor Dylan pressed his ear against the basement door and held his finger to his lips. Mara kept her ear on the floor. Matt started biting his nails, and Ed and Linda held each other tightly.
Whispering across the room, I asked, “Father, what is it?”
“I think whatever *is* down there is tearing the place apart. It sounds like toppling shelves. Check outside, now.”
I looked outside but saw no cause for alarm. “The coast is clear. For now.”
“Good. If only we could find that damn key! Blast it all!” said Pastor Dylan, lightly laying his balled fist against the door.
Knock… knock… knock.
“Don’t knock, Father!” whispered Graham.
“I… I didn’t,” he said, stepping away from the door.
“What’s all the racket?” asked Ed. Cantankerous as always.
“Whatever’s downstairs seems to be trying to get our attention…” I said, a shiver starting at the base of my spine.
“Well, let’s see what they want!” said Ed as he rose from the couch.
Pastor Dylan blocked the door. “No! We can’t open it because we don’t have the key! You would make far too much noise!”
“I don’t care anymore! I’m sick of all the raucous coming from down there!” spat Ed as he rushed towards Pastor Dylan.
“Ed, no!” said Matt, trying to intercept him.
“Stay the fuck away from me!” demanded Ed, stopping to point his finger at Matt.
I looked outside, hoping to see more of the same. Instead, a crowd of more than fifteen strong were wandering up the street right past the house we were in. Matt and Ed’s argument grew louder, and as it did, heads began to turn.
“Hey, guys?” I said without taking my eyes off the street.
“Once again, I don’t know why you’re still here! We should send you outside right now!” shouted Ed, approaching Matt.
“Get your finger out of my face, you old fuck!” Matt shouted back.
“Gentleman, please!” protested Pastor Dylan.
“Guys!” I shouted louder than everyone. What did it matter anyway?
”*What is it, Danny?!*” asked Ed gruffly.
“They’re fucking coming!”
BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!
They started pounding on the house, clawing at the siding, and tearing it off. “What do we do?!” asked Graham worriedly.
“We need to be quiet, for one!” said Pastor Dylan.
“Everyone, *shut the fuck up!*” said Mara; it seemed she had had enough.
While we all quieted down, the relentless threat outside continued their attempt at breaking down the walls. “What if they get in?…” asked Linda, standing to hide behind Ed.
“Shh!” hushed Pastor Dylan.
BANG, BANG, BANG!
“They’re not stopping,” I said just loud enough to be heard by Matt, who relayed it to Pastor Dylan.
SMASH!
“What was that?!” asked Graham fearfully.
“It sounded like a window!” said Mara, looking down the hall.
“Have they got inside?” asked Matt.
BANG, KNOCK, KNOCK, BAAAAANG!
“That came from down the hall!” said Pastor Dylan.
“We need to get the fuck out of here!” said Ed, shielding Linda.
“And where are we supposed to go?!” asked Matt confrontationally.
“I’ve been waiting for this, you fucker!” said Ed as he took a big swing at Matt.
Matt ducked and punched Ed in the thigh, causing him to howl in anguish. Pastor Dylan tried to get between them, but it was no use. Ed and Matt began grappling down the hall, knocking each other into the walls and against low-hanging paintings.
It wasn’t long until blood smear speckled their faces. All the while, the banging from outside and inside continued. Mara tried to console Linda, but she was overwrought, shaking, and crying like a scared child. Pastor Dylan stared at Graham and me; it looked like he was about to run out the front door.
Suddenly, a separate door in the hall burst open, and more than five individuals poured into the hallway. The grunting and huffing from Matt and Ed transitioned into terrifying cries of agony. Linda ran from Mara into the hall, and within seconds, her blood-chilling screams entered the air.
I looked at Graham, whose eyes were on me. “The key, Graham! Now!”
“R-right!” he said as he fumbled with his pocket.
“Wait, the key?!” asked Pastor Dylan.
“We’ll explain later! Let’s just get downstairs!” I shouted, racing over to the basement door with Graham and Mara.
Graham’s hands shook terribly as he desperately tried to unlock the door. It took the steady, interrupting hand of Pastor Dylan to open it. The moment the door opened, we all stumbled inside and swiftly shut it.
And for some unknown reason, all sound dissipated. Like the basement was proofed for noise. It was so quiet. You wouldn’t think Linda, Matt, and Ed were being torn apart at the sinews of their muscles that very moment. But it was also dark, and standing on steps in the dark was a recipe for a broken neck.
“Does anyone have a light?” I asked quietly.
“Feel for a switch!” said Pastor Dylan.
I reached out and accidentally grazed Mara’s eye. “Ow!” she said, smacking my hand away.
“I’m sorry, Mara! I can’t fucking see!”
“Well, I *really* won’t be able to see if you gouge my fucking eyes out!”
“Enough, you two!” began Pastor Dylan. “Find a switch, or we’ll be worse off than beyond that door.”
I tried again, gently brushing my hands through the air. By a stroke of luck, I came across a very webbed switch and flicked it.
Light. But then I remembered something…
What was in the basement making all that noise?
I think the others made the same realization because they each immediately faced the bottom of the stairs. And yet, it was as silent as an empty church. Pastor Dylan, wasting no time, quietly asked, “Is someone down there?”
I thought I heard shuffling against concrete, but it was so faint that it might have been my hair brushing against the wall next to me. “Are we alone?” asked Mara.
“I’m not sure,” said Pastor Dylan.
“Can we just go down and see?” asked Graham, seeming antsy.
“Fine. But go with caution,” said Pastor Dylan.
We crept down, the steps creaking under our mass. The basement was illuminated by only two lightbulbs fixed in the ceiling. It wasn’t enough to brighten every corner, but it was enough to see the abysmal state of the entire basement.
The shelves Pastor Dylan mentioned before our descent were tipped over, and canned goods spilled across the concrete floor. There was no sign of life aside from us, and both narrow windows near the top of the basement wall were intact. No one had broken in.
Did we imagine it?
“Well, there goes our chance at survival,” said Graham, nodding toward the spilled goods.
“Nonsense, we’ll make do. We must have faith in our Lord that he will provide the necessary means for our survival,” said Pastor Dylan, rubbing his hands together.
Then a muffled and restricted sound arose from one of the darkened corners. It sounded like someone attempting to speak through a duct tape-covered mouth. “Wh-who’s there?” I asked, squinting into the darkness.
More stifled noises arose—the sounds of struggling. I stepped forward, but Pastor Dylan stopped me with his hand. “What is it, Father?” I asked, turning to see his confusingly-wide eyes.
“Th-this isn’t possible…” he said, barely allowing the words to leave his lips.
“What isn’t possible?” asked Mara timidly.
He whispered, bringing his sweaty palm to his face, “Th-that’s… It’s… me…”
“You?… What?” I asked, brushing past him to walk further into the room. And then, a figure emerged from the corner, wearing tattered vestments, and covered in filth.
It was the spitting image of Pastor Dylan.
His hands were bound, and his mouth was ball gagged. His knuckles were red and bruised—he must have been hitting something excruciatingly hard to produce the banging sounds we were hearing when we were upstairs. On instinct, I began rushing over to remove the gag, but Pastor Dylan swiftly protested, “Wait!” he began, marching up to meet me. “We don’t know what’s going on here, so before we do anything rash, let’s think about this.”
“Think about what?” I asked him, “They look just like you! Maybe they know what’s going on and can give us answers?”
“I agree,” said Mara, cautiously surveying the room. There was an unopened door to my left with bloodstains on it. The wood was laden with claw-like markings as if a wild animal was desperate to reach whatever lay beyond it.
THUMP, THUMP, THUUUUMP, THUMP!
The floor above shook violently, many heavy stomping footsteps traveling throughout the house. I looked at the clone of Pastor Dylan, who was staring up at the ceiling fearfully. He began uttering incoherent sentences, frantic and trembling.
“Fuck this, I’m not waiting any longer!” said Graham as he approached the bound Pastor Dylan and pulled the ball gag off.
He immediately shouted, “Step away from him! He’s an imposter!”
Pastor Dylan, the first one, stood silently. “Imposter?” asked Mara curiously, staring at the petrified pastor.
“Yes! He’s a watcher! A guardian for those things out there! He’s supposed to herd people into one spot and then attract the runners!”
“Th… that’s not true…” said Pastor Dylan.
“You won’t remember it! It’s primal instinct! The owners of this home, Patty and Jeff, were some of the first to begin acting strangely. I came to ask why they hadn’t come to church for over a month, and they lulled me into a false sense of security! Before I knew it, I was trapped down here…”
“What’s behind that door?” asked Graham curiously.
“I have no idea! I couldn’t get a peek before it was closed for the final time. Nothing good, I’m certain of that!”
“And how do *you* know all this? About them and those things?” I asked, keeping my distance from both pastors.
“Because Patty and Jeff told me. They revealed everything to me. That imposter standing next to you can hardly speak! Shouldn’t that tell you something? Why would he be at a loss for words if he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was the *real* Pastor Dylan?”
“Father?” Graham asked the speechless Pastor.
“I… I… You’ve fucking ruined everything!” he shouted as he rushed at the other, still-bound pastor. Mara stood between them but got knocked to the floor like a ragdoll. Graham swiftly moved to kneel by her side. The dangerously aggressive Pastor Dylan tackled the other, and they began thrashing about in a dance of violence.
I had a choice. Either help Graham and Mara, ignoring the strange turn of events, or join the fray and attempt to assist one of the pastors.
I chose the former because I didn’t want to be responsible for anyone’s death if it came to that. Mara was muttering faintly; she was dazed and bleeding from the back of her head.
Both pastors continued brawling. The other pastor tore his bindings during the rumble as they rolled towards the stairs, leaving bits of skin, fingernails, hair, and blood in their wake. The scuffle proceeded up the steps, followed by incoherent shouting.
Mara started coming around just as I heard the door at the top of the stairs open, only for it to shut immediately after. Then a roaring charge of footsteps trampled above us; it sounded like a herd of bulls falling to the floor from the ceiling.
Little streams of dust cascaded from the unfinished basement ceiling into my hair. Mara turned on her side so Graham and I could check her wound. It wasn’t deep and seemed superficial.
Then all noise in the house stopped as if we had suddenly teleported to a realm of emptiness.
Graham looked at me, eyes watering, and asked, “Is it over? Will we be left alone now?”
“I don’t know, my friend. I’m not strong enough to go upstairs and check.”
“Am I okay?” asked Mara, her light-brown hair stained red.
“Yes, you’ll be fine. Maybe there’s something around here we can use to clean that up,” I said, rising to my feet.
“Don’t worry, Mara. Danny and I will keep you safe,” said Graham, remaining at her side.
I rummaged through every piece of furniture, checked every shelf, toppled or otherwise, and delved into every dusty corner. There was nothing but webs and long-dead insects.
But there was still that door. The one with bloodstains on it. The one I had avoided for the sake of cowardice, hoping to subvert the need to search beyond it. Something deep inside me resisted every demanding urge to open it like I already knew what I’d find and couldn’t bear to see it.
As I walked up to it, Graham piped up, “Are you sure you want to go in there?”
“I couldn’t find anything out here. Maybe Patty and Jeff stored more supplies in whatever room this leads to…”
“Graham’s right, Danny. I’ll be fine soon enough. We should all stay out here safely,” said Mara, not sounding like herself.
“A part of me agrees with you, but another must satisfy my blooming curiosity,” I said, reaching out to grip the tarnished doorknob.
Mara and Graham both said something, at the same time, that sounded like, “We tried to warn you…” Just as I turned the knob.
A horrible stench flew right up my nose. It was the smell of putrefaction—rotten meat. I squeezed my nostrils as a string dangling from the ceiling slapped my face. Reluctantly, I pulled it to light an old bulb, brown with age. But on the floor, stacked in a pile, was a mass of bodies.
And in that mass were the bodies of Ed, Linda, Matt, Mara, and Graham.
I turned tail and retreated right into one of the darkened corners of the main basement. Graham and Mara only stared as I did, watching like apathetic sentinels. The synapses in my brain shocked me into a false paralysis. I couldn’t even speak.
Ten minutes must have passed before my breathing calmed and I regained the use of my hands. It felt like breaking free of rigor mortis as if I had been dead for that short time. But worst of all was that Graham and Mara remained quiet. They didn’t take their eyes off me the entire time or offer me any help.
“Wh-what is that in there?…” I managed to ask, though they said nothing. “Are you two… real?” I questioned further but received crickets in response.
I’ve been writing this transcript ever since. I hope this allows you to understand what happened in Ridgewood. On the hour, every hour, Graham and Mara shuffle a little closer. I’m not sure what they’re waiting for. But each time it happens, a dreadful chill erupts from the pit of my stomach. And yet, I’m too afraid to go upstairs away from them.
There is something else too. I did say there was a mass of bodies, but I never said how many. And that’s because there were six: Ed, Linda, Matt, Mara, Graham and…
Me.
My body was decaying amongst the festering. That was the real reason I ran out so quickly.
Am I real? Am I still Danny Haronfield? How could this happen? *When* did this happen?
They just moved closer.
Should I have stayed out in the street? You know what they say. If you can’t beat them, join them.
It won’t be long now, but you know what? I wish I ate more of that spaghetti. I’m fucking starving.