Chapter Text
The world was burning, but your heart was as bitter as stone.
You haven't been like this forever. Your heart used to beat with the vitriol of youth, not anticipating the circumstances you would find yourself in.
At first, your sundaes melted a little faster than you were used to. You watched the sticky drops race down your hands, with your head low. Perhaps you hadn't rushed under the shade in time.
Then, your neighbor entertained you with the various conspiracies he heard about the changing weather. It wasn't completely foolish to ignore these theories, right? After all, how could the sun possibly explode? It didn't make any scientific sense. The sun was here since the beginning of time, and it would stay here long after you'd gone.
These memories were nothing but mildly amusing anecdotes. But you will never forget the fateful day you turned on the news. You thought the news reporter looked funny, and his glasses were too big for his face.
You never thought someone so goofy could be the bearer of bad news, but the headline struck you. You did everything to look away, or even blink, but your eyes were glued to the screen.
There were people clawing their way out of the dirt. Someone had captured video evidence, and one of the parasitic beasts was chasing a woman, screaming for it to stop. You saw its jaw unhinge, and the terror had come to a hush.
The jarring sight had since long etched itself into the crevices of your brain. Sometimes, you heard the crunch of the bones chewing on cereal. Other times, you jolted awake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, as if an electrical shock had struck through you. You forced short, quiet breaths, wary of the creatures that wandered past the horizon.
You thought of your poor neighbors, huddling with their families in their bunkers. Not everyone had that privilege, so you made it your duty to help those in need. It was a clear act of defiance to the "visitors", as they were now called.
You started taking in guests one by one, quickly ushering them into your home. You decided to turn your services into somewhat of a post-apocalyptic bed & breakfast. A wild thing to say, but now, everything goes.
Amongst your guests was a man covered in layers of wool and fur, and yet persistently shivering. You didn't understand how someone could still be cold under all those layers, but you decided to chalk it up to an iron deficiency. There was also a freakishly tall man in your house. And though he wasn't a visitor, it would've been nice to know that before you pulled a gun on him. But the bar guy, despite his disgruntled exterior, had a sweet side to him, a facet that would reveal itself with just the right amount of drunk. It was always nice to see the little traces of humanity left in people. The last was a stunning redhead woman who had come across your doorstep a few days ago, pleading for help. The woman had probably given up on convincing people to trust her. After all, fear is a powerful motivator, so she'd started seducing her way in, until she ended up here.
It felt as if the nights were engulfed in dew and uncertainty. But sometimes the fog dissipated, and you got to know your guests a little better. It was a mismatched little group, but you all enjoyed the quiet comfort of each others' presence. You would occasionally make some bean soup for the others, the smoky, aromatic scent wafting throughout the home. They'd gulp the earthy goodness down at once, and you were met with praise, though you weren't sure if it was genuine or just desperation. Other times, you would huddle together to listen to the radio, and you'd fall asleep to the static.
It was the little things that counted, and kept you from going insane. Still, dread crept in like grout between tiles. Generosity came with its drawbacks, and you didn't want your guests to be compromised because you dismissed certain omens.
There were so many things to keep track of, you collapsed into bed most nights. The tensions of living in such an unstable climate would keep most people up, but not you. Besides, there wasn't much to do except inspect, drink, and sleep.
And speaking of drinks, you could use a sip or two before bed.
You stumbled into the kitchen and opened the fridge, searching for a familiar chilly comfort. You tossed aside butter, margarine, and various other sauces, before your eyes settled on a familiar, lustrous can. It's a miracle that, in the scorching scheme of things, the AC and fridge still held up. It reminded you of that famous mantra, "enjoy things while they last." You felt yourself recounting the same phrase as a solemn prayer, and wish you'd paid more attention to these philosophies.
The cold beer was even more seductive now, and you opened the can with a 'clink'. But before you could get a drop in, there was a knock on the door.
Despite wanting to help those in need, the knocking echoed throughout the night, sometimes startling you in your sleep. Frankly, you were sick of the repetitive knock on the wood, and wanted to give the straggler a piece of your mind. But something about this knock was different. It seemed cold and calculated, unlike the hurried guests you usually got.
You didn't actually know what a visitor looked like. The footage from that day was grainy, and you found yourself going off on your imagination. You heard broadcasts on the radio talking about dirt under fingernails, and reddish eyes darting over the place. But how could you ever protect your home if things went south? Your only defense was a shotgun, and resting your finger against the trigger felt sinful. Taking any life felt wrong, but what does one do when the whole world goes to shit and preservation matters more than principle?
You steeled your resolve, and with an air of caution, inched towards the door and gulped, before taking a look into the peephole.
Uncanny valley is the first thought that flashed through your head. Your eyes widened in terror, drinking in the poison you were never meant to see.
This man was hunched over, his skin fitting his frame like a poorly-fashioned garment. His form was sickly and devoid of any sign of life, like reanimated roadkill. But the worst was his grin, which kept stretching across his face. His ivory teeth were neatly aligned in a grand display of delight. But it wasn't just the teeth, rather his glee in his hellscape of a world.
And in a humorously wicked manner, you remembered another sign from the radio: Picture-perfect white teeth.
This was a visitor.
"You alone?"
Perfect. He could speak. Now you got to hear the joy of him snapping your neck. You were trembling, even with a shotgun in your hands. As if a puny little gun could make a dent in that sagging, yet tough exterior.
"Get the fuck off my porch."
"You lack in manners. But allow me to introduce myself." The visitor stepped closer, and the tremors worsened, now reverberating throughout your entire body.
"Step back, or it's a bullet at the back of your throat."
"Understand, my dear, that I came to offer you a proposition." You scowled at the pet name. "Doesn't it get boring, holed up in that little house of yours? You have lovely interiors, but what about the tantalizing warmth of the sun on your skin? Best part is, after I'm done with you, it won't burn as much anymore."
You realized what he meant by that last sentence, and you tightened your hold on the shotgun. "Not a chance", you spat.
The visitor chuckled, strangely a melodic sound. "You do realize it is inevitable, don't you? Why deny yourself pleasure and keep fighting the obvious?"
"I don't want to give up my humanity."
"What does humanity matter anyway? It's a rung lower on the food chain."
Your head started pounding, debating semantics with a creature probably missing half its brain. "It's a promise for a better future."
"False promises lead to a false future. Accept the present, and your toils will be over."
His silky purr did nothing to help your nerves, and your gun was still aimed at his head.
"Sooo...." He started again, with a mischievous glint in his eye, "You alone?"
You weren't sure what to say, or even say anything at all. Saying yes would result in a lonely death, and the only chill throughout the horizon would be the blood spilling from your body onto the hardwood floor. "No. I have people with me."
The visitor's grin faltered and stiffened into a gaunt expression. He pressed his lips together in disappointment, like a hyena missing out on its prey. "Lucky bastard."
You questioned his displeasure. There was plump, human meat waiting for him just beyond the door, better than any game out there in the sweltering heat. But you supposed anything was better than being torn limb-from-limb.
But the intruder's smile returned, digging into his cheeks, and you couldn't get over how uncanny it looked.
"Well, something tells me this won't be the last of our little conversations."
"How do you know?"
"I'll know by the scent of rot. No one escapes death. Not even you."
Before you could question what he meant, the visitor sauntered away, with his freakish appendages swinging side-to-side. You felt the hairs on your back rise with apprehension. As if the uncertainty before wasn't enough, you now had to deal with a ghoul haunting every corner of the house.
You headed back into the kitchen, and picked up the warm beer. You guzzled every last drop till your throat was raw, then slammed the empty can on the table. There were no wishes, only prayers that the alcohol would wash away the newfound worries.