Chapter Text
"If you have any questions about recognising Visitors, the FEMA Hotline is opan on 0-00-451." The television newsletter stated in its trademark monotone voice, the customary picture of a smiling man holding a blue reciever displaying alongside the message.
What propoganda bullshit. I shut the blinds with a sharp click, turning off the televison before setting the remote down. I don't know why I bother watching it now. Ever since those damn Visitors started scraping their way out of the ground, more people have come knocking at my door, even more than when the sun started burning up like that one crackhead at the bus stop. Can't a hermit live in their empty home in peace? I check the clock, watching the flickering lights struggle to tell the time due to the years of neglect. 5:58 am. The Sun will be up soon. I should be getting to bed. Not like anyone can go outside during the day without being burned to a crisp these days. I turn off the bedside lamp, walking over to the other side of the bed to lie down. I don't sleep on the side closest to the window. Not anymore. I sigh, the all too familiar weight settling on my shoulders, those goddamned memories creeping back up on me again. I sit up, rubbing a hand over my face tiredly. No way I'm going to sleep now.
I can hear the stifled noises through the walls from the strangers I had let in. Why had I done this? This cursed house was better off empty. Even as I glared at the walls with resentment, I already knew the answer. Those damned Visitors kill just about anyone alone out there, if the sun doesn't fry you to a pile of ash first. It's hard to turn down someone begging. Besides, I have my reasons for some of them. The neighbour's daughter was now without a father, and spends her days in my kitchen crying her little eyes out in the same chair he used to sit in. Though my drinking days are long over now that he's gone, and cigarettes ran out a while back. I gave my last one to a man who was so badly burned he looked like a raw steak. He used to be a firefighter, before the government gave up on stopping the massive bushfires caused by the Sun. But the forests are ash now, just like the man is dead. Maybe I should of let that creepy Visitor kill me back when this shit started, when my neighbour was still alive, and those damn FEMA agents weren't gunning people down in the streets. They take half the damn people I let in. FEMA says it's for testing, but is it really? I don't trust those agents one bit, fuck what the TV says.
The sunlight blazed through the chink in the blinds, ruining on any slim chance of sleep I might have gotten. I stand, the bed springs groaning in protest. I would feel sorry for the old thing, but everyone was suffering these days. The wooden frame can spare pity for another day. I shuffled off to the bathroom, though it lost its purpose long ago. My mother's vanity sat collecting dust in the bathtub, both now trivial, useless items. I checked myself in the mirror. My nails were clean and free from Visitor-ridden dirt, my eyes weren't red, and my teeth were as yellow and unattractively crooked as they have always been. Good. No signs that those murderous creatures of filth that pretend to be human that the television call 'Visitors' has infected me. I don't know what I'd do if one had. That was a lie, I knew that. I'd shoot myself in the head. Ever since one managed to fool me enough to cross my doorway, I've been scrutinising everyone in this house- including myself. It was so damn shameful I had let my guard slip and let one of them in. As soon as I had found out, I shot the vermin straight between the eyes. I was just lucky it hadn't killed anyone first, including the kid in my kitchen. Though I'm not one to promise anything, I'll keep my late friend's daughter safe if it's the last thing I do.
I could hear the cultists in my living room mutter prayers to their "glorious" and "kind" Death through the walls. What a bunch of lunatics they were. When their leader came knocking at my door, I thought there was just one of those psycopaths, not three. At least they keep to themselves and don't question when I dispose of a Visitor's body. I've checked them more times than I can count on my fingers, but I've never found enough signs to think they're Visitors and put lead in their brains.