A dream.
Goodbye Grandma
By PHfan21
What is going on? Whatever it is, it's not good.
There are things running around outside. Dead things.
As of right now, I'm with my grandma in her trailer. We are hiding. I can see those things, covered in blood, wandering the yard. I haven't seen anyone alive besides Gramma for hours. But I can still hear the occasional scream and gun shot.
"Hun, could you please let Cinnamon outside? I think she has to go potty." My grandma asked me, in a surprisingly calm voice, given the situation were in. Does she not feel the sheer terror that I feel? Can she not sense the acrid taste of death in the air?
Cinnamon is a wiener dog (excuse me, a Dachshund). She's been with my grandma for the last 4 years. During those 4 years, Cinny has been her constant companion.
"Do you think that's really safe Grammy? I mean we don't want to give away our hiding spot now do we?" I forced myself to try and sound calm, like her, and was almost (but not quite) able to achieve it.
"Well we wouldn't want her to piddle on the carpet." Is she honestly going to deny what's going on outside? She's acting like everything is genuinely okay in the world. Might as well humor her though.
Sighing deeply (to subtly tell her that his was not a good idea, not at all) I grabbed the small, elongated bodied dog (whom I've never really liked) and cautiously opened the door.
Relief flooded me as everything in my line of vision was deserted.
I tossed the dumb dog outside. Good riddance. I closed the door silently, though the sound of the latch locking in place was audible. My brain is in overload, and I need a few minutes to just stop and THINK.
I need to figure just what the fuck we're going to DO. I mean, my grandma isn't the once spry young woman she used to be. We couldn't leave home because if a situation happened where we would need to escape by foot, well in all frankness, she would die. We have no choice but to stay here in hiding, and hope authority will eradicate this 'problem'.
A cry could be heard outside. Then a small whimper and the scurrying of feet. I opened the door to see Cinnamon climbing up onto the porch, with a dead person in deliberate, fervent pursuit.
Cinnamon limped into the house, slipping through the small space between my legs.
My heart is pounding so hard, at a faster than normal pace but not an extreme speed. Every beat hurt. I could feel the thump as my hearts valves slammed shut. My blood was being forced through my veins with a lot of pressure.
Appalled by the fact that we are no longer hidden, I took the opposite care I did of shutting the door earlier. The velocity shook the windows. I was quick to latch the dead bolt into place.
Just a few seconds later the sound of the dead person's body being thrown into the door could be heard.
It made us both jump.
"Hurry! Look at Cinny!" I heard the cry from behind me. It was my grandma, still sitting on the couch. I turned to see what she was talking about. It was that damn dog again. Convulsions wracked the small body. Foam dribbled from her mouth, before her body finally stilled. The silence that followed was actually, in itself, deafening. But the sound of two dead bodies crashing into the door broke the quiet.
The noise seemed to wake Cinnamon from her peaceful slumber (AKA death). She slowly got up, and it looked like it was a great pain to do so. At first her movement seemed as though it was plagued with rheumatism. But as the seconds passed she gained a more fluid movement and agility. Strength appeared to flow into her. Soon her chocolate brown eyes were filled with awareness and hunger. With catlike motion she turned her hungry eyes upon my grandma. The approaching danger my Grammy currently faced was unbeknownst to her. The faded blue eyes of hers were focused on a fly resting itself on the wall. She was absolutely determined to not face our dire situation.
Cinnamons upper lip curled, presenting me her intentions before acting on them. Without even knowing it, I had lifted my foot and went into a kicking position. I came back to myself as my leg started in the deadly arc of descent.
My leg connected with her body, hitting her in the middle of her ribs. A meaty thud filled the air, temporarily silencing the things outside the door, and then after the brief period of silence, the dead started banging again with vengeance.
Cinnamons meager body was no match for my powerful kick. She was launched quite a distance, before finally slamming into the far wall. She had traveled across the living room and dining room until she came to a bone shattering stop, and fell into a bloody heap. Ivory white bones stuck out at various areas. Dark blood (already starting to congeal) formed in a pile around her. Even though her heart was no longer beating to be able to cause her to bleed, there was such rupture trauma it leaked out of the several openings.
My grandma opened her mouth to present me with a ghastly shriek. After her ear-splitting scream ended I noticed I could hear a new set of dead hands banging on our door. Fucking GREAT.
I strode over to where Cinnamons body lay. The wounds she had went unnoticed to her. Pain was not a curse for the dead. With all her broken bones, she was unable to move much; nothings really connected anymore. I bent to pick her up, careful of the shards of broken bone (cutting myself around all her blood was the LAST thing I would want to do).
Even with all the broken bones, I could feel the body that's slimy with blood, struggling to get at me. To still eat me. I held it away from me with disgust. In my mind I kept seeing a spider someone tried to squish but it's still alive – it's guts all around it – and its legs still twitching. When I finally got to the bathroom, where I intended to put it, I gratefully tossed the zombie dog into the cramped bathroom. It was dark in there, the window is blocked by a dirty and frayed hand towel, and I saw her milky eyes reflect the light from the hall. A strip of light illuminated the slim head before I finally fastened the door shut.
A soggy scraping (blood and bones I'm guessing) sound came from the other side of the closed door. The sound was slow in coming. Transfixed by the sound, I stood there, just listening, until I heard my grandma's frightened cry.
"Come quick!" Her alarmed bawl reached my ears easily. With it came the sound of splintering wood. Dismay filled me – this is it, the moment of truth. Is it my time to die? My heart beat uneasily, the rhythm off, and my legs trembled and were without bones and muscle. Before I could collapse to the floor I got a hold of myself.
I turned to run back to the living room, but my feet pulled a Shaggy (from Scooby-Doo). It took a moment for them to catch a hold of the ground. Everything slowed down to a crawl, but even though I was seemingly moving at a snails pace, I know I am moving quite fast. All sound dispersed except my ragged breathing, and thumping heart. Eternity passed; and then I reached the living room. The room where I will die. My death room.
Grandma still sat on the couch. Her wrinkly and liver spotted hands were drawn up onto her dry and cracking lips. Her eyes are wide with fright. The whites in her eyes deeply contrasted the dilated blackness in the center.
My own eyes darted from her to the door, which was slowly but surely cracking. The dead bolt was still locked, but it was tearing the rotted frame.
Looking to my right, I saw my cousin's wooden baseball bat leaning against the wall. Not long after I spied it, it was there in my hands.
Muscles tense with fear; I crept to the failing door. Sick terror was rushing through my veins, causing me to involuntarily prolong my trip, my feet moving bare inches at a time.
At last I am there. Now all I have to do is wait.
All at once the door burst open, fragments of wood rains all around me.
One of the dead was on me before I could do anything. And there was more coming, many more. I guess the noise they made attracted masses of them.
The one that's on me bit into my ankle. A fiery pain emanated there. Intense rage filled me – blocking the pain. With all the strength I had in me, I cracked the bat over the things head. I kicked its limp body back out the door. It's a miracle no more had gotten in. There's tons on the porch. I caught one's eyes with my own. But they were dead; they only saw me as prey. I held its hungry gaze until I closed the door. But now the latch is broken, and it will not stay shut.
Standing up, and slipping a little in my own blood, I leaned my body against the entryway so they would not get in. my body would not be enough to hold them, so I stretched as far as possible, and used my rapidly receding strength to pull the loveseat couch (not the one my grandmas was sitting in) over.
Securing it in front of the door, I felt the exhaustion that had been overcome by my adrenaline, until now, fill me. I slumped onto the floor. Everything in me was slowing down again, but this time I know it's real.
Without knowing it, my Grammy had gotten up and came to my side.
"Oh hunny…" Her desperate voice said.
"Don't worry Gramma, I'll be alright. Just let me rest, and we'll get out of here." Even to my own ears my voice sounded bogus. I was dying, and we weren't going to get out of here. I heard the tinkling of glass breaking. My head didn't turn in that direction despite the fact that they broke the window. It was raised off the ground a ways, so it will be a little while before they would be able to crawl through.
Worry lavished me, and panic licked the edges of my mind. I know that once I die, I will turn into one of those murderous things. Who will kill grandma first, me, or them? Will I be the one to rip out her throat? Will they dine on her aging body? Will I? Will she scream? Will she try to get away? Her watering eyes filled up my entire vision as she leaned down to kiss me.
"Have a safe trip, granddaughter. I will be there soon to guide you to the afterlife."
A smile touched my lips. Peace filled me. I sucked in air one last time, and did not let it out.
END.
The phrase the grandma says at the end is in relation to Native American culture. They believe dying is a journey.
I Will Follow You Into the Dark
By Death Cab for Cutie
Love of mine some day you will die
But I'll be close behind
I'll follow you into the dark
If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark
The time for sleep is now
It's nothing to cry about
Cause we'll hold each other soon
The blackest of rooms