Alrighty, this is the first fanfic that I have decided to post (based on a little online RPG my brother and I are developing based upon Resident Evil). Well to make a long story short I was in charge of setting up the game/plotline and I decided to do so by creating a little scenario based upon the beloved file "Keeper's Diary" found in Resident Evil 1, the remake and the novelized version. This particular scenario focuses mostly on a security guard named Scott, who was mentioned only briefly in the file.

AND NOW FOR THE DISCLAIMER!!

Please note that I do not own Resident Evil or the characters (even though they're considered EXTREMELY minor characters), Capcom© owns them. All I'm doing is adding my thoughts down onto paper and posting it for the masses... so yeah! Please enjoy my first of many fanfictions! Please don't forget to R&R! I am open to critiques and suggestions for later fictions. :)

The lights flickered throughout the upper floor of the mansion, casting dark shadows on the floor. The dining hall was silent, save for the constant tick, tick, tick of the old grandfather clock in the centre of the room and the frequent sound of dogs howling outside. Not even the lone figure huddled in the corner would dare make a sound. Not when his life was at stake.

Scott didn't want to be here, not in this creepy old mansion...not anymore. Sure the gig started out good, the pay was alright in the beginning and all he seemed to do was walk around the mansion and make sure things were "secure", as is the job of a security guard. Every now and then he would meet up with the other guys and play some poker; he would even win a few hands now and then. But then things started getting weirder. It all started with his promotion... when he was assigned to guard the basement floors. That meant the laboratories. Of course they never told him the details of their research, primarily the monsters they kept under lock and key.

Scott shuddered at the thought of the creatures he had seen. Raising a shaky hand he wiped the sweat trickling down his face. That was enough reminiscing for a while; he still had to find a way out of this goddamn mansion. He looked up at the large double doors leading back to the main hall. Like hell he was going back there.

The small group of security guards made their way down the grand staircase towards the first floor. Their guns poised for action they searched the hall top to bottom, taking special care for the areas in which the shadows took reign. The lightning flashing across the marble floors, the entourage paused. It was the storm that distracted their movements. Scott drew in a quick breath and glanced at his captain. They were supposed to be getting the hell out of here, not playing cat and mouse with those damn creatures. Of course being the high and mighty leader the Captain was, he had to escape the mansion in the "honourable way"; finding survivors and popping off the dead ones with this larger than life persona. Things would be easier if they just opened the goddamn door and left.

"Alright team", the Captain spoke, the tone of his voice commanding authority. "This is how it's going to be done; we're going to surround the exit, the door will be forced down and we will make our way to the jeep and get the fuck outta here!"

He was a large man, six feet tall and with shoulders as wide as a barn. He wasn't the kind of man you'd expect to be Captain of the guards, rather he seems to be more of the mercenary type character. At least that's what the rest of the team thought of him. Scott thought he was full of shit.

Scott moved into position, next to rookie guard Bates, his eyes trained on the Captain. The Captain however was more concerned with his weapon. He fumbled slightly with the shells of his double barrel shotgun. So much so that Scott and the rest of the team knew he was more scared then they were. Regaining his composure, the Captain cocked his shotgun and stood in front of the doors. Readying himself to kick down the doors in true Rambo fashion the Captain stopped; he thoughtfully looked at the door for a few seconds, then brought a shaky hand to the doorknob and turned it, pushing it out at the same time in a swift motion.

The door swung open, the guards reflexively jumping out the door, guns aimed at the darkness...

Nothing happened.

Smirking in triumph the Captain lowered his weapon and turned back to the group.

"Let's move out!"

Scott nodded at the Captain. Let him have his egotistical moment, even if he's a prick. He lowered his gun and moved to step over the threshold when something caught his eye. No more than twenty feet behind the Captain stood s a creature that chilled Scott to the bone.

It was one of those goddamn dogs. The ones that escaped a couple weeks ago, only this thing looked like something that escaped from a Steven King novel. It looked more like a skinned deer rather than a Rottweiler. The skin that should have been covering the creature's ribs was all but gone seemingly burned away by what could easily have been a blow torch. Eyeless sockets peered out at the group, surveying the crowd before it.

Scott was frozen in fear, unable to move even to get behind another comrade, which was what he desperately wanted to do. The dog padded closer to the unsuspecting Captain, its long tongue laving at its torn and bleeding maw. Scott looked side to side at his fellow guards, hoping one of them saw the creature. Closer and closer the dog made its way towards the Captain each step sounding louder than the last. Shaking himself out of his stupor, Scott finally raised his weapon and pointed it directly at the Captain, the dog's speed picking up it leaped into the air its jaws painfully close to the Captains neck.

The next few seconds were a blur. Crimson blood mixed with pressed blue cotton, gunshots rang through the air, followed by yelps of pain and screams of terror. Scott somehow made it halfway to the dining hall before the rest of the Cerberus pack found them. He didn't even look back as one by one the rest of the men were picked off. The sounds of ripping flesh filled the air; Scott forced his way through the large wooden doors.

Scott pressed his back into the stone wall, sweat pouring down his face. He nervously wiped the sweat away, not daring to close his eyes. Those dogs could break down that door any second, blood staining their jaws, the severed hands of his friends still clenched between sharp teeth...

He lifted himself from his corner and took one last look at the doors. Not wanting to linger on what had transpired he slowly made his way down the vast dining room, the soft firelight from the adjacent fireplace glinting off of his Beretta 92F/FS.

With each tick of the grandfather clock, the hairs rose on Scotts neck and he drew his precious handgun closer to his body. His guard never fading, the man inched closer and closer to the opposite wooden door, pausing only to aim his gun at the surrounding shadows. Who knows what freaks could be hiding nearby? And at this point he needed to rely on his training, rather than flying on the seat of his pants.

A crash of thunder filled the air as a figure shifted in the corner of Scotts eye. Startled, the man jumped backwards with a yell and fired his back colliding with the wall. Feeling cornered he pushed back from the wall, leaped onto the grand table in front of him, pointed the small handgun towards the unknown entity and inhaled sharply.

He felt like a fool. What he thought was a monster was nothing more than the stone woman on the second floor walkway. The lights flickered over the pock marks littering her once flawless features. Scott lowered his gun and sighed. The damn thing wasn't even on his level and he had to waste rounds on it. He released the magazine and popped out the bullets. If he felt like a fool then, he felt like a damn idiot now.

Looking down on the six remaining bullets Scott clenched his teeth in revulsion. Shit! This was just what he needed, to waste nine fucking rounds on a goddamn statue. Scott jumped down from his perch and placed the bullets back into the magazine. Snapping his only clip back into the gun he looked back up to the statue and scoffed. He was only halfway down the room and he was already shooting at ghosts, no use whining about it now. It was time to pick up the pace.

Taking small, well placed steps Scott finished his trek down the dining hall. Reaching the wooden door by the fireplace Scott paused and took a breath. Now comes the tricky part. Leaning onto the entrance, Scott closed his eyes and listened. All he heard was silence, nothing more. Well maybe that wasn't as hard as he thought it would be. Glancing one last time at the room Scott raised his gun in one hand, the other reaching for the doorknob.

Turning the knob slowly the door opened with a groan. He peeked through the small opening and gazed at what appeared to be a normal hallway cast in shadows. Scott stuck the barrel of his gun through the opening and inched it farther apart. Still no signs of life, or death...well there weren't exactly signs of anything. This was exactly what Scott wanted. With the sound of the clock behind him, Scott pushed the door open and stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

To the right of him there was only a dead end. The two doors located there had long been sealed tight by his fellow guards. Security precautions were always a bitch. That just left him with only one way out. With only the sound of his boots guiding the way, Scott continued one foot over the other down the hall to a small opening. .One step away from the door. Two. Three, that's good Scott, keep counting your steps; it could save your life.

Scott had always made it a habit to count the number of steps it took to enter and exit a room. The first lesson the Captain taught him. That way he knew exactly how much effort it would take, should something sneak up and bite him on the ass...literally. He was so preoccupied with his little counting game he failed to notice what was crouched nearby.

Scott had made his way halfway to the end before he stopped dead in his tracks. Directly across from him sat a man with his back facing him. Whoever this man was, he himself was preoccupied with something as well. The man continually scratched at his body, grunting with discomfort. The strong smell of rotting flesh filled the air.

"Itchy...itchy...itchy..." the figure hummed. The urge to scratch seeming to be insatiable, it tore at its arms and shoulders with blunt-tipped fingers.

Scott aimed his gun at the figure and took a step backwards. Now he desperately wished that he hadn't expended all that ammo in the room before. Stepping on a loose floorboard, Scott paused in alarm as the figure raised his head in response to the sudden noise.

Mentally cursing himself Scott stood his ground, his index finger grazing the trigger. The figure turned slowly, the only thing visible within the silhouette was its eyes when struck by the brief illumination of lightning, they seemed glazed and animalistic. It clearly did not expect company.

"Hey you!" Scott shouted, "Reveal yourself, now!" He had never been graceful when dealing with suspects.

The figure flinched at the volume and slowly stood, turning in its place. Scott watched as its hands pulled and rubbed the skin on its stomach. It moaned as its nails stained the stale cotton of its shirt a bright crimson. Scott took another shaky step back, towards the door.

"What the hell are you?" Scott whispered, his grip on the gun tightening.

The figure stopped, its hands releasing its stomach to prop itself of the wall with one. Muttering incoherently, the figure emerged from the shadows. Whatever the hell it was it beyond grotesque and just the mere sight of the creature made the bile rise in the back of Scott's throat.

The man was gaunt and emaciated, as if it had been sitting on a desert island. Only this pathetic excuse for a man was much worse off. Its skin hung on its large frame like a shirt that was two sizes too big. The large tears that covered the things torso bled freely in thick streams. Stringy bits of brown hair framed a bony face and the two milky white eyes that peered out at the terrified guard. Scott knew who this man is...was.

It was the damn Keeper, the man that watched and fed the dogs. Damn, what was his name? Scott shook his head in disbelief. This was the same guy he used to play poker with on Wednesdays, along with Steve the researcher. The last time he saw this guy was shortly after the accident in the basement lab. He was the one to tell him to put on that damn protective suit.

The Keeper drew his nails across the wall as he reached his other hand towards the terrified guard. It was then that Scott noticed the tattered diary poking out from the top of the creature's pants. The Keeper never went anywhere without his diary.

"Hey man don't you recognise me? It's Scott! You remember Scott right? We use to play poker together?"

The Keeper paused again, his hand held in mid-air. There was something still human left inside of the Keeper...wasn't there? It must have recognised him. The creature withdrew his hand and gripped the diary.

"Scott..." the Keeper mumbled. "Scott..."

Scott lowered his weapon slightly. If the creature could indeed recognise him then maybe he could reason with the creature, there had been a time when they were friends.

"Yes, yes Scott! You remember Scott right? What the hell happened to you man? I knew you liked whiskey but dont you think your overdoing it?" Scott continued, taking another slow step backwards. Only five more steps to go, one door to open and then hes stolen home base.

The Keepers milky white eyes rolled around in its head, looking back and forth, up and down. It was thinking about something, and Scott hoped to whatever God or higher power there was that there was at least one shred of humanity left in the walking corpse to let him leave in peace.

"Scott..." the Keeper growled and took an angry step forward. Then another, then another, and then another.

"Aw shit!" Scott was in trouble now. He took another hasty step backwards. Thunder filled the hall, making the walls shudder in protest. Stay calm, no sudden movements now, only four steps to go.

"Scott..."

A flash of lighting followed, framing the Keeper as the creature raised his hands towards Scott. Scott's mouth opened in a silent scream as a large chunk of rotten flesh tore itself away from his outstretched hand. Nearly retching at the sight, Scott took half a step to the right, the monster was getting a little too close for comfort.

The Keeper stumbled, lurching forward towards Scott. His composure tossed out the window, Scott pulled the trigger with a yelp, the bullet striking The Keeper's left shoulder. Thick coagulated blood streamed freely out of the wound painting the floor and the walls behind it a bright crimson. Good, stalled him. Three steps to go.

"Scott..." The Keeper was pissed off now, it quickened its pace, the right foot dragging on the ground drawing a thick line in blood. Its tongue rolled around in its mouth, scraping on the creature's broken teeth.

"Fever gone but itchy. Hungry and eat doggy food. Itchy. Itchy. "It snarled, sliding along the wall, its feet nearly slipping on the blood.

Panicking Scott took a long stride backwards, his heel catching on the ornamental rug. Letting out a startled cry he reeled backwards firing off multiple rounds, the bullets hitting the Keeper with every shot he took.

As he fell he caught a glimpse of the Keeper being pushed back by the force of the rounds. His back slammed onto the floor, causing him to release the breath he didn't realize he was holding. He pointed the muzzle of the gun back towards the Keeper and pulled the trigger.

Click. Click. Click.

"Shit!"

Scott rolled onto his belly and tried to stand up. He pushed his body off of the floor, stopping only to untangle his foot from the rug. Freeing himself he stood up, wincing at the pain he felt in his ankle. He looked back at the Keeper for a split second; it was right at his heels. Even with nine parabellum rounds the damn thing kept going. No use giving up, only two steps to go.

"Itchy...Tasty...Itchy...Tasty..." The Keepers hands found Scotts waist and pulled him backwards. This was the moment of truth, only one step to go. Scotts hands reached for the doorknob. The keeper let out a guttural noise as it sank its dull teeth into Scotts neck.

The once silent mansion reverberated with the shrill scream of a terrified man, followed by a gurgling sound and an inhuman growl.

Outside the storm continued, each crash of thunder shaking the mansion, the wind whistling through the empty corridors. Inside lightning illuminated the small hallway, glinting off the glossy crimson pool as the one lone figure crouched over its latest catch.

"Scott came. Ugly face so killed him. Tasty...Itchy...Tasty..."