Author's Note: Okay, this is a strange story, and I only own Jim and the Brown-Haired Girl. It really would not be good for me to be sued on the grounds of copyright infringement by my favorite author, now would it? Okay then, enjoy! PLEASE R&R!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Falling Again

Thud. Jim landed hard, and the wind was knocked out of him. As he lay gasping for breath, strange rustling noises came from behind him.

He stood up, still panting, and turned around, fully expecting the God of the Lost to be there.

It wasn't there. Jim found himself standing on what seemed like a flat-topped mountain. Swirls of circles, looking like a hunting-practice target, were covering the whole mountain.

Each circle had piles of stones at different points of it. Jim guessed the stones must be old, because many of them- no, it seemed more like ALL of them- had collapsed over. All except one. It was from this one that this weird rustling noise came from…

Oh, I do not like his, I don't like this, oh God what is what is it what is it now?

Jim's question was answered. The rocks shifted, and a small, mud streaked hand poked out. It proceeded to push more rocks out of the way. For a split-second, Jim considered seeing if the kid (that's obviously belonged to) needed help. As it lifted itself out of the ground, Jim decided against it.

Its head bulged in several odd directions, and Jim could see a semi-circle of stitches holding its head on. It turned, but ignored him, perhaps didn't even see him. One of its eyes stared with horrible concentration in an opposite direction from the other. It was dressed in a suit, but it was torn and covered in mud and moss.

If it were still alive (nothings head can be shaped that way and still live; especially not a human, and it's eye, oh God, it's EYE) it would've probably been almost…cute. It had once been a little boy, three years old, at most. Now it was a horrible, off-balance abomination, and it was sniffing the air and grunting and groaning.

Suddenly, it stopped. It turned slowly, and saw Jim. It's small mouth twisted into a grin, and it came towards him.

"N-No!" Jim said, and took a step backwards. His foot didn't touch anything. He spared a glance over his shoulder, and saw that he was on the edge of the mountaintop.

The thing came closer, full out grinning at him now. It opened its mouth (which was full of small, milk-white teeth) and asked, "Are you going to play with me? We could have lots of fun…" in a horrible voice. Its voice was that of a small child's, but there was something beyond that…

Jim shrieked and toppled over the edge. He heard it's shrieking laughter as he fell…fell…fell…

No! Not AGAIN!

Jim fell, and didn't hurt himself this time. He had landed on something warm and soft…A putrefying smell rose to his nostrils, and Jim rolled off what ever it was.

He gagged. A rotting corpse lay beneath him, snot oozing out of its nose and mouth. Jim turned away from it, to no avail. The whole fricken' street was covered with corpses like this.

A TV was on in the distance. The news anchor apparently had a bad cold, because he kept coughing and spitting into a damp handkerchief.

"Captain Trips has demolished most of the country's population. There is apparently no cure, but the symptoms are easy enough to find. First, you come down with a cold. The cold then turns into a fever. Just as it finally clears up, it hits full force, c-c-" the news anchor coughed, a horribly flemmy sound, then continued, "clogging up the nasal cavities and throat. The person…chokes to death on their own snot. The entire process takes a few days."

"Jesus…" Jim said softly.

"While we can find no cure, Captain Trips is highly contagious. Only people with a special anti-body seem to be able to…to..." He coughed again, his whole body retching in effort, "…to survive this disease. Thank you, and may God attend thee."

With hardly a flinch, the man pulled out a rifle and shot himself in the temple.

Jim turned away from the TV, and saw how empty the street was. This was America's version of the black plague. It was empty, with bodies mouldering in the sun.

Jim coughed, flem filling his throat. He couldn't breathe! He choked…choked…choked…and finally collapsed on his knees, eyes bulging. He collapsed onto his right side, and fell through the ground.

He was falling, and the faster he fell, the more the flem disappeared.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!" He shrieked, thankful for the air.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading this far! It's a little strange, but oh well, whatever works, right? I realize every time the story gets good, he escapes, but I don't know if I want to kill him. I still have a few more books for him to romp through, so hang in there. Speaking of books…the books used in this chapter were:

Pet Semetary (go Gage!)

The Stand (Captain Trips…and I loved the part when the newscaster killed himself, so I had to add my own version)

Please review, as it encourages me to finish up with Jim. Thanks! :-D :-D :-D