Paint

"What a beautiful color!"

"So deep!"

"Luscious, even!"

The prima ballerina smiled as she made her way to her dressing room.

Slamming the door shut behind her, she ignored the muffled scream of the young ingénue she had tied to her sink.

The girl's pale white skin was covered in cuts--some old and scabbing, some new and still bleeding.

Wiping the old, dull red from her lips, the prima ballerina stood up and tip toed over to the girl, the silver knife clutched in her hand.

"They love my new color," she smiled as she knelt down before the trembling girl. "But it's not quite what I'm looking for."

Without a word, she sliced the girl's throat, the bright red blood splattering her face.

Standing to look in the mirror, the prima ballerina rubbed her finger along her lips, painting them a deep, vicious red.  

She smiled. Finally, it was the perfect color.

"They'll love it."

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Bloody-Ballerina-259300819

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

There's just something fun about ballerinas and twisted creepy stories. Ballet is supposed to be this beautiful, poetic performance, not twisted and wrong... but if you think about it--how the ballerinas contort their bodies and feet, maybe it isn't as perfect as we think it's supposed to be.

 

I know I'm a few days late to this writing prompt, "paint," but I immediately wanted to work with lipstick and blood (of course). Ballerinas, blood, and madness... what's not to love?!? This is starting to sound like Black Swan now...

 

Only 8 more days until Halloween!

 

a.r.w.

Stories

I never believed in the old stories my grandmother used to fill my head with--tales of the strigoi, Baba Yaga, and the Old Country--that's all they ever were... stories. She always warned me that the forest wasn't safe... and now as I hike through a forest so far east in Europe, we might be in Asia for all I know, her stories begin to echo through my memories.

I shift my grip on the urn holding her ashes as I try to look down at the hand drawn map where my destination--the lake--was scribbled among the trees.

Not trusting my sense of direction, I look around at the winding trails when my eyes spot the sight of an old man just beyond the tree line.

"Excuse me?" I call out and the man peeks around the tree, smiling at me. "Is this the way to the lake?"

He just stares at me in silence. Of course... He wouldn't speak English and I don't know a word of his language. But after a moment, he wanders down to the trail I am on. With one last look at me, he turns and begins to march further down the path.

We wander through the forest for hours, not uttering a word. As the sky gets darker, I ask, "Are we almost there?" We've been walking for hours and I know I still need to turn around and make my way back out before nightfall. Of course, I'm met with nothing but silence.

As I round the bend, I stop in my marching. The old man is gone--completely vanished from sight. I scan the trees looking for any sight of him when my eyes fall on an old cottage hidden among the trees. I take in the sight of the house with it's chicken legs and I feel my stomach drop. The only thing more frightening that seeing this house--the house of Baba Yaga--was seeing smoke billowing out from the chimney... telling me that someone was home.

"Oh great."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

So talking about the boogeyman in one of my previous posts got me thinking about Russia's version of the scary monster that could come and take you away in the night--Baba Yaga. Sometimes a maternal helper, sometimes a ferocious villain, Baba Yaga is both terrifying and fascinating (how can you not be when your house has chicken legs?).

 

This story was also inspired by my hike in the pine forest a few weeks ago now. As we were marching through the trees, I couldn't help but think back to the legends of strigoi and monsters and, of course, Baba Yaga. The woods have a different feel here as opposed to America or China or anywhere else I've been hiking. There is that mystery and that feeling of not knowing exactly what you'll see when you turn around the next corner.

 

While we were hiking, I thought I saw an old man in a tan coat and a tan hat walking along a trail a bit below us (I honestly thought it looked like my grandfather--Poppy). The top of his hat disappeared behind the yellow leaves of a bush and I never saw him come out the other side. I just stood there, staring at where I knew this man was supposed to be... but he never appeared again.

 

It just added to my belief that there is something eerie and unnatural about the forests here in Siberia.

 

Only 9 (single digits!!!) days until Halloween!

 

a.r.w. 

Notebook

I kneel down, trying to ignore the old rusted autopsy table beside me. It's been some time since I've been to an insane asylum; they always make me uneasy... as if the spirits of this place will recognize me as one of their own and keep me forever.

"Micah?" I can hear Kyle from down the hall.

We've only been here for a few minutes and He's already whispered in my ear to wander--my wandering has  brought me to the basement much to my dismay.

"Micah! Where'd you go?"

Kyle and his two friends come bumbling into the room. I still wish I hadn't come. There are few thing worse than rookie ghost hunters and it looks to me as if these guys just bought their equipment yesterday.

One of them shines his flashlight in my eyes. I wince. Ever since the possession, I've been sensitive to light.

"Oh," he mutters, dropping the damn thing. "Sorry."

"What'd you find?" Kyle seems oblivious to the exchange, his eyes locked on what I have in my hand.

I look down. I forgot that I picked it up.

I shrug and hand it to him. "It's a little notebook."

"This thing has got to be a hundred years old." He begins flipping through the old yellowed pages.

I don't know why He brought me down here but I always try to listen to him when he talks... it's usually a rarity. But suddenly, there is a chill in the air and I find myself wishing to be anywhere else in the world right now. Anywhere but this basement.

"Can we go?" I ask suddenly; the panic in my voice surprises me.

"It's full of names," Kyle continues to ignore everything in the room other than himself.

"It's probably just the doctor keeping records of the people who died here," Kyle's friend Garret chimes in. "We are in a morgue after all."

"Can we please go?" I raise my voice, His voice echoing my words in my head, It's time to go.

"I'm with demon girl," the third one--Jay--inches his way toward me. I hate his nickname for me, and I'm sure he wouldn't like my nickname for him--the scaredy cat. But right now, I don't care who my ally is as long as I have one. "Hello?" he calls out to his friends once more.

"Hold on a minute!" Kyle almost sounds annoyed at us. His eyes are locked on a page in the little notebook, wide and bewildered. His eyes jump up to me for a moment as He screams in my ear, GET OUT OF HERE!

Kyle shudders as if he can hear His warning too. "Your name is written in here, Micah."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Today's writing prompt was "a little notebook" and I immediately wanted to continue writing about Micah Meyers, the demon possessed girl from my October 2nd story, Brave. I haven't actually had a chance to sit down and write anything in a long time now, so this felt good to get out while dinner was cooking.

 

I also created a bunch of little spiders today! Here is the result of my second creation from yesterday... I think they enjoyed making their spooky, cooky looking crowns!

 

 

 

Only 11 days until Halloween!

 

a.r.w.



Hitchhike

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Ah! There you are! And just in time... There's a little matter I forgot to mention: Beware of hitchhiking ghosts!

 

These are the three ghosts from my favorite ride at Disney World--the Haunted Mansion. I've recently fallen even more in love with this trio after discovering that there is a pin set that features them (yes, I am one of those poor unfortunate souls [see what I did there?] that is absolutely obsessed with Disney pin trading). I managed to find two out of the three during my honeymoon in August but I am still missing the short hairy guy! So if you find yourself at Disney any time soon and happen upon him, remember me?

 

 

These three ghosts appear at the end of the ride and their names are Phineas (the traveler), Ezra (the skeleton), and Gus (the prisoner)... Phineas is my favorite. They're scary and spooky but at the same time so gosh darn lovable!

 

I decided to take my love of Disney and my love for Halloween and create a Haunted Mansion doodle today. I hope it gets you in the Halloween spirit, makes your spine tingle and skin crawl, and makes you think back to the first time you rode through the Haunted Mansion, terrified only to have it become your absolute favorite.

 

Only 20 days until Halloween!

 

a.r.w.

 

PS: Now a ghost will follow you home... Hahahahahahahahahah!!!!!!!!!!!



Cupcake

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Yes, this is a cupcake. Yes, it's a heart.

 

I wish this idea had been my own but I can proudly say that I did not come up with this idea--one of my students did!

 

For two weeks, I traveled over the river and beyond the city center to a small school called Chudo Chado. At first, I had no desire to travel so far on my Saturdays but the minute I met the students who were desperate to learn from a native speaker, I fell in love with them and their zeal. My second week there, we read a ghost story and for an activity, I asked them to create their own scary story. The result was impressive.

 

Almost all of them clapped their hands in glee before setting to work. I got stories about a megalodon (these are ten years old studying English as their second language), animatronics that kill kids at a pizza place, and this one--all about cupcakes.

 

Kate, the quiet girl who sits in the corner was the most excited about this writing assignment and she did not disappoint. Her story was of a young girl who had a birthday party where none of her friends came to celebrate. In response, the girl went to their houses, cut out their hearts, and put them in the cupcakes.

 

Brutal, sadistic, and so creative! After being in China for two years where the kids barely understood the idea of creativity and now being surrounded by kids who are not motivated at all and bored with everything they do, it was a breath of fresh air to see these kids create and think up these stories all by themselves... and have fun doing it! I was slightly disturbed but even more impressed by Kate and her story... and she inspired me to paint this macabre image.  

 

I've learned that I don't like drawing anything real or lifelike... Human hearts are hard! I tried a few times and then gave up on being realistic and I decided to create my interpretation of what a human heart looks like.

 

Enjoy the blood splatter...

 

Only 22 days until Halloween!

 

a.r.w.

Nothing

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

What do you fear most in life?

 

Some might say heights or flying, spiders or the darkness. Me? I fear Nothing.

 

Do you remember the movie The Neverending Story? The Nothing was the terrifying monster gobbling up Fantasia, the world of fantasy and dreams. I think that was a mighty powerful message for a kids movie because to this day I am still affected by it and I still fear Nothing.

 

To me, the Nothing is just that--a void of happiness, dreams, plans, actions, even life itself. It's the desire to just survive through life instead of thrive. Nothing is very much real to me and I have to try and fight it every day. I fight it by reading, by laughing, by dreaming, and creating something new here every day.

 

These three figures are the Nothing that haunt my mind. They feed on the very thought of them (so stop thinking about Nothing!) and once they take control of you, it's hard to fight them off... but it's possible... it's always possible to fill Nothing with a very great Something.

 

That's what I'm trying to do with this blog... Fill the Nothing and fight it too.

 

Plus I just wanted to paint something super spooky today! I hope you dream of Nothing tonight...

 

25 days until Halloween!

 

a.r.w.

Pumpkins

we are beautiful

all different shapes and sizes

pumpkins big and small

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Pumpkins are a lot like people. Some are short and fat. Others are tall and thin. And I love each and every one of them.

 

I finally bought some watercolor paper for the first time yesterday and I've started playing with it. I'm not really familiar with how it absorbs water and paint yet so forgive the slightly messy doodles.

 

I've been wanting to paint some pumpkins for awhile now and I decided to play with orange, yellow, and red. I kind of like the result! Just like my trees from yesterday, they all turned out different. I love it when I can't recreate a doodle--it makes them so special and unique.

 

I've been eying up a pumpkin on my way to work everyday. There is a gang of old ladies that sell produce and they brought out a giant pumpkin.... and I WANT IT.

 

That is one of the things I don't like about living abroad--missing out on all of the autumnal shenanigans. Apple picking, haunted houses, hay rides, corn mazes, apple cider, carving Jack-o-lanterns, pumpkin spice everything, the Swartz Halloween party, and going to the pumpkin patch. This time of year is my absolute favorite but it's also painful when I'm so far from all the fun!

 

I'm hoping to get a pumpkin soon and joining in on the Halloween festivities even from Siberia... 27 days until Halloween!

 

a.r.w.

Brave

I'm not like other girls my age. I hate how that sounds... "Oh look at how different and unique I am! I'm a wallflower. An outcast. A freak." I guess you can add hypocrite to that list because no matter how much I hate it when people say it, it's true--I am different from other girls.

My parents named me Micah. Micah Meyers. Yes, that's right. Halloween is their favorite movie of all time. They're so obsessed with the occult and Halloween and anything supernatural, they planned on naming me after the crazed killer from that old movie. You can imagine their disappointment when I was born and I was very much not a boy.

I've spent my whole life surrounded by Halloween. Our house is always decorated with it (we actually have a Halloween tree--like a Christmas tree--that my mom keeps up and illuminated all year long). There are posters of horror movies instead of family photos and my dad's monster action figure collection lines the shelves of our house instead of books.

From a very early age I hated Halloween and tried as hard as I could to be normal... whatever that is supposed to be. I didn't go trick-or-treating. I wore bright colors. I hung out at the mall on October 31st and not the local cemetery. I tried to stay away from all those things that I was born into... but sooner or later, I knew it would catch up with me.

I'm 30 years old now. I still don't celebrate Halloween and I try to be as normal as I possibly can be.... but that's sometimes easier said than done.

"What are you subbing today?" Jason, my roommate/boyfriend asks me as he kisses me goodbye for the day.

I sigh and think quickly, "French, I think."

"Have a good day."

"You too."

I scurry down the winding stairs--we're a seven floor walk up--as I throw my big brown pleather bag over my shoulder.

"Are you Micah?" a voice lurches out at me making me stop in my tracks and scream.

I turn and glare at the culprit. It's a young man standing next to the garbage shoot, almost entirely hidden in the shadows.

"That depends on who's asking." I shift nervously as I begin to play with the strap of my bag.

"My name is Kyle Fagins," he introduces himself as he hands me a business card. I look down at the little black card in my hand. All I see is the white outline of a cartoony ghost and my gaze jumps back up to the man named Kyle.

I don't give him another chance to talk. Without another word, I begin marching down the stairs again, praying that he doesn't follow.

As I push the front door of our apartment complex open, I hear him grunt behind me, but I don't stop to turn and look. I hear him huff and puff as he jogs to catch up with me and with ease, he falls into step beside me.

"Is it true that you're possessed by a demon?"

I almost turn to glare at him, shocked by his question but instead, I just laugh maniacally. "You seem to know a heck of a lot about me for having just met me." I keep my eyes straight ahead on the sidewalk. Maybe if I ignore him, he'll just go away.

"I know a lot more than just that," he declared, proud of himself for some reason. "I know you're not on your way to the high school to sub."

That's it.

I stop walking and just glare at him. He turns and just smiles.

"Okay," I growl through my teeth. I'm late for an appointment--I don't have time for this. "Either you're some sort of psychic or a stalker--neither of which I am okay with right now."

"No," he shakes his head and laughs at me. "You have quite a following in the paranormal community, Micah Meyers."

I just watch him. I'm suddenly regretting all of these appointments I've been running to lately, telling Jason it's subbing jobs. "And what does the paranormal community say?"

"They say you're the most powerful exorcist they know." His voice gets louder, I can tell he's excited. "You're actually permitted by the Vatican to do exorcisms on the possessed even though you're a woman and not a part of the Church."

I remain silent and let him continue.

"They say you can talk with the dead and sometimes you see ghosts. But the main thing they say is that you're possessed by a demon."

"What about it?" I cross my arms, trying to make some sort of barrier--protection--against this guy.

"Well, is it true?"

I sigh but realize that there's no reason in trying to deny it. He knows who I am and even I know the reputation I have  among ghost hunters, mediums, and exorcists. I begin my monologue that I've repeated so many times before, "It's a mutually beneficial relationship. He doesn't feel the need to possess me and I don't feel the need to exorcise him."

"Him?"

"Him."

"How did it happen?"

"I got struck by lightening last year."

He just stands there, seemingly in awe as I look down at my watch. The movement seems to bring him back to the present as he jumps back into place. "Listen, I have some buddies that I investigate with--"

"Don't we all?"

"And we were hoping you might help us with an investigation."

"Get in line," I laugh, humorlessly. "There's a thirteen month waiting list."

With that I finally find the chance to push past him and get back on my way to my scheduled appointment--an old abandoned orphanage, forty minutes outside the city.

"The entity called for you by name!" I hear him shout after me across the parking lot.

Something pricks in my mind, catching my attention as the voice in my ear mutters deeply, Well this could be interesting...

Whenever He makes himself known, I know it was for good reason--He doesn't wake himself up for nothing.

What say you, Micah? Time for some Halloween fun?

I sigh. It seems that's become my newest hobby. I could sense Kyle still standing behind me, waiting and watching for me to make a decision. I slowly turn to face him as his face lights up.

"It looks like He's on your side, Kyle," I call back out to him. "You're lucky..." I grumble. I hate being outnumbered. "So where is this little investigation of yours?"

"Oh, nowhere." He shrugs his shoulders innocently. "Just the most haunted insane asylum in the state." He smiles up at me as he holds his hand out. "Are you brave enough?"

He laughs in my ear and His insanity almost rubs off on me. Instead, I keep it bottled up with just a smile. "Brave?" I scoff. "I have a demon living inside me... a little ghost in a little asylum somewhere in the countryside certainly doesn't scare me."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

So I had this idea come to me (once again) while I was walking home from work last night. It was dark and cool, I had a skirt on along with a long obnoxious sweater and my man stompin' boots and I just felt like a BAMF about to hunt some ghosts. But as my mind thought about this character--a cooky dressed girl, stompin' her way through town, the story just got more and more detailed and soon I had Micah--a woman who was struck by lightening and now finds herself possessed by a not so malevolent demon.

I'm not sure if I'll continue this story into something bigger where she hunts ghosts with Kyle, exorcises demons with her partner in her head, and gets into a boatload of shenanigans. I'm feeling a lot of one shot stories with these guys.

So this is my first spooky October post. I hope you enjoyed it! Only 29 days until Halloween!

a.r.w.

Smile

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Alright, this might just be the creepiest thing I have ever drawn.

 

To get into the Halloween mood (not that I need help), I have been listening to the soundtrack to my favorite computer game, American McGee's Alice. It's super twisted, dark, and creepy and I highly recommend it to anyone who loves the story of Alice in Wonderland or just freaky things. The soundtrack is equally spooky with old antique toys being played throughout the whole thing. I don't recommend listening to it while walking home, alone, in the dark. Just saying...

 

As I was walking to work today, I imagined this sight in my head. Alice--perfectly normal Alice--hides her wild thoughts that others might see as mad with a smile... a twisted grin that she learned from a very dear friend.

 

I think sometimes we have this same smile we learned from the Cheshire Cat. When life gets too hard, smile. When people call you crazy, smile. When you want to scream or cry, smile.

 

I'm trying to follow in Mr. Cheshire's footsteps and, when in doubt, smile... it confuses everyone else!

 

a.r.w.

Nevermore

I've never met your love, Lenor

But I have my own lost soul I search for

And when I ask the raven for more

He looks at me and says the same as before

Nothing less and nothing more

Than just, "Nevermore."

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

I admit, I only just recently read Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven and I found that I really and truly loved it. There is that great gothic, creepy, old world feel to his stories and poetry and The Raven I think is the epitome of his creepy, gothic work.

 

As I was looking at my upcoming writing prompts, I saw "nevermore" weeks in advance and I was so excited. But the closer the day got, the less I was inspired to write something to do with "nevermore" and more inspired to draw (yet again, the face of a girl). I think I tend to have a very distinct style (stained glass hair, big, bushy eye-lashed eyes) and I tried to break away from that at least for today. I've learned that profiles are hard and I desperately need to learn how to draw hair not purple, pink, or blue. However, I still love my doodle girl wearing her raven crown. Perhaps she grew tired of hearing the word "Nevermore" repeated over and over again and this was her revenge against the raven.

 

The Raven is a very interesting story about loss and coping with the death of a loved one. In the poem (spoiler alert), our narrator descends into madness after his lover, Lenor, dies. Having experienced a great loss, I can see just how easy it is to lose yourself to madness... because sometimes that seems easier to cope with than reality.

 

I feel like you have a choice to make when faced with death and grief--you can go down one of two roads. You can either choose to protect yourself: you place your memories, your heartache, and that painful loss in a box and you place in on your shelf and force yourself to forget. You're able to continue on, painlessly, pretending that nothing is wrong, and you are able to heal more fully. Or, you continue to feel, you continue to mourn, and you live in constant pain. You choose to remember and, in a way, through your suffering, your loved one is able to continue on existing in your life and mind.

 

At first, I thought you had to make this decision and you could never go back, you could never change, and the two choices could not connect with one another. But I was wrong.

 

Some days--some moments--you are able to bottle up your thoughts and feelings; there are a few moments throughout the day where I am actually able to forget just how messed up my life is, forget about the gaping hole in my life and my heart, forget that I am grieving. But then, I recall... and it makes the pain all the more unbearable. And you decide, it's better to live in constant numbing pain than to force yourself to pretend that nothing ever happened.

 

I choose to grieve because grief is very much real and is the result of a deep love.

 

And, in a way, we are all walking down the same road--we all experience loss, pain, and grief at some point in our lives--and together, we can help carry each other's burdens, wipe away tears, and make the journey down this road a bit brighter.

 

And remember: we are not alone in our grief... We are surrounded by loss, life, and above all, love... Forevermore.

 

a.r.w. 

The Change

No one knew where it came from, how it started, or who was to blame. The older generation said it had to be the Russians (“Damn Commies,” they would mutter). The younger generation that was so focused on the safety of social and human rights, always holding their protests blamed it on nuclear testing… the radiation had to have leaked out, like Chernobyl all over again but so much worse this time. Maybe it was a sunburst or a disease that passed from rabid animals. People had their wild theories—it was the government or aliens, it is the end of days that the Mayans predicted thousands of years ago, it was the first stage of the rapture… or perhaps it was just Mother Nature sick and tired of the human race messing with her and she finally decided to fight back. Whatever it was, where kids used to go to school and teenagers used to go shopping, where people would sit in church or watch a football game, where the humans once lived life, the zombies now roamed, like an infestation that could not be exterminated.

Tess could not shake that thought from her mind—an infestation of vermin—as she waited for Brett to come back with the blankets they needed to bring back to the camp. They had already run into six or seven zombies but they were all too busy eating to notice the two teenagers on their bikes and even if they did, they were far too slow to catch them. But there was something about standing in the darkness of the abandoned city street—a place that had once been brimming with life and noise—that set Tess on edge. She kept her back against the truck, standing by the wheel to feel completely protected while Brett rummaged through the truck, looking for the blankets the other camp had sent them. Winter was coming and their camp had no way to heat the rooms of the tenants so these blankets were their only ticket to surviving until the spring.

And not everyone would make it, she had to remind herself. So many of her friends had died last winter… How many more would she lose?

A bump shook the truck back and forth, knocking Tess back to the present—how could she have been so careless as to let her mind wander while she was out in the open? She could have been killed.

Or worse, she reminded herself of why she was alone in the middle of an abandoned city—practically an abandoned world—risking her life for a couple of blankets.

She pushed herself away from the cold metal of the truck’s side and called out, “What is it?” as she turned toward the back of the truck. “Brett?” she called out, looking around to find her best friend. “What the—“

She leapt back in a panic as she bumped into someone, or rather—she realized almost too late—something. She should have smelled the rot and decay before she even walked to the back of the truck; she hated herself in that moment for being so stupid.

“Jesus Christ!” she screamed as the milky eyed ghoul reached out and grabbed a hold of the nearest thing—her arm. Tess tried to reach for her gun tucked into her jeans as the zombie continued to squeeze her arm; she had heard stories of just how strong these things were but as its strength tried to break her arm, she found herself less impressed and more terrified.

It felt for an instant as though time slowed down. Tess always heard stories from zombie attack survivors—the moment one of them opens their mouths and bites down on human flesh, it feels as if the world has stopped to show you the exact moment that your life was ruined—but she never really listened to them… that was, until this very moment. She watched in horror as the zombie’s yellow, rotten teeth broke through the skin of her left arm. Layer after layer of skin was torn apart until it hit the bone.

A gunshot filled the deafening silence in her head as the zombie’s head exploded, some of its blood spitting down on her cheek. She looked up at Brett who stood in the truck, his pistol still held in his hands as he looked back and forth between the ghoul and the girl.

“Brett,” she whispered in a panic as the pain suddenly swept through her, causing her legs to trembling and fall out from beneath her.

It was in that instant from when the gunshot sounded to when she was sitting on the freezing cold ground that the moment seemed to catch up with her—like time was speeding up extra fast to try and catch up from when it had slowed down. The pain in her arm was unimaginable; Tess hit her head against the truck to try and make her forget about the pain in her arm.

Tess tried to silence her scream… she tried so hard. She didn’t want any more of those things to find them. One was more than enough and more than she could handle it would seem.

“Where the hell did it come from?” Brett ripped his scarf from his neck and began to wrap it tight around her arm. The blood was already soaking through. “We did a complete perimeter search.”

It's been over two years since the zombies first attacked. Two years since my life had changed. Now it seems to be changing again, and, once more, it was changing for the worse.

“Can you feel your arm?” Brett placed his hands on her cheeks and looked into her eyes, searchingly. But searching for what? An answer? The truth? Any signs of the Change?

“It tingles a bit but I’m fine,” Tess pushed him away, trying to blink away the dark spots from her vision. “We’ve got to get the blankets back to camp.”

“Always the soldier.” He patted her on the back but Tess couldn’t help but notice how he kept his distance. A zombie had just bit her… They both knew what that meant.

“We should try to get back as quickly as we can,” Brett said as they both climbed back onto their bikes.

And try to beat the infection. Maybe if we get back sooner rather than later, the elders might be able to do something other than point a gun at me. Or at least that’s what he’s thinking.

“We should get back before the ghouls and feds find us.”

Tess shivered. If there was anything in this god-forsaken world more terrifying than hordes of zombies, it was the feds—the soldiers sent in to fight the infected…. And right now, that included her.

“You can ride, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” she sighed kicking off and speeding down the road.

The world had changed greatly in the two years since the zombie apocalypse, and that changed world was eerie the moment the sun went down. The big city was silent; the avenues empty. The solar powered street lights were the only illumination left in the city, guiding them along.

The silence is what frightened her most. Having always lived in the city, Tess didn’t really know what to do with herself in the silence. Her thoughts always got the best of her and right now those thoughts revolved around the doomed sequence of events just after a bite.

She glanced down at her left arm as she continued to pedal. Blood had already soaked through the bandage in the perfect outline of teeth marks.

How long does it take? An hour?

Her brother had been bitten about six months ago and he had changed pretty quickly. Less than twelve hours later, he was completely gone. Her older sister had killed herself from the grief. Just Tess and her Uncle remained of their once happy family.

A blinding light pulled Tess out from her morbid thoughts from the past. She pulled back on her brake and swerved to the side just grazing the side of the big white van that had appeared out of nowhere. Thrown off balance, she toppled over onto the cement just as two feds jumped out of the car, armed from head to toe.

“Tess!”

She could hear the panic in Brett’s voice. If the feds saw her bite mark, she would disappear into their van for good.

“I am so sorry!” the younger of the two men called out, the driver. “I didn’t even see you!”

“He’s new—first night out,” the older one explained, pushing his dark hair out of his face. “Are you hurt?”

He knelt down and helped to pull Tess back up to her feet.

“I’m fine.” She tried to shake the man off her arm.

“We’re just trying to get back to our family,” Brett was suddenly by her side to help explain.

“It’s dangerous to be out past curfew,” the fed said before he glanced down at the blankets strapped to the back of Brett’s bike. “Pretty big family if you ask me.”

Well if you ask me, survivor camps shouldn't be illegal.

Brett tried to smile as Tess climbed back up onto her bike. He tried desperately to keep up the façade. “Tell me about it.”

The two men stared at each other for a moment, tense, before the fed looked down at his hand… sticky with blood.

His eyes narrowed. “I thought you said that you weren’t hurt.” His gaze came to rest on the loosened bandage and the infected bite peeking out from beneath the scarf.

Brett and Tess exchanged a glance.

As the fed moved to grab Tess, Brett threw out a punch to defend his friend. “Tess, go!” he screamed at her.

She used all her strength and energy to pedal her bike down the street, suddenly wishing for the lights to go out and help hide her in the darkness.

The van revved to life somewhere behind her and a gunshot nearly gave her a heart attack. Whether the bullet was meant for Brett or for her, she wasn’t sure, but Brett had not caught up with her so that was enough to answer her question.

“Holy shit!” she screamed before chancing a glance behind her.

No Brett. Just a van barreling down on her.

Another gunshot and Tess knew this was no joke. She had to do something and fast or risking being another of the feds’ nameless and faceless victims.

She quickly turned down a small street not sure where it led… but at least it was dark.

A screech of tires and the glow of headlights were gone just long enough for her to ditch her bike and start climbing the fire escape up the side of one of the old buildings.

She smiled from her perch as the two feds ran into the alleyway. Her smile faded when she spotted their guns.

She froze and remained completely still, watching the two men, praying to whatever god might listen to an Infected that she would remain unseen.

Her hopes were dashed when the young driver looked up and spotted her.

“Rick!” he called out as he shined his flashlight on her.

Without a word, Rick aimed his gun and fired, the bullet hitting the wall just above her head.

Panic.

“Holy shit! Holy shit!” she muttered to herself as she climbed the rest of the ladder and threw herself over the ledge, hiding on the roof.

Pulling her handgun out from her waist band, she leaned over and sent down two shots blindly. One of them must have hit its mark because someone cried out in pain.

“Take that, assholes!” she screamed as she ran across the rooftops towards her safe haven.

***** 

“And you’re sure they didn’t follow you?”

“Pretty sure,” Tess winced as the doctor cleaned her wound.

“We have more pressing problems,” the doctor interrupted. “She’s been bit. We need to put her in isolation for the next twenty-four hours.”

“What about Brett?” Tess demanded. “He’s still out there with those monsters!”

“And the zombies,” her uncle tried to joke.

Why can he never take things seriously?

One of the three leaders of the camp, Joyce, placed her hand on Tess’s shoulder. “We’ve sent some scouts out to look for him. If he’s out there, they’ll find him.”

Tess didn’t want to think about why he wouldn’t be out there. Anything could have gotten to him—dogs, zombies, feds… if he was even still alive.

“The boy is most likely dead, or worse.” The doctor finished wrapping her arm in clean white bandages.

“Oh thanks. That’s reassuring, Doc,” she sighed, jumping down from off the table.

Her Uncle Norman led her down the hall, suddenly all business. “We’re not too sure on the incubation time—for some it’s minutes and for others it can be days. Richard,” they both stopped at the mention of her brother’s name, “his Change was average: ten hours and thirty-six minutes.”

“So you’re thinking I still have a few hours left.”

“I just hope you can make it through the night.”

Neither of them wanted to mention the great big elephant in the room—by this time tomorrow, she would probably have a bullet in her head.

They walked down the isolation chamber’s hallway to the clean, empty room. It was similar to a hospital room—cream walls, a bed, and even a toilet. There wasn’t a need for much else. No one stayed for long.

The events of the night finally began to catch up with her.

I am dying. This is my last night on Earth. My family is dead, my best friend is dead, and soon I'll be dead… I’m going to die here, alone.

She turned to face her uncle. For the last two years she had been a soldier and he had been her commander. After her sister died, they were all they had left in this world. Tears filled her eyes and panic filled her chest as she threw her hands around him.

“I love you, Uncle Norm.”

“I love you too, baby.”

This is the last time I'll ever touch another human… and not want to eat them.

“Be strong.” He placed a kiss on her forehead before locking the door behind him, leaving her, once again, with her terrified thoughts.

***** 

Forty-eight hours have come and gone and I still feel perfectly normal.

The doctor shook his head as he took back the thermometer from Tess. “I’m just dumbfounded. Two days is the longest anyone has ever gone without Changing.”

“Could it be that she’s immune?” Norman asked, still sitting next to Tess. She appreciated his courage.

The doctor sighed. “I don’t think so. You told me you had stomach cramps and you do have a fever, however slight it may be. Those are the early stages—the very early stages. Usually they take minutes… But for you, Tess, it has taken nearly two days.”

“So I’m still Changing.”

Doc nodded his head. “Just very slowly.”

Any hope that Tess had dared to hold onto vanished with the nod of Doc’s head.

Norm wrapped his arms around her just as the message chime sounded over the PA.

“Attention: illegal campers—“

“That the hell?” Norm leapt up to his feet.

Tess froze in fear. He hadn’t said much to her but she could still recognize his voice. It was that fed—Rick—the man who was also probably Brett’s murderer.

“I must say your little hideout was quite tricky to find but it is time to go. We have surrounded you and I am holding the register of every man, woman, and child in your little establishment. You have fifteen minutes to pack the things you want to bring with you to the reservation before we incinerate this place. Your time starts,” he paused for dramatic effect while everyone in the building held their breath, “now.”

“I thought you said they didn’t follow you!” Norm turned to his niece.

“They didn’t!” she defended. It had been two days ago. “I shot one of them for Christ’s sake!”

“It’s too late for that now,” Doc calmed both of them down.

“Well what should I do?” Tess asked the two men nervously. She looked down at her bandaged arm. The right thing to do—the honorable thing to do would be to let them burn her alive… but her very human mind still feared death. “Should I stay or should I go?”

“They will find you and put a bullet through your head if you stay.” Norm shook his head.

“But we cannot risk infecting others.” Doc shook his head in response.

“Everyone out! Now!” An armed fed appeared in the doorway, guns pointed their way. The group raised their hands innocently as if they had nothing to hide. “Up to your bunks and get your belongings now!”

Terrified and thoroughly confused about what she should do, Tess lowered her eyes and pulled her hood up over her head and followed the two men out of the isolation chamber.

“What should I—“

I tried to ask Doc. I really did.

The members of the camp were running through the halls, bumping into one another and trying desperately to avoid the feds.

Caught up in the moving sea of humanity, Tess realized that her uncle and Doc were nowhere it be seen and she was being ushered away from her room.

The camp that Tess had called her home for the last two years was really an old apartment building, four people to a room with a mess hall in the basement and the isolation chambers in the upper rooms.

She slipped into the line of illegal campers and slowly began to make her way down the winding flight of stairs.

Holy shit. Holy shit. What am I doing?

Very rarely did Tess look to her uncle for permission (you needed to be able to survive on your own in this world) but now she was like a lost little girl looking for help with every step.

She stopped in her mindless march.

“Hey! Watch it!” Someone bumped into her.

Eyes wide, she looked down to the next landing and spotted the dark hair and darker face of the fed from the night of her bite.

Knowing her stillness would draw his attention, she quickly started to follow the line of people once more and pulled her hood down over her face, hoping to shield herself from his eyes.

The closer he got, the harder it was for Tess to breathe.

She closed her eyes as she brushed past him and dared to release a sigh of relief, but a hand firmly grabbing her arm made her scream out in pain instead.

Everyone turned to look at the cause of such a horrific sound. Tess spun around to find the fed holding on tight to her, his fingers digging into the bite wound.

“Gotcha.”

His smile sent a shiver down Tess’s spine as she tried to pull away. Her fingers just wrapped even tighter as he pulled her away from the hoard of campers.

“No! Please!” Tess screamed, looking to her comrades—her friends—for help. “Please!”

“Out of the way!” the fed, Rick, barked, kicking a man down the stairs. “Move!” He continued to drag Tess behind him.

The crowd did little to help him pass.

Maybe it’s their pathetic way of trying to help me.

With a sigh that sounded more like a growl, he pulled one of his many guns out and sent a warning shot up into the air.

The staircase filled with screams and everyone fell to the ground, their hands covering their heads.

“Nobody move unless you want a bullet through you!” he ordered, pulling Tess along behind him.

Tess looked down at the people huddled along the bannister, their wide eyes watching in horror as she was dragged behind the fed and, with one final scream, she disappeared into their van.

 *****

Tess was ashamed of the tears running down her cheeks as she laid on the floor of the van, screaming for help.

“Shut up!” the fed pressed his gun to her head. “Let’s get out of here!” he called out to the driver banging on the window. Without any hesitation, the van roared to life and sped away.

"Where are you taking me?” Tess tried to not sound too terrified.

The fed didn’t answer her, didn’t even bother to look at her. “Eric,” he called out to the other fed in the van.

Movement from beside her caught her eye as she spotted the young blond fed that had almost run over her, now aiming his gun at her.

“I should have shot you dead when I had the chance,” she spat.

He smirked. “You should have worked on your aim a bit more.”

“Well not all of us are privileged enough to have the government fund our training.”

“Shut up!” the fed named Rick shouted, taking her wrists gruffly in his hands and fastened them together with ziptie handcuffs. “An Infected bitch should show some respect to the soldiers sent to protect you ungrateful lot.”

“Protect?” she scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh. You feds have done nothing to protect me. You’re just expensive hitmen—paid murderers! You’ve killed my best friend, destroyed my home, and took me away from the only family I have left. You’re not soldiers… You’re just a bunch of assholes with guns.”

Rick hissed as he grabbed a hold of Tess’s hair, pulling her in close to look into her eyes. “I’d watch my mouth if I were you.”

“What are you going to do?” She mocked him—he had already taken everything away from her. “Kill me?”

“Not yet.” He pushed her back against the wall, his eyes never leaving hers. “But I can’t wait until the order comes in.”

“You’re a bastard.” Tess hated him already.

“And you’re a little girl stupid enough to still be walking around after being bit by a zombie,” he spat as he pushed her sleeve up and ripped the bandage away to reveal the infected bite that was bleeding once more. “Did you really think we would let you escape and infect your camp?” He looked down at her as if she really was a stupid child.

“I haven’t Changed yet,” Tess said softly, her eyes locked on a trickle of blood falling down to her wrist, slowly.

“What was that?” Rick looked as though he did not have time for this.

“I got bit more than two days ago and I haven’t Changed yet,” she nearly shouted.

Rick held her gaze for a moment without revealing a thing—he didn’t seem confused, concerned, surprised, or intrigued.

Tess jumped back nervously as he leaned in close and pressed something over her mouth.

Oh my god.

It was a muzzle, she realized as he fastened it around her head.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re Changing at a normal rate or not. You’re hot to the touch and your skin is yellowing.”

Tess looked down at her bare skin. How had she not noticed her pale skin Changing?

“It’s how I spotted you,” he explained, void of all emotion. “No matter what—you were bit and you are Changing.”

Tess leaned back against the wall of the van, a sense of hopelessness overwhelming her. The only people that knew what was happening to her were gone. She was the feds’ prisoner… soon to be lab rat no doubt.

The muzzle bit into her jaw, keeping the feds safe from her. The metal and leather around her head, clamped her mouth shut and reminded her that Rick was right, she was Changing… however slowly.

Sooner or later, she would be a zombie.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Sorry this one was so long! You actually just read the first ten pages of a story I've been thinking of writing for almost a year now! I call it, "Love in the Time of Zombies." Get it? Any Gabriel García Marquez fans out there?

 

My love for Halloween and zombies grew into an obsession when I first started working at the Ghostlight Theatre almost ten years ago. There, I met people who loved Halloween just as much as I did (if not more) and I met my dear friend, Paul McGinnis, who taught me everything I now know about zombies.

 

I tried to incorporate different aspects of zombie culture into this story--origin theories, calling zombies ghouls, killing the brain, etc.--while also adding a new twist to the story.

 

What if someone was bitten but began to Change slowly? They have all this time to think about their fate. How much more torturous would that be? But they also have a chance to figure out how to stop the infection from spreading. And what if a living human fell in love with an Infected? A doomed romance from the start!

 

We always think about what we would do in the case of a zombie apocalypse (don't lie--you have your survival plan). We always think we could kill the brain and kill the ghoul without any hesitation (after all, "they're dead... they're all messed up.")... but could you kill someone you love? And could you look into someone's eyes--someone you know is Changing and will one day be a brainless ghoul but is still very much human--and pull the trigger? If so, then maybe we need to look deeper at what makes a human, human, and what makes a ghoul, ghoul.

 

a.r.w.