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I found a book in the attic that explains the worst day of my life
As the sun set, I saw the first silhouettes across the field. My grandfather sat, smoking and reading, on the rocking chair in the back of the house. I ran to him, scared and uncertain.
“There’s people coming, grandpa,” I said. He flicked his cigarette on the ashtray, put down his book, and looked straight into my eyes.
“Where? Who?” he asked, his clear blue eyes searching my face.
“I don’t know, but there’s dozens of them, I think,” I said. “I couldn’t see their faces or anything. They just looked like shadows moving across the field.” He stood up quickly, knocking the ashtray off the small table to his right. Cigarette butts went flying all over the floor, and a cloud of ashes got swept up by the wind.
“Where’s grandma?” he asked, his face growing grave. A crease appeared across his forehead, and he looked around quickly.
“I don’t know, but they’re coming fast,” I said. He began limping inside the house, his bad leg slowing him down. He looked out the front window and gasped. Quietly, I came up behind him and stared out at the field, covered in deep orange and red hues from the sun, covered up by clouds as day rolled into night.
“We need to find grandma, right now!” my grandfather said. He went to the kitchen and unlocked the safe, taking out his .223 rifle, which he mostly used to kill coyotes and foxes who hunted his chickens or attacked the baby pigs out in the barn.
“I don’t get what it is…” I said, staring out the window. It seemed like hundreds of black spots now approached, spread out over the field. The ones closest, I saw, were not human at all.
They walked on their hands and feet, with shining black skin stretched thinly over their bones and joints. Silver tendrils of saliva rolled down from their mouths, and every time one of them got too close to another, they would begin to snap and hiss, their sharp, serrated teeth flashing with every bite.
Their eyes had the strange look of a goat’s eyes, with rectangular pupils. Placed on each side of their face, it looked like a small island of light in the darkness of space. The rest of their naked bodies seemed to suck in the light, causing a slight shimmering on their reptilian skins.
“Oh God, they’re back,” my grandfather said. “Last time they came, they killed off half the town.”
“Where’s grandma?” I asked, a current of anxiety running through my body now. My grandpa shook his head.
“I wish I knew,” he said. “When’s the last time you saw her?”
“She was weeding in the garden and then said… it would be dark soon and she should start putting the tools away,” I said, suddenly remembering. “She’s probably out in the shed right now!” My grandfather grabbed the gun and ran out the door- at least, as much as he could run. It ended up being more of a fast, limping walk.
By this point, the first of the creatures had nearly reached the front of the house. We went out the back door, looking towards the shed. I saw the light on inside and the door wide open.
“Grandma!” I screamed. My grandfather jumped, then put his free hand over my mouth, holding the gun loosely in the other.
“You idiot!” he hissed. “Don’t draw them near! Keep quiet! Do you want to die?” But it was too late. I heard growling and snapping from the front of the house, and the smashing of windows and doors. Then, on all fours, a few of the abominations came running around the side of the old farmhouse, attracted by my screaming. They hopped in a strange way, their abnormally long and thin arms going between their bodies as their legs pushed them forwards in constant jumping motions. They moved fast now, much faster than me, and in the growing darkness, they seemed little more than a blur.
My grandfather grabbed my hand and we ran towards the shed, slamming the door behind us. I looked back in the corner and saw my grandmother, totally oblivious to everything going on, sorting through tools and small seed containers.
“Ah, we need more basil and rosemary,” she said to herself. “Never have enough seeds, it seems.” She looked back at us, smiling. “Have you come to help? I’m sorry to say, I’m nearly done.”
“No!” my grandfather said, raising his gun for emphasis. “We’re being attacked. You need to stay with us. Remember what killed the Kellers, and the Cavendish family and their dogs and cats and cattle?” My grandmother’s face went pale, and I thought she might pass out for a moment. She grabbed her chest, breathing hard.
“But… that was thirty years ago,” she said. “How could they be back?” My grandfather just shook his head.
“They’re here,” he said. As if on cue, someone started smashing on the locked door of the shed. Then another pair of hands joined in, and another. It sounded like a riot had broken out on the other side of the wall.
My grandfather raised the gun, as if to start shooting through the door. Then he checked his pocket and frowned.
“Dammit, should’ve grabbed more ammo,” he said, rifling through a few bullets in his overalls. He looked like he had grabbed a couple dozen from the safe, though even with perfect aim, that wouldn’t make much of a dent in the crowd of beasts I had seen.
“Go out the back door,” my grandmother said. “We’ll go escape to the woods. We can come out at the Jefferson house if we take the dirt trail.”
“Fine, fine,” my grandfather said, pushing me forwards and grabbing my grandmother’s hand. He looked out the side door of the shed. The beasts still pounded on the front door, and I heard the wood begin to splinter and give way.
“Coast is clear,” he said quickly, and we ran out through the field and towards the woods. Behind us, I heard the door fall, the last rotten beams shattering as the black creatures moved inside.
“What if they’re already at the Jefferson’s place?” I asked my grandfather in a low tone. We ran through the corn plants, though my grandmother and grandfather couldn’t move very fast. I could hear the creatures howling with rage and sniffing the air from the shed behind us.
“Then we deal with it,” my grandfather whispered. I heard the first heavy booming steps as the creatures gave chase, running over the corn plants and knocking them down with a wispy echoing sound.
By the time we got into the forest, the creatures had circled us. Some had run ahead, and some followed close behind, but they kept a distance of ten feet, as if simply watching and stalking. My grandfather stopped and raised his gun. With a deafening boom, he shot at the first silhouette he saw on the trail. The bullet went high, and with a deep growl, the creature disappeared into the brush.
My grandfather motioned us forward, and we walked down the trail, close together in a group. Any time he saw the slightest movement, he would shoot in that direction. One of the creatures seemed to have been hit, and on the trail, I saw black blood shining under the moonlight. Drops disappeared into ferns and prickers that surrounded the trail, and for a moment, I thought I saw eyes gleaming through the brush. Then they were gone. My grandmother reached out for my hand.
“It’s going to be OK,” she said reassuringly, patting me. “We’ve survived this before. We’ll make it this time.” My grandfather shook his head, but he said nothing.
As we got to the Jefferson’s house, I saw lights shining in every window. Hope soared in me, until I saw the bodies strewn across the porch.
The mother had her head ripped off. I saw a body with a blood-stained dress, the neck a mess of gore and bones. Looking up, I saw the head staged neatly on a metal fence post, the spike driving into the throat. Her eyes looked blank, her expression a mask of horror. The mouth stood slightly open, and the lips looked blue.
The rest of the family lay around her, disemboweled, their eyes ripped out, the soft flesh eaten off of their faces. My grandmother pulled me to the side, looking over at my grandfather. Then she began laughing.
He turned to her, confused.
“My pets, my pets,” she said in an insane voice. “They’re here for you, though they take whatever they want. Hungry work, you know.”
“What?” my grandfather asked, a certainty and bitterness crossing his eyes as he stared at his wife with distrust.
“I know you were sleeping with Mrs. Keller,” my grandmother said, her eyes turning dark and her features savage. She grinned, showing all her teeth. My grandfather stepped back, muttering excuses and saying how it wasn’t true.
“You killed them?” he asked. “And you did all this?”
“I did what I had to, to protect me and my grandson from monsters like you,” she said. And with a nod of her head, the creatures came out of the woods, grabbing my grandfather and dragging him away. He shot his gun, emptying the clip and blowing apart the heads of three or four. But a dozen more followed from behind, hissing and biting at the air.
I heard his screams and the breaking of his bones as they savaged him, biting and stomping on him, ripping at his throat and face. Soon, he disappeared into the darkness, and the last gurgling scream echoed back to us. My grandmother turned to me, her normal placid, friendly expression back on her face.
“Well,” she said, “that was quite a day. How about we go home and have some ice cream? I could really go for some ice cream.” And so we turned around and left, and I never asked her about any of it.
My grandmother recently died, and I found a book in the attic while cleaning out the farm house. It looked like it had a cover made of human skin, and in the middle it said, in blood-red letters, “Summoning Spells and Necromancy.”
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As the sun set, I saw the first silhouettes across the field. My grandfather sat, smoking and reading, on the rocking chair in the back of the house. I ran to him, scared and uncertain.
“There’s people coming, grandpa,” I said. He flicked his cigarette on the ashtray, put down his book, and looked straight into my eyes.
“Where? Who?” he asked, his clear blue eyes searching my face.
“I don’t know, but there’s dozens of them, I think,” I said. “I couldn’t see their faces or anything. They just looked like shadows moving across the field.” He stood up quickly, knocking the ashtray off the small table to his right. Cigarette butts went flying all over the floor, and a cloud of ashes got swept up by the wind.
“Where’s grandma?” he asked, his face growing grave. A crease appeared across his forehead, and he looked around quickly.
“I don’t know, but they’re coming fast,” I said. He began limping inside the house, his bad leg slowing him down. He looked out the front window and gasped. Quietly, I came up behind him and stared out at the field, covered in deep orange and red hues from the sun, covered up by clouds as day rolled into night.
“We need to find grandma, right now!” my grandfather said. He went to the kitchen and unlocked the safe, taking out his .223 rifle, which he mostly used to kill coyotes and foxes who hunted his chickens or attacked the baby pigs out in the barn.
“I don’t get what it is…” I said, staring out the window. It seemed like hundreds of black spots now approached, spread out over the field. The ones closest, I saw, were not human at all.
They walked on their hands and feet, with shining black skin stretched thinly over their bones and joints. Silver tendrils of saliva rolled down from their mouths, and every time one of them got too close to another, they would begin to snap and hiss, their sharp, serrated teeth flashing with every bite.
Their eyes had the strange look of a goat’s eyes, with rectangular pupils. Placed on each side of their face, it looked like a small island of light in the darkness of space. The rest of their naked bodies seemed to suck in the light, causing a slight shimmering on their reptilian skins.
“Oh God, they’re back,” my grandfather said. “Last time they came, they killed off half the town.”
“Where’s grandma?” I asked, a current of anxiety running through my body now. My grandpa shook his head.
“I wish I knew,” he said. “When’s the last time you saw her?”
“She was weeding in the garden and then said… it would be dark soon and she should start putting the tools away,” I said, suddenly remembering. “She’s probably out in the shed right now!” My grandfather grabbed the gun and ran out the door- at least, as much as he could run. It ended up being more of a fast, limping walk.
By this point, the first of the creatures had nearly reached the front of the house. We went out the back door, looking towards the shed. I saw the light on inside and the door wide open.
“Grandma!” I screamed. My grandfather jumped, then put his free hand over my mouth, holding the gun loosely in the other.
“You idiot!” he hissed. “Don’t draw them near! Keep quiet! Do you want to die?” But it was too late. I heard growling and snapping from the front of the house, and the smashing of windows and doors. Then, on all fours, a few of the abominations came running around the side of the old farmhouse, attracted by my screaming. They hopped in a strange way, their abnormally long and thin arms going between their bodies as their legs pushed them forwards in constant jumping motions. They moved fast now, much faster than me, and in the growing darkness, they seemed little more than a blur.
My grandfather grabbed my hand and we ran towards the shed, slamming the door behind us. I looked back in the corner and saw my grandmother, totally oblivious to everything going on, sorting through tools and small seed containers.
“Ah, we need more basil and rosemary,” she said to herself. “Never have enough seeds, it seems.” She looked back at us, smiling. “Have you come to help? I’m sorry to say, I’m nearly done.”
“No!” my grandfather said, raising his gun for emphasis. “We’re being attacked. You need to stay with us. Remember what killed the Kellers, and the Cavendish family and their dogs and cats and cattle?” My grandmother’s face went pale, and I thought she might pass out for a moment. She grabbed her chest, breathing hard.
“But… that was thirty years ago,” she said. “How could they be back?” My grandfather just shook his head.
“They’re here,” he said. As if on cue, someone started smashing on the locked door of the shed. Then another pair of hands joined in, and another. It sounded like a riot had broken out on the other side of the wall.
My grandfather raised the gun, as if to start shooting through the door. Then he checked his pocket and frowned.
“Dammit, should’ve grabbed more ammo,” he said, rifling through a few bullets in his overalls. He looked like he had grabbed a couple dozen from the safe, though even with perfect aim, that wouldn’t make much of a dent in the crowd of beasts I had seen.
“Go out the back door,” my grandmother said. “We’ll go escape to the woods. We can come out at the Jefferson house if we take the dirt trail.”
“Fine, fine,” my grandfather said, pushing me forwards and grabbing my grandmother’s hand. He looked out the side door of the shed. The beasts still pounded on the front door, and I heard the wood begin to splinter and give way.
“Coast is clear,” he said quickly, and we ran out through the field and towards the woods. Behind us, I heard the door fall, the last rotten beams shattering as the black creatures moved inside.
“What if they’re already at the Jefferson’s place?” I asked my grandfather in a low tone. We ran through the corn plants, though my grandmother and grandfather couldn’t move very fast. I could hear the creatures howling with rage and sniffing the air from the shed behind us.
“Then we deal with it,” my grandfather whispered. I heard the first heavy booming steps as the creatures gave chase, running over the corn plants and knocking them down with a wispy echoing sound.
By the time we got into the forest, the creatures had circled us. Some had run ahead, and some followed close behind, but they kept a distance of ten feet, as if simply watching and stalking. My grandfather stopped and raised his gun. With a deafening boom, he shot at the first silhouette he saw on the trail. The bullet went high, and with a deep growl, the creature disappeared into the brush.
My grandfather motioned us forward, and we walked down the trail, close together in a group. Any time he saw the slightest movement, he would shoot in that direction. One of the creatures seemed to have been hit, and on the trail, I saw black blood shining under the moonlight. Drops disappeared into ferns and prickers that surrounded the trail, and for a moment, I thought I saw eyes gleaming through the brush. Then they were gone. My grandmother reached out for my hand.
“It’s going to be OK,” she said reassuringly, patting me. “We’ve survived this before. We’ll make it this time.” My grandfather shook his head, but he said nothing.
As we got to the Jefferson’s house, I saw lights shining in every window. Hope soared in me, until I saw the bodies strewn across the porch.
The mother had her head ripped off. I saw a body with a blood-stained dress, the neck a mess of gore and bones. Looking up, I saw the head staged neatly on a metal fence post, the spike driving into the throat. Her eyes looked blank, her expression a mask of horror. The mouth stood slightly open, and the lips looked blue.
The rest of the family lay around her, disemboweled, their eyes ripped out, the soft flesh eaten off of their faces. My grandmother pulled me to the side, looking over at my grandfather. Then she began laughing.
He turned to her, confused.
“My pets, my pets,” she said in an insane voice. “They’re here for you, though they take whatever they want. Hungry work, you know.”
“What?” my grandfather asked, a certainty and bitterness crossing his eyes as he stared at his wife with distrust.
“I know you were sleeping with Mrs. Keller,” my grandmother said, her eyes turning dark and her features savage. She grinned, showing all her teeth. My grandfather stepped back, muttering excuses and saying how it wasn’t true.
“You killed them?” he asked. “And you did all this?”
“I did what I had to, to protect me and my grandson from monsters like you,” she said. And with a nod of her head, the creatures came out of the woods, grabbing my grandfather and dragging him away. He shot his gun, emptying the clip and blowing apart the heads of three or four. But a dozen more followed from behind, hissing and biting at the air.
I heard his screams and the breaking of his bones as they savaged him, biting and stomping on him, ripping at his throat and face. Soon, he disappeared into the darkness, and the last gurgling scream echoed back to us. My grandmother turned to me, her normal placid, friendly expression back on her face.
“Well,” she said, “that was quite a day. How about we go home and have some ice cream? I could really go for some ice cream.” And so we turned around and left, and I never asked her about any of it.
My grandmother recently died, and I found a book in the attic while cleaning out the farm house. It looked like it had a cover made of human skin, and in the middle it said, in blood-red letters, “Summoning Spells and Necromancy.”
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