Moan Chapter One

The dreary moaning invades every nook and cranny possible. Every inch of your mind. Every corner of your home. Every cell of your being. I can hear the moans. All throughout my dreams, every night. Its the same damned one. I’m sitting back at home with my family, the suns setting. A cool breeze sweeps through room, feebly lifting the papers located on my desk. A child’s laughter strokes its way through the house, only to be broken by the shatter. The first moan breaks through my eardrum with the abruptness of a car crash.

The glass reaches the floor, only rivaled for first place by spilt blood as my wife is pinned to the window. Grey, decaying arms, tearing flesh where the beasts nails meet her skin. A thud breaks the shrieks of terror. The first intruder has made his way in. I can hear my daughter’s screams, “Help! Help!” More moaning. I struggle to move, I’m paralyzed in my chair. I fight to scream. My lips refuse to move. More moaning. My wife is silenced, her screams are replaced with the disgusting sound of ripping flesh. The crunch of bones. The sound of blood being splattered among the walls, like a popped water balloon. I can pick out the sobbing of my daughter, she’s in some kind of closed space. Groans continue on.

I begin to sob quietly to myself, my world caving in. My only happiness in this world is trapped, and I’m unable to help her. A unseen force is preventing me from doing so. I can feel a small tingle in my legs. I jerk away from the sharp pain that follows. I break away from my invisible bounds and stumble towards the door. Tears falling silently from my chin. I grasp the door knob lightly. Trying to control my breathing. Panting harder and harder with each breath. I rest my head against the door and clinch my face. Agony shooting through my entire body. From my finger tips, coursing through my veins. Following the highways through my body. I open the door a hair. I glance through the slot. I can see a darkened figure hunched over a motionless body. The light behind them contrasts the corpses face;the smooth outlines follow a face I’ve known for years. Beyond them I can see a closet, the broken slider preventing it from closing completely. I can catch sight of my daughter. Huddled over herself, tears soaking her face. She begins to sob louder. The beast, pre-occupied, pays little attention. I try to make my way to her. My feet feel as if they are stuck to the floor boards. My arms fastened to my sides like a corpse struck with rigor mortis. The sobs grow louder, over coming the moans that creep the air outside. The savage changes its ambition. Its attention shifts to the closet. It shambles to its feet. A human-like figure extends upwards. The beast begins to hobble towards the cupboard. My body fights for its privilege to move. Groans break from the beast. Sprinting through my mind like a marathon runner. Sobs transform into screams. The shuffles of the beast are soaked through the air, accompanied by its moan. The beast reaches the closet, I can hear signs of struggle. A final scream is let out, as the beast comes in contact. Screams turn to whimpers. Struggle turns into the sound of mutilation. Silence takes command.

The cold clash of the industrial symphony comes to life every morning. As I awake deep in a cold sweat. I can make out chatter echoing through the halls. I budge myself to come to my feet. Old bones creaking like a 1987 Ford as it pulls its way out of the driveway. Shifting my way to the steel bars. As the gate rasps open, a small child runs her way past me. Followed by the mother. I peer down the hall to the common sight of concrete walls and steel gates. Still struck with a morning daze. The bustling of the community gives a hasty rouse.

A concrete crypt in which we all scavenge for a oasis. Aside from a small outbreak of chicken pox, disease is non-existent. A plentiful source of food is kept, and a clean headspring of water drains near the outside walls. A series of tunnels make it possible to attain clean, drinkable water without having to leave the compound.

I’ve called this hell-hole my home, my sanctuary. For ten years now, completing the same mold as the day before. Awakening to the quarrel of steel, and to slumber aside it too. A closure which use to house Brooklyn’s worst offenders. Murderers, rapists, psychopaths. The pain and sorrow still stains the walls like the peeling paint already in place. Only challenged by the red already smeared among them.

As I step out of my small cell, I eye the stairs. I glance from the stairs to the cell at the end of the block. Sheets have been nailed to the top of it. Covering it from onlooking eyes. John Wenworth, the oldest resident of New Haven at 89, has passed. I make my way down the clanky, rusty stairs. A creak matched with each step. I can tell a glum overcast has taken over each personality that finds recent news of Johns expiration.

I clamber my way to the Commons Circle. A small area in which the residents of N.H can socialize, and barter. The familiar bustle of the Commons Circle lifts my spirits. Children run about, playing hopscotch on the concrete floors. Serious looks pass over some of the adults faces. Others have a look of ecstasy. Unknowing of the extremities that lay beyond the walls of New Haven. I take a seat at a small table, and rest my head on my arms. Listening to the vigorous activities of New Haven. Letting the bustling sounds sooth my mind.

The weak light shines through from the door way. The stench of death soak through the air. Thoughts rushing through my mind at light years at a time. Who was that? What will happen next? Is it still there? My mind jumps from idea to idea like a parasite to different animals. One idea takes priority. Will it try to attack me too? I recalled that I had a small .22 in my desk that I purchased years ago for protection. I rush over, rip open the drawer. There it is, sheltered by a small holster. I pull it out and check the magazine. Fully loaded.

I crept my way to the door, still opened a small amount. As I place the guns barrel on the door to open it farther, I catch sight of a shadow, hunched over. I take step, after step down the hallway. All the doors to different rooms are shut, the stench growing stronger. A small pool of blood leaks its way into the hallway, unknowingly I place my foot in it. I slowly reach the murky light that stains the walls and floors. The sloppy crunch of muscle and sinew ripping from bone accompanies the strong disgusting oder of decomposition. The slouched figure of the beast is unmoved as I creep into the kitchen. “Sir?” I call out. The beasts concern switches swiftly. Beady eyes scan me over. A blood curdling moan is let out from the beasts mouth. His teeth are made visible as the moan extends its way to me. Whiffing lightly over my ears, puncturing my mind. Flesh and blood splattered over its dull grey face. An apathetic stare attached to me. “Sir? Sir?” I call out again. The beast rises to its feet. The wail still echos through my mind. The creature begins to take a step.

My eyes creep open, shaken awake. A figure is looming over me, shadowed black from the light behind. “Get up, I need to talk to you” the voice booms. A hand extends out, I take the offer and get aided to my feet. My eyes even, the light differences out and the unknown figure becomes visible. James, an old friend of mine. “Nice to see you comrade” his warm voice remarked. His yellow teeth shine through behind his lips. “Long time no see, how is work as an engineer?” “I’ve made due, but very little things have been breaking down lately. Not much work for me.” “Thats truly a shame, what was it that you needed to talk to me about?” “I’ll tell you soon, walk with me.”

As we make our way back up the cell stairs, we pass John’s old cell, the tattered sheet still covering it. A woman’s sobbing douses through the blanket. James, peers back with a concerned expression. My gait still affected by the quick nap, stiff and achy joints. We pace by multiple cells, families can be seen through the bars. Some sleeping, some awake. Some playing games, some working on obscure objects. We reach James cell, he slides the bar open and invites me inside. As I take a step in, the scent of cinnamon empowers my nostrils. I take a seat on his bed and turn to face him. A serious tone overtakes James face. “There have been rumors that the virus evolving, becoming airborne. Others say that its changing and is transmittable through rodents.” “James, I highly doubt that after all these years. The virus will change. We’ve been kept in this place for how long because of those demons? Has there ever been a change in the way they act? Have we ever seen one get up and try to plead for its life?” A nervous intensity washes over James face. He paces from the wall to a large, wooden dresser, slides a large drawer open, and pulls out a small bottle of whiskey. “But what if?” A cold silence washed through the room. “Then we must hope that if any kind of evolution does happen within the solanum virus, that it is far after our un-reanimated deaths.” I say as I meet his stare half way.