Where The Light Dies

I woke up before the alarm, which never happens. Something felt wrong right away, like I’d been pulled out of a dream I couldn’t remember but didn’t want to leave. The trailer was too quiet. Even the fridge hum sounded distant, like it was coming from another room that didn’t exist.

I made coffee and burned it. Didn’t notice until I tasted it. Still drank it anyway. Stood there at the counter staring at a crack in the wall that I swear wasn’t there yesterday. It ran from the ceiling to the sink like something had split the place open while I slept.

Outside, Millford looked normal. Too normal. Sun was out, birds doing their thing, somebody mowing a lawn down the street. But nobody waved, not one person. It was like everyone had silently agreed not to look at each other.

At the gas station, the clerk rang me up without speaking. Just stared past me the whole time. His eyes were red, like he hadn’t slept, or had been crying for a long time. When I said “morning,” he didn’t react. Not even a nod. Just handed me my change with a hand that wouldn’t stop shaking.

The mill felt different too. Same noise, same smell, but it all seemed... off-beat. Like everything was slightly out of sync. Jenkins was there, but he looked wrong. Pale, lips cracked, coughing into his sleeve. When he pulled it away, I saw blood. He saw me see it, and just smiled like it didn’t matter.

By lunch, people were whispering. Phones out, rumors spreading faster than anyone could keep track of. Something about people getting sick, then violent. Someone said a guy bit his own fingers off. Someone else said that was bullshit, and I desperately wanted it to be bullshit.

I went to Sally’s anyway. Routine; That’s what you do when things feel wrong. You stick to routine like it can save you. The burger came out undercooked, almost raw in the middle. I ate it anyway. It tasted like iron and i couldn't finish it. On the way back, I saw a kid sitting on the curb, maybe ten years old, just staring at his hands. There was blood on them. Not a little. A lot. I slowed down, rolled the window halfway, asked if he was okay. He looked up at me, and I swear there was nothing behind his eyes, just emptiness, then he smiled. I drove away fast as hell.

That evening, the first scream cut through everything. It didn’t stop. It just kept going until it turned into something wet and choking and then nothing at all. Then another scream, then five more. Sirens started up, but they sounded confused, like they didn’t know where to go.

I saw Mrs. Polk again. She was on her knees in her yard, rocking back and forth. At first I thought she was praying. Then she leaned forward and started eating something off the ground. I got closer before I realized it was her own hand; skin peeled back, bone showing and all. She didn’t even react to the pain, just kept on chewing. I ran, I didn’t think, didn’t try to help. Just ran inside and locked everything I could. The banging started not long after. Slow at first, then harder, then desperate. Voices begging, then changing into something else, something thicker and much less human.

At some point during the night, the power went out. That’s when it got bad. No lights, just sounds. Wet footsteps outside, scraping, something dragging across the door. And underneath it all, this low, constant noise like breathing, but not from one thing, from a lot.

Morning didn’t fix anything. It made it worse. I stepped outside and the town looked... used. Like it had been gnawed on. There were bodies, but not whole ones; pieces, smears, things left behind that didn’t make sense on their own. And the smell. Fuck.. that smell. It stuck to the back of my throat like it was tar, so thick I could taste it.

I saw people I knew, or what used to be someone I knew. Moving wrong, too fast and in short bursts, then stopping, completely still. Heads twitching. Mouths opening and closing like they were trying to remember how to speak. One of them turned toward me, and I recognized him just enough to feel something break in my chest.

I made it to the diner without quite remembering how. Inside was worse than anything outside. Quiet, except for chewing. One of them sat in a booth, hunched over, pulling pieces off something that used to be a person. It looked up at me slowly, like it had all the time in the world. Its jaw hung loose, barely attached. I shot it, but it didn’t drop right away. It just... staggered and stared, like I’d interrupted it, like it was annoyed. I had to shoot it again. And again. Each time it jerked but kept trying to move toward me, like it didn’t understand it was supposed to be dying.

After that, things stopped feeling real. Not in a distant way, but in a too clear kinda way. Every detail too sharp, every sound too loud. I could hear flies landing on things, something breathing behind walls. I started thinking I could feel the town itself, like it was deathly sick and gasping for air.

I don’t remember getting bitten. That’s the worst part. I just noticed it later. Skin torn open on my arm, dark around the edges. It didn’t hurt at first, then it did, then it didn’t anymore. Now it just feels... wrong. Like it doesn’t belong to me anymore.

I’m out past the tree line now. I can still see Millford from here, or what’s left of it, that is. Sometimes I think I see people walking normally down the streets. Like nothing ever happened, like if I went back, it would all be fine.

But then I blink, and they’re not walking. They’re feeding.

I keep hearing my name. I don’t think it’s in my head. I think it’s them. Trying to remember who they used to be. Trying to pull me back before I forget too. I’m starting to forget things already. Not big things, just little shit; words, faces, how long I’ve been sitting here.

I don’t think it matters anymore, though.

Something’s moving in the trees near me now, and the worst part is

I don’t feel scared anymore.