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Description
It starts simple. I open the door to my room and flick the switch that turns on the bare bulb. The room is washed in its usual harsh white light, however faded, and the shades are closed. As always.
But something is different. The thick, opaque plastic hanging over the window is drifting back and forth, ever so slightly, and the whispers and shrieks outside are clearer than usual. I already know what has happened, but I can't stop myself from pulling back the shade to check. Maybe there's the slimmest chance I'm imaging it...
It's only an inch, maybe two, but that's more than enough and I curse myself for not noticing sooner. She left the window open.
I dash down the stairs and nearly run into her. She stares at me. "What? What did I-" She knows what she did, though. There is only one thing in the world that could make me as angry and afraid as I was now and that was her leaving the window open.
Her face falls. "Is there anything we can do?" But she knows the answer to this as well. There is nothing we can do, nothing but sit and wait and hope we were lucky this time. There are no prayers, not down here in a world devoid of light, filled with a strange, dusty mist, where pale and foggy creatures on the edge of your mind weave their way about the void, of all different sizes and shapes. Some of them whimper and sob. Some shriek like spawn of the devil. None of them are friendly.
A few have faces that could have been human, at a time, but are too deteriorated and broken to still look that way. And it is hard to feel sorry when these faces are twisted into a grimace of tormented anger bent on destroying you.
The only thing I can remember from the time before is the impact. I was in a car with someone else, a woman whose face I'm sure I once remembered but now cannot place. A sharp swerve, another car and, for a while, nothing but mist.
I awoke in my own home, with a view of this new wasteland outside, and a voice in my head demanding I never open the windows. I was alone here for the first few years when there came a knock at the door. Somehow I knew, I had to open it just this once, the way I knew never to open the windows. I had to make this exception. And there she was, a girl my age and much more human than anything I had seen in a long time, including myself. I don't know what I look like anymore, I slip more and more from mirrors the way someone's name or face evades your mind with time. This world slowly has taken everything from me but consciousness, consciousness and time. She is trapped here, clearly not in the way I am and although I am glad not to be alone with the creatures of the mist I feel sorry. She's not supposed to be here, the only light in a dark world. She contradicts the very environment, something I both admired and appreciated, but it isn't right and sometimes it scares me to think what could happen to her here, unlike me who is trapped, who cannot die again or escape this world.
"What about somewhere we can hide?" She breaks into my memory and I am thankful for it. I think for a moment. This isn't the first time this has happened, and although we've been lucky every time we are running out of places to hide. A few closets, the attic, cabinets, bathrooms, stereotypical hiding spots and obvious ones to search. However, these thing are barely sentient and hardly intelligent, mere masses of anger and sorrow, and not much in the way of remembering such trivial things as where two children hide away in a house.
The longer we wait, the more likely we are to be found but, feeling undoubtedly sorry about leaving it open she is already off.
The house is shaking and the screams are even louder than before, while one long piteous cry trumps the other voices, closer to us. This one is too large to escape.
"It's going to find us, no matter what, isn't it?" she says, voicing my exact thoughts. It's something she's been able to do for a while now, something that comes with being alone together for so long.
I nod as its misty form begins pouring through the opening in the window, finally shattering it altogether, then the other windows of the house, constantly screaming higher and higher and now drowning out everything with its whine. I grab her hand and instinctively get into a running stance, but there's nowhere to run. There never has been.
It's surrounding us now, stretched-out long and pale white and more substantial that it first was. It now appears to be made of raw, doughy flesh, with folds resembling faces scattered about it, and dotted with black eyes – the only dark things on it. Thick tentacles emerge from the creature, wriggling about blindly and smashing at things randomly.
It doesn't lunge at us immediately, however, and I believe its eyes are sightless. But I've seen too much of this void to think that it doesn't know where we are at all. After all, it found the open window. It is still screaming, too loud for it to be able to hear her. I grab her tighter and it springs towards us, tentacles flying. It senses movement?
We are huddled in a corner, my barely-there arms that slip from all vision entwined with her bright, pink, alive ones and I know which one it wants but that doesn't stop me from doing what I can to keep it away from her.
But what I can isn't enough. Its tentacles wrap around us both, peeling me away from her. It throws me to the ground hard enough to shock me but I can't feel pain. Even if I could, I wouldn't let that stop me. I jump up, knowing again that it is too late, I shouldn't have let this happen but there is nothing I can do now, and run towards the creature.
It brings her close to itself, both of them screaming now, and moves another tentacle towards her, slowly. Then it jabs it into her torso, deep red blood spilling everywhere. I hadn't seen blood in a long time, but had hoped I never would have to, not when she was the only one whom it could come from.
Its work is done. It has taken what it wanted, has done all it can do, taken the one who opened the window. It forces its long, thick body out the shattered remains of the window, dropping her pale form to the floor. I rush over but it is still too late, has always been too late, was destined to be too late. She says something, probably the last words I will ever hear in my existence as her blood spills to the floor: "I didn't mean to."
I had gone on fine for quite a while alone, with nothing but the screams, but I know I can't do it again, not after so long of having someone alive, someone with a voice, a beating heart. I've grown too used to having a living companion to go on with that forcibly taken from me.
There is nothing I can think of in this house that I want anymore. I no longer care about the safety it holds, especially considering there isn't much with every window destroyed. What good is safety when I am alone now?
I walk into the front room, leaving her cold, still body lying there when a thought hits me: she's dead. Just like I am. I don't know about what happens to people who die here, or if any human has before her, but if this is a place the dead go then she has to be somewhere in this empty world. And if she is, whatever she has become, I am going to find her.
I open the front door of this place for the second time, just as important as the first time. Ignoring the small creatures drifting about, I step out into the fog.

Description
It starts simple. I open the door to my room and flick the switch that turns on the bare bulb. The room is washed in its usual harsh white light, however faded, and the shades are closed. As always.
But something is different. The thick, opaque plastic hanging over the window is drifting back and forth, ever so slightly, and the whispers and shrieks outside are clearer than usual. I already know what has happened, but I can't stop myself from pulling back the shade to check. Maybe there's the slimmest chance I'm imaging it...
It's only an inch, maybe two, but that's more than enough and I curse myself for not noticing sooner. She left the window open.
I dash down the stairs and nearly run into her. She stares at me. "What? What did I-" She knows what she did, though. There is only one thing in the world that could make me as angry and afraid as I was now and that was her leaving the window open.
Her face falls. "Is there anything we can do?" But she knows the answer to this as well. There is nothing we can do, nothing but sit and wait and hope we were lucky this time. There are no prayers, not down here in a world devoid of light, filled with a strange, dusty mist, where pale and foggy creatures on the edge of your mind weave their way about the void, of all different sizes and shapes. Some of them whimper and sob. Some shriek like spawn of the devil. None of them are friendly.
A few have faces that could have been human, at a time, but are too deteriorated and broken to still look that way. And it is hard to feel sorry when these faces are twisted into a grimace of tormented anger bent on destroying you.
The only thing I can remember from the time before is the impact. I was in a car with someone else, a woman whose face I'm sure I once remembered but now cannot place. A sharp swerve, another car and, for a while, nothing but mist.
I awoke in my own home, with a view of this new wasteland outside, and a voice in my head demanding I never open the windows. I was alone here for the first few years when there came a knock at the door. Somehow I knew, I had to open it just this once, the way I knew never to open the windows. I had to make this exception. And there she was, a girl my age and much more human than anything I had seen in a long time, including myself. I don't know what I look like anymore, I slip more and more from mirrors the way someone's name or face evades your mind with time. This world slowly has taken everything from me but consciousness, consciousness and time. She is trapped here, clearly not in the way I am and although I am glad not to be alone with the creatures of the mist I feel sorry. She's not supposed to be here, the only light in a dark world. She contradicts the very environment, something I both admired and appreciated, but it isn't right and sometimes it scares me to think what could happen to her here, unlike me who is trapped, who cannot die again or escape this world.
"What about somewhere we can hide?" She breaks into my memory and I am thankful for it. I think for a moment. This isn't the first time this has happened, and although we've been lucky every time we are running out of places to hide. A few closets, the attic, cabinets, bathrooms, stereotypical hiding spots and obvious ones to search. However, these thing are barely sentient and hardly intelligent, mere masses of anger and sorrow, and not much in the way of remembering such trivial things as where two children hide away in a house.
The longer we wait, the more likely we are to be found but, feeling undoubtedly sorry about leaving it open she is already off.
The house is shaking and the screams are even louder than before, while one long piteous cry trumps the other voices, closer to us. This one is too large to escape.
"It's going to find us, no matter what, isn't it?" she says, voicing my exact thoughts. It's something she's been able to do for a while now, something that comes with being alone together for so long.
I nod as its misty form begins pouring through the opening in the window, finally shattering it altogether, then the other windows of the house, constantly screaming higher and higher and now drowning out everything with its whine. I grab her hand and instinctively get into a running stance, but there's nowhere to run. There never has been.
It's surrounding us now, stretched-out long and pale white and more substantial that it first was. It now appears to be made of raw, doughy flesh, with folds resembling faces scattered about it, and dotted with black eyes – the only dark things on it. Thick tentacles emerge from the creature, wriggling about blindly and smashing at things randomly.
It doesn't lunge at us immediately, however, and I believe its eyes are sightless. But I've seen too much of this void to think that it doesn't know where we are at all. After all, it found the open window. It is still screaming, too loud for it to be able to hear her. I grab her tighter and it springs towards us, tentacles flying. It senses movement?
We are huddled in a corner, my barely-there arms that slip from all vision entwined with her bright, pink, alive ones and I know which one it wants but that doesn't stop me from doing what I can to keep it away from her.
But what I can isn't enough. Its tentacles wrap around us both, peeling me away from her. It throws me to the ground hard enough to shock me but I can't feel pain. Even if I could, I wouldn't let that stop me. I jump up, knowing again that it is too late, I shouldn't have let this happen but there is nothing I can do now, and run towards the creature.
It brings her close to itself, both of them screaming now, and moves another tentacle towards her, slowly. Then it jabs it into her torso, deep red blood spilling everywhere. I hadn't seen blood in a long time, but had hoped I never would have to, not when she was the only one whom it could come from.
Its work is done. It has taken what it wanted, has done all it can do, taken the one who opened the window. It forces its long, thick body out the shattered remains of the window, dropping her pale form to the floor. I rush over but it is still too late, has always been too late, was destined to be too late. She says something, probably the last words I will ever hear in my existence as her blood spills to the floor: "I didn't mean to."
I had gone on fine for quite a while alone, with nothing but the screams, but I know I can't do it again, not after so long of having someone alive, someone with a voice, a beating heart. I've grown too used to having a living companion to go on with that forcibly taken from me.
There is nothing I can think of in this house that I want anymore. I no longer care about the safety it holds, especially considering there isn't much with every window destroyed. What good is safety when I am alone now?
I walk into the front room, leaving her cold, still body lying there when a thought hits me: she's dead. Just like I am. I don't know about what happens to people who die here, or if any human has before her, but if this is a place the dead go then she has to be somewhere in this empty world. And if she is, whatever she has become, I am going to find her.
I open the front door of this place for the second time, just as important as the first time. Ignoring the small creatures drifting about, I step out into the fog.