You can’t help yourself anymore when you see the man in black Cold. One, simple, ever so small word. Or that’s what you can say, and lie about. That’s what I wake up to. That’s the same thing I wake up to every morning. The same gruesome cold I’m forced to live with, in my small, unassuming apartment. I’m the kind of guy some would consider “A waste of space.” Personally, that’s a little much. I’m the kind of guy to work low-paying jobs and night shifts at dingy beat down places, or just some not out of the ordinary fast food restaurant. Hey, who serves you that food you get at your favorite fast food restaurant? That low-life guy…

For all readers… Hello there! If you’re reading this, you’re one of us-fellow survivors. You know what happened; our world has changed drastically. Unless you’ve been tucked away in a bunker this whole time, you’ve experienced it too. This book is my account of the apocalypse, as many have come to call it. It’s dedicated to all who have made it through, those who’ve come after us, those who’ve lost their lives, and everyone in between. I’ll be marking the days as “days since the apocalypse” because, honestly, I’ve kind of lost track of time. Day 32 Well, hello. I’m recounting my memories as Spring comes, and I’m glad of it. It’s been a month since this all came down.…

A hallway that never ends. Picture this. Life is great. Ten years old. Ten years of your life have been on earth. Ten years. On my tenth birthday, I got the worst birthday gift. I fell asleep that night, the night of my tenth birthday. I had gotten great gifts, and I was exhausted. The moment I woke up, however, I was in a completely different place. Laying on the ground, I slowly gained consciousness. The room was gray with dim light, and by me was a crumpled sheet of paper. I opened it, and there were the rules. The list of rules that have kept me alive this long. Currently, I’m fourteen. Four years I have relied on these…

There’s a quote I once read, buried in some forgotten philosophy book: “To peel away the layers of the world is to expose what hides beneath, and what hides beneath is not meant to be seen.” At the time, it seemed like one of those lines people throw around when they want to sound profound, but they don’t really know what it means. The kind of thing you hear at a party from someone who’s had one too many drinks and thinks they’re the next Nietzsche. I’d rolled my eyes at it then, thought it was all too abstract to have any real meaning. But now… now I can’t stop thinking about it. The words gnaw at me. They crawl…

I remember when the nightmares first started. I think it was ten, maybe twelve years ago. We had just gotten a new house, one of those old buildings that cracked and groaned when anything moved inside it, the ones they sell real cheap to poor families like mine instead of demolishing. I was only 16 at the time, and my dad thought that he, my brother, and I could use a rest start away from the city. Sometimes I wish we never started, I wish we never moved out of our old apartment, but sometimes, I understand that maybe it was fate that brought me here, fate that dragged me to the front steps of a nightmare. I remember that…

June 17th, 2024 My therapist suggested I start writing my thoughts down in a journal, saying it will supposedly help me understand and process my emotions, and I’ll get to know myself better as a result. I am sceptical, but what the hell, I’ll give it a shot! I have never kept a journal before, so I have no clue how to start… Uhm, hello, I guess. I’m me and I’m writing this to myself… Do I introduce myself now? To whom? I already know myself, and I highly doubt anyone else is ever going to read this, except my therapist maybe. I’m just rambling about nothing to a bunch of pages now, I can’t really think of anything interesting…

LAB EXPLORATION DAY 1: Randy: We made it to the research facility after about two days. There were so  many close calls that I almost lost count. There were the obvious threats, the false copycats and Mimickers were at almost every damn turn we made, but we made it. I remember all the local conspiracy theories surrounding this place, from before this whole monstrosity happened. Originally, the research center was just a small hospital situated in the middle of town, until the military suddenly seized it and made it their own building. Nobody really knew why, but almost everyone thought it had to do with the Copycats. Sam stayed behind with Janet, saying he wanted to keep them safe, so…

I was 32 when I married Ashley, the love of my life. The daughter of two wildly successful divorce lawyers, she carried her wit as well as she carried her elegance. Taking after her mother, she was blessed with strikingly Baltic features, and taking after her father, she was perhaps the sweetest and most genuine soul I had ever met. In other words, she was perfect. A few weeks after our wedding we set off on our honeymoon. Instead of sun-drenched beaches and overpriced umbrella drinks though, we opted for medieval museums and frosty pints. Something that fit the both of us much better. Over the course of the 10 days, we scoured the southern half of Ireland, stopping in…

Every single night, at midnight, I am startled awake by the sound of something moving in my living room. At first, I thought it was house noises until I heard crying in the hallway. I called an exterminator to see if I had some type of animal living in my walls. Nothing was found. The exterminator recommended security cameras in case someone was breaking and entering. I got a security system, and after two hours of trying to understand the instructions that reminded me too much of the manuals used to assemble IKEA furniture, I tested out the cameras. I stood in front of one of the cameras while the live feed was pulled up on my phone. I was…

Since the 1990s, people from all over the world have received a series of strange phone calls dubbed the ‘Wake Up Calls’, from an unknown caller. These calls at first, according to witnesses, seem like mundane calls from telemarketers or people calling the wrong number. Though shortly after, usually after the 3rd or 4th call, the calls seem to take on a more eerie and bizarre air about them. Regardless of the ringtone of the phone, these particular call’s rings seem to be off. Most accounts claim that the ring will seem to contain, although faintly, people calling their name, or meowing and/or barking, or beeping or ringing of an alarm, though others recount bubbling, odd mechanical noises, and what…

I used to think grown-ups always knew what was right. They seemed to have all the answers, like they were in control of everything. Back then, I thought there were rules for how things worked, even in little moments—like the way someone should look at you, or how a touch was supposed to feel. But nobody ever explained what it meant when something felt… different. When a look lingered too long, or a hand stayed where it shouldn’t. I didn’t know back then. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel. I was just a kid. I was just eight. Ruben was my best friend’s neighbor. He was older, maybe seventeen, and that was the best part—he was older.…

I hate snow. Not in the way most people hate the inconvenience of shoveling their driveways or the sting of icy wind slicing through their scarves. Not in the way someone groans when their morning commute is slowed to a crawl or when their favorite shoes soak through, leaving their socks clammy and cold. No, my hatred runs deeper than that—bone-deep, marrow-deep, settling into the cracks of my ribs like frost that never thaws. Most people love snow. They welcome it, yearn for it even. Their faces light up the moment the first flakes begin to fall, delicate as whispers, like the world itself is speaking some long-forgotten lullaby. Snow is magical to them, a crystalline promise of laughter, snowball…

This morning, I cleaned out my closet to create space, and I discovered a plastic bin filled with childhood memories. Being sentimental, I removed the bin and began searching through it. The bin mostly contained artwork from my elementary school years, and the majority of them were scribbles or fingerpaintings on bright construction paper. In particular, a crayon drawing of my entire 3rd grade class drew my attention. I have to say that I must have been quite the artist back in the day because I actually recognized some of my classmates. It helped that I had tried to spell their names next to each stick figure, even if I misspelled them horribly. It just gave me that warm and…