A Cruel Smile

Elliot sat motionless for several minutes, his thoughts swirling like a storm, though his exterior remained calm. The chaos around him seemed far away as he sank deeper into the dark brown sofa that nearly swallowed him whole. His sigh was internal, his mind drifting. How much longer can I stay like this? The thought didn't linger. His body relaxed, and his eyes closed, seeking a moment of peace—peace from everything.

But it didn't last. His eyelids twitched, brows furrowing as he gasped for breath. Images flickered in his mind, erratic and vivid, like a faulty television screen. This time, it was different. His visions had never been this clear before. He wasn't just seeing blurred shapes or colors—he saw people. Almost real.

Two men, older, one with medium-length gray hair, the other balding. Both wore black and white suits, the weight of age visible in the deep lines of their faces. Above them hung a transparent sheet, but what captured Elliot's attention was the frantic conversation between them. Their voices were sharp, tinged with panic, discussing something so horrifying it sent chills down his spine—zombies. Zombies on television.

Without hesitation, Elliot reached for the remote and switched on the TV. The men continued to speak, their fear palpable as they condemned the government, accusing it of hiding the truth. They spoke of conspiracies, alliances between states and countries, secrets kept from the public. Their foreheads were creased, their emotions volatile, fists slamming into the table as they shouted, "It's all been a lie! The government has deceived us from the start!"

The older man's voice trembled as he continued, "The world is far bigger than we ever imagined—there are resources, powers, supernatural beings! We are nothing but entertainment, livestock, slaves! We're trapped here, and there's so much more beyond Earth. And now, we're all going to die!"

The balding man added, his voice shaking, "They want to kill us for sport. They're starting with the zombies, but more will come! They're going to—"

Suddenly, the screen distorted into colorful lines. Elliot's eyes widened in frustration, his mouth hanging open. "And?! What else?!" he shouted at the screen, disbelief and fury lacing his voice. He glanced at the shattered window, a heavy weight settling in his chest. I have to help them. They're all I have left.

His mind flashed to his brother, Ren, and his best friend, Cham, guilt gnawing at him. The last moments they had spent together felt like a distant memory. He hadn't wanted them to know the world might end. It was selfish and foolish, but he hadn't wanted to burden them with the truth. Who could have guessed the world would fall apart like this?

The concept of higher powers using zombies to wipe them out felt absurd, yet terrifyingly real. Elliot understood fragments of the situation but couldn't piece them together. Was humanity at war with aliens now? Would people start using supernatural powers, like the ones he himself possessed? Were there others like him out there, wielding similar abilities? His mind raced as he clambered out of the shattered window, scanning his surroundings. Good, no monsters in sight.

He jogged through the neighborhood, his muscles tense, eyes darting. Alven Street… if I follow the 63rd train line, I'll be back in my neighborhood.

His pace quickened, driven by a sense of urgency as he made his way toward the train station where the 63rd train would normally pass.

Thump! Thump!

A cold shiver shot down Elliot's spine. He turned, catching a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye. Another creature. It was the same grotesque, zombie-like thing he'd seen earlier. Maggots writhed across its decaying flesh, black spikes jutted from its joints, and blood oozed from gaping wounds. The creature slammed against a window, its grin widening impossibly far, beyond what its flesh should have allowed. Inside, Elliot saw others preparing to defend themselves—baseball bats raised, ready for the inevitable breach.

I need to get out of here, fast! Elliot cursed under his breath, breaking into a sprint along the train tracks.

…

This neighborhood had always brought Elliot a sense of comfort. It was home. Ren and Cham were nearby, and he just had to endure the pain of running for thirty minutes. It would be worth it. "Please, let nothing have happened to you… Not like me." He muttered, his voice wavering as he fought back the fear gnawing at him.

But as he neared Cham's house, his heart sank. The windows were shattered. His fists clenched, and he bolted toward the building, breath ragged as he propped himself against the wall before climbing through the broken window. His hand left a smeared streak of blue-red blood across his cheek. "Cham!" he called out, desperation creeping into his voice. "Cham, are you there?!"

His calls went unanswered. Panic surged through him as he raced through the apartment, knocking over chairs and tables in his haste. The once-cozy room now felt desolate, the absence of furniture adding to the oppressive emptiness.

Then, he heard it. Faint sobbing.

Elliot's heart leaped as he dashed toward the next room in the three-room apartment. "Cham? Cham!" he called, hope mixing with fear. But as he entered the room, his eyes locked onto the source of the sobbing. It wasn't Cham.

A young girl, maybe sixteen, sat hunched over, tears and snot streaking down her face, her body shaking uncontrollably.

Thump! Thump!

Out of nowhere, a series of heavy thuds echoed from behind the bathroom door. It had been barricaded with cabinets, ropes, and a jumble of chairs. The banging suddenly stopped, replaced by a rasping, desperate scream. Curled tightly in the corner, the young girl whimpered, "Father… Mother…" Her arms were wrapped protectively around her head, as though she could shield herself from the horrors outside. "Make it stop! Please!" she cried out. Elliot stood frozen for a moment, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He could feel her anguish—he had been in a similar situation once, though under different circumstances. But now wasn't the time to lose focus.

With a steely resolve, he softened his tone, hoping to calm her. "I'll come back for you. With help," he promised, casting a glance around the room until his azure eyes fell upon a small wooden table. He grabbed it without hesitation, lifted it, and smashed one of the legs over his knee.

Craack!

The table leg snapped, jagged splinters jutting from the broken end. He knelt before the girl, his voice firm but compassionate. "If those things come back, use this." He thrust the makeshift weapon toward her. "Stab them with the sharp end. Keep them away, and run if you can." As he turned to leave, heading for his brother's place to check on the situation, he added, "Your parents would want you to stay strong and survive."

…

Elliot felt a wave of frustration, his mind a chaotic jumble of worry and fear. Cham, where are you? he thought, his heart pounding with dread. At least let Ren be home. As he raced through the deserted streets, his legs burning with the effort, he encountered more of the undead. But to his relief, they were like the ones from horror movies—slow and clumsy, only dangerous if cornered. A grim thought crossed his mind. Just like me...

He kept running, houses and trees fading into the background. Most of the residents were huddled in their homes, watching him with fearful eyes through cracked windows. Despite the terror, it seemed that people were faring better than expected. Weapons, it turned out, were in plentiful supply, and they were putting them to use.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gunshots echoed in the distance, mingling with the chaos of the city. Elliot skidded to a halt, eyes wide with disbelief as he saw people now turning on each other. His breath caught in his throat. What the…? He blinked in horror as one man, dressed in black, shrugged off a hail of bullets as if they were nothing more than pebbles. How is that possible?

Before Elliot could process what he was seeing, the man in black retaliated. In a brutal, swift motion, he plunged his hand into the shooter's abdomen, tearing through flesh and muscle with sickening ease. Blood sprayed the pavement as the man in black ripped out the poor victim's intestines, holding the gore up like a prize. Elliot could scarcely believe his eyes. He stumbled backward, nausea rising in his throat as the man—no, the creature—began to eat the entrails with disgusting relish, his pale face smeared crimson.

A cold shiver ran down Elliot's spine. The creature looked up from its grotesque feast, its eyeless face somehow locking onto Elliot's. It had no features, no nose, no eyes, no proper mouth—just a pale, blank mask stretched into a macabre grin that seemed far too wide for its face. Elliot's heart pounded in his chest, and for a moment, he couldn't move, frozen by the sheer wrongness of the thing before him.

Run! his mind screamed at him. His legs obeyed, pumping furiously as he tore down the street, not daring to glance back. To hell with these monsters! Zombies were one thing, but now... now it's something far worse. Something from a nightmare, faceless and flawless, like Slender Man, but more horrifying. Much more.

"Kreughhaghh—Kreughhaghh—Aghaghahga!"

A shriek pierced the air, louder and more unsettling than any he had heard before. It wasn't just a sound—it seemed to reverberate inside his skull, vibrating through his very bones. He glanced around, searching for the source, but the street was empty. It was as if the scream had come from within his own mind, an echo of something ancient and malevolent.

Trembling, Elliot dared a quick glance over his shoulder. The creature was still there, standing motionless in the middle of the street. It was grinning again, that horrible, too-wide grin. It pointed at Elliot, then at its own belly, before gesturing to its gaping, hollow mouth. The meaning was clear: You're next.

Elliot's breath hitched, and he pushed himself harder, running faster than he ever had before. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out all other thoughts. I can't die like this, he thought, panic rising in his chest. Not to something like that.

…

After what felt like an eternity of running, Elliot finally neared his brother's house. But the sight of it filled him with dread. His heart sank as he approached the familiar door. Please, let them be safe, he prayed silently. The windows weren't broken, and the door was still intact. With a shaky breath, he knocked and rang the bell, his fist pounding against the wood.

"It's me, Elliot!" he shouted, though his voice was weak from exertion. He waited. No answer. He knocked again, louder this time. Still nothing.

His gut twisted with unease. Just as he was about to turn away, the door creaked open. Relief flooded him—until he saw it. His eyes locked onto the blood, thick and fresh, smeared across the floor. Crimson red.