CREEPYPASTA'S

Not Running Anymore

"Guys, help! It's one of those creatures!" shouted my friend from a couple feet behind us, around the bend of the populated neighborhood that had the streetlights dimmed and shallow in the night. He was always the slow one. We turned around and ran towards the shouting around the bend of the street. There was a small pounding on doors behind us, doors that had been locked or glass doors that didn't open to the creature's commands. There our friend was, laughing his head off against a metal gate, browned by rust.

"I can't believe you guys actually fell for that!" he exclaimed, we rolled our eyes and turned away. His laughter suddenly came to a stop when the back of his collar was grabbed. He struggled, but more came. The gnashing jaws from behind him uttered a twisted, horrible fate and spelled internal demolition on the back of his neck.

"Your flesh.. let me have it," was the voice behind the gate. The metal eventually gave in, ripping the metallic frames off of the wooden fence. The gate landed straight on Chris, pinning him to the ground while they continued their feast, ripping off sections of his flesh and throwing it aside, and some of them ate parts of him, such as his eyes, tongue, hands, jaw. These things seemed to have had some actual intelligence, capable of speech, too.

A couple of my friends and I just stood there as we watched the gruesome scene unfold, while one tried to stop them, to get them off of him. With a kick to the gut, the creatures yelped in pain and fell on their backs, but they got up quickly. We didn't know why, but something just urged us to make sure that the creatures didn't stop until they were done with him, and that he wouldn't reanimate, or that they'd forget. Seconds after, when his throat was ripped out and thrown aside, and scratching was heard on the wood beside us, we began bolting. Where to didn't matter, as long as we were away from them, it seemed like a good idea.

The cold wind blew, snowflakes landing on our faces. That is, until we heard the fast footsteps of more than six feet behind us, at least eight steps every fraction of a second. I wasn't sure about the others, but my heart was pounding faster from the fright I was going through. There, passing by, was a large semi-truck, recklessly driving as though the driver had no clue what they were doing. When they crashed into the fence on the other side of the street, the horde screamed in unison, the driver rebounding through the windshield and colliding with the wood. We were safe, hopefully; they seemed interested, but not too much.

"Holy shit," I stopped, and looked back, brushing hands through my hair, "did any of us get hit?!" Most of them didn't seem to have heard me. They just seemed focused on getting somewhere to hide, and that would be go time.

"Probably," the twentieth-year one- David- said; he wasn't as frantic, but the slight crack in his tone revealed that slightly. There were at least five of us, then Chris died, but now there was three of us.

That was at least a day ago. I killed one of my friends. There was no hesitation. She was infected, but I couldn't have been more sure whether or not she was. I think her name was Alice. Never talked to her much. On the thought of thinking that I was insane, all my other friends left after beating the crap out of me. They're dead now, probably. I'm holding out in some sort of shelter; I don't even know what to call it. It's not home, but it's not a cabin in the woods, either, so it's a relief for the most part. They don't seem to know where I am; if I can keep it that way, it'll be a perfect hiding spot until the military rolls through in the tanks.

Two hours ago, I went down to the fridge in order to see if there was any food left. Now, I won't go out and say that there was three shelf-fulls, because honestly, I wouldn't be entirely serious. There was at least a shelf and a half. It was enough, I suppose, but I'm not sure what exactly I was looking for, and none of the food seemed consumable except for an apple and a bunch of rotten ones, and I certainly didn't feel like eating rotten food. I opened up one of the drawers, and there was a head of one of the creatures outside. It wasn't writhing, it was just... dead. I heard a bunch of times that in order to kill one of them, you had to kill the brain. There was no bullet hole in the skull, but the vertebrae was hanging out.

I'm alone now. I don't know why, but I find solace in being alone. Other people are just a liability, something to rely on until they become like them. None of them saw me on my way here, thankfully. I mentioned that before, didn't I? I think I did. Oh well. Either way. I can hear movement outside, and people crawling across the floor with no legs, and it's not my imagination either, but I don't know whether or not that's true. They can probably hear how loud I'm writing this on paper. A day ago, I forgot I had it inside my backpack. It's cold. Minus thirty-seven Celsius, I think. There's no thermostat here. Oh well. Their ears are sure to have rotted off by now, so I don't actually think they can hear me. As for the fresh ones? I don't know if they have ears or not, 'cause they would've heard my footsteps otherwise, probably.

Either I'm going to freeze to death or I'm going to end my own life. I hear Hell's warm. They say it's unbearable. I don't fear death, and I have three options. One, freeze to death. Two, end my own life. Three, give myself to them as a peace offering. I don't think I'll want to use the third option, but it doesn't seem like a bad idea. There's a rapid sound, now. Thud, thud, thud, thud thud, thud. The rapid sounds of those living corpses falling as their brain rotted before their skull did, leaving them a bloody heap on the floor. I can hear my own heartbeat, a steady pace... thud thud... thud thud... thud thud... thud thud.

There's a fine sound outside, now: a rolling of military vehicles. They've come, and the creatures are angry. I don't care. As long as they don't attack me, I'm fine with it. Then, there's another rapid sound. A loud banging. Doesn't sound as much of a creature as the other sounds. I'm going to go see what it was.

"Sir, I would like to talk to you," is the sing-song introduction from the thing outside, and I've begun to contemplate what the better idea is. Should I go out, go see, or should I stay in here where I'm safe? Saving this just in case, and hoping for the document to reach somewhere safely, whether or not it's after this shit or during it. I just need some faith that this will get somewhere.

Written by TuggingaRhythm

Content is available under CC-BY-SA

Credits:Rialto