This is How the World Ends

Chapter III: To Keep Sanity

I held the scissors close to my heart as I ran with my diary and photo album down the stairs. Amongst all of the things in the room that I could have taken with me, I grabbed the thing closest to me, which was my diary and photo album. My photo album, of which I had just created whilst on the road, was beside my pillow, its black leather glistening in the moonlight. The polaroid photo of me and my cousin, centered in the middle of the photo album, slightly shifted towards the left as I ran. It was dumb; for, I could have taken my cellphone, I could have taken the snack food I had brought with me on the trip. I could have taken with me something else. But in the plight of the moment, that's all I thought of: memories (photo album), keeping my sanity (diary), and safety (scissors). Even before all of this that's all I thought of. But it didn't matter now. I was not going back into that room, even if my life depended on it.
The stairs creaked and bellowed as I ran down them. That thing—whatever it was—wasn't coming after me anymore. I was worried for my family. But what if they had all been killed by that thing already? They could have already escaped, and if they did, they were lucky. The living room, compared to that of the upstairs, was warm. The homeliness of the room soothed me. The window facing the dining table was open, its pink gingham curtains lifting in the wind, revealing a starch contrast in atmosphere. The outside was calm, quiet. It was as if the world outside had just froze. Everything was still. Not even crickets or cicadas chimed in. The latter was, because of me, bustling with movement as I darted down the stairs, careless of anything in my path. I ran towards the door. It was unlocked. Maybe that's how that man got in. I vividly remember my aunt locking it. How did it come to be unlocked?
I opened the door, the moonlight flooding into my eyes that were so adjusted to the dark. I used my arm to cover my eyes for a few seconds before dropping my arm again. No one was outside. Nothing was outside. Not a stray cat, not a stray dog. Just cars sitting blindly in the middle of the road, estranged from their respective owners. They just sat in front of homes and driveways, untouched. That was the only thing that seemed normal about this night.
A strong breeze developed in the air, causing a small 'leaf tornado' to form. The leaves were bright green, or some sort of mint. I took my eyes off of the leaves and ran down the road. I stopped in my tracks and turned left up a driveway. I could ask for help. Not every house could be covered in cannibals, could they? That would be impossible.
I ran up the concrete driveway, only stopping when I reached the porch. A wooden swung slightly on the right, but no one was on it but the wind and a couple of pillows. The grey paint on the house chipped at the bottoms, but besides that everything was neatly arranged. Ivy inched up the front side of a chimney, slowly spreading around the left and right side. The pillows on the swing were all fluffy and put up neatly and well. The porch was dusted and swept, the smell of pesticides tickling my nose. I knocked on the door, once. No answer. I knocked on the door, twice, though this time more frantically. No answer, again.
"Maybe they're still sleeping..." I mumbled to myself, kicking a rock off the porch. My heart was still beating rapidly as I continued to think about what had just happened. Was it all a dream? It felt like a lucid dream. I wanted to knock again, but I prevented myself from doing so.
I noticed slight movement from the window on my right, its white shudders shaking ever so lightly in the breeze. The sheer curtains revealed a silhouette from the inside. A body, laying stiff on the floor. Movement from behind the body was what caught my attention. I couldn't see much, as the curtains danced in my way. But what I knew I saw was another living person, and that's all that mattered. They could help me. I balled up my fist and pounded on the glass window, hoping to draw their attention. If this doesn't, I don't know what will. "Please, help," I breathed, "someone.. broke into my aunt's house and hurt my family." I winced as I said the final words. This couldn't be true.
The person on the other side of the window drew closer towards me. They were silent. Their silhouette beamed in the moonlight, and I could see more of their figure. Their hair was shaggy and unkempt, tumbling down to their shoulders. They wore a long shirt that fell to their knees and long, loose pajama pants. The slippers they wore on their feet heaved against the ground as they walked in a disordered manner. The curtains slowly pulled apart as the person was inches away from the glass. The person was not who they seemed to be. I jolted back as my eyes fell to the person on the ground. They looked like my mother. Their eyes bulged from their sockets. A long scratch caused from long fingernails in their stomach oozed out blood. Their left hand, which they used to, unsuccessfully, stop the bleeding, was torn off in a fine, clean cut. I couldn't help but utter a scream.
The person put their hand on the curtain, dragging it straight down the sheer fabric, causing a bright red stain on it. I fell backwards, hitting my back on a painted pillar which had held the porch together. This had to be a nightmare—and nothing more than a nightmare, either.