nosleep

I’d like to preface this all by saying thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to my uncle Dustin. Without him, I certainly wouldn’t be here and there would be no ‘Undead Guide’ for me to share. I suppose this isn’t so much a guide as it is an open letter, detailing the things he taught me and the hardships we faced along the way. If somehow, someway you’re out their reading this now, then you can find me at [REDACTED], things have only gotten worse.

Love, Elise

Like most cataclysmic events in human history, there are those left behind to study it. Sometimes it’s easy to pinpoint when things went awry, other times not so much. The perpetrators of my hometowns massacre made it obvious from the start.

The town of Gatluns Bend had remained untouched, no advancements had been made since I had come to understand it. The same wealthy families remained at the top, the same hardware store and steel mill chugged steadily as well as the various restaurants which dotted the main drag along town. The population remained steady at just over twelve thousand, never falling too far beneath or rising too far above that number. How quickly things can change.

It was around August when they began demolition of the Gatlun Steel and Wire plant, a mainstay of the Bend since its inception just after the Second World War. Shock and confusion trickled through the streets, rumors swirled of the Gatluns infinite wealth finally running dry.

No, no, something far more sinister had been at play.

Truthfully, I would take those snobby, rich fucks any day of the week over the monsters who’d decided to set up their lair within the confines our little town.

Construction of the new building was met with even more rumors and hysterics. The street corners, filled with newly unemployed steelworkers, were buzzing with anger and defeat as they waited to catch a bus to jobs they had to find outside of Gatluns Bend. Any and every idea of what this new building could be was thrown around, some even threatened to burn it to the ground if they had the chance.

The people were angry, and rightfully so.

It was late October when the building had finally been completed, the newly erected structure was tall and expansive, sitting angrily on the skyline amongst the squatty, neighboring businesses. It loomed high above the bakery which sat next door, the owner, Miss Godfrey, cursing its existence each time I stopped by her quaint establishment for some blueberry muffins. I would listen tentatively, unaware of the silent beast which had taken up residence on her doorstep.