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Dear Loyal Readers: A note from your humble author

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The Undead Journals

15.4.12

Dead Things Don't Always Stay Dead.

That's what my mom told me, my first memory. I think I was six, maybe seven. It's my first memory of her. She died when I was ten.
They said she was manic. That she saw things that weren't there. That she killed herself.
But I know better. I see them, now. Not the same ones, but I know she wasn't hallucinating. She was seeing the future. I know better than to share that knowledge, though. I'd never have gotten my job if they thought I believed that.There's not much room for belief in ESP in biology. Not right now. The government wants answers. They want facts.
Here are the facts that I remind myself of every morning; here's what motivates me to continue looking for the answers.

A few months after my mother died, people on the news started telling everyone to wear medical masks, that a new flu or something was going around. So my aunt got us masks and we stopped going to the park to play. Soon they told us to stop going to school, and they mailed us packets to work on every week. Then, my brother got sick.
He had gone to the grocery store with my aunt, he had met a girl and, being a sixteen year old boy, he had gone against common sense and direct instruction and he had taken off his mask. He was already sick by the time he came home, and my aunt told me to keep my mask on, even in the house, and he wasn't allowed to leave his room. Or maybe he wasn't able to. All I know is that by the next week, I could smell death, even through my mask. My aunt came in my room as the sun rose, but I'd already been awake by the smell coming from the next room. She told me my brother, Drake, was with our mother. Her eyes and face were wet but she didn't sob. Then she left my room and I heard her make a phone call, her voice trembling with sorrow.
They sent out a crew to get his body, but by the time they got there, we could hear stumbling around in the room, someone bumping into things, groaning, like he was looking for something he couldn't see.
The crew arrived and a nice lady took us out to the lawn. She talked to me, but I couldn't hear her. All I could hear was my brother's groans and the thumping and bumping from his room, so she turned to my aunt and they talked and cried.
I don't remember anything else except for three gunshots and a body bag. I guessed that was why my aunt hadn't been letting us watch the news anymore, when I saw his name on the list of the 'victims.' The dead were not staying dead, just like mom had said.

3 comments:

  1. Love it..need a whole book series! Luv u!

    ReplyDelete
  2. a great opener; the right amount of exposition and a perfect engagement of the reader.

    I'm liking this!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Am I the only one who read this thinking it was real?? Ok.. I'm guessing it's not real lol But very convincing, so nice writing, I was very gripped!

    ReplyDelete