Episode 12

Alexander Johnstone:

'One night i was woken by the sound of raspy breathing and a foul stench. It was all i could do to stop myself from gagging. It was unaware of me but i knew it all too well: it was one of the creatures. I dared not move for fear I alert it to my presence. It came close a few times throughout the night, but never quite found its way to me. For the entire night I sat there, barely breathing, staring into the pitch black, waiting for it to find me. Waiting for the end. . .'


The sun was bright as he stepped out of the ticket office. He walked through the station clutching his bag, glancing round for signs of danger, but there were none.

He was standing in the centre of the road which sat between two bus shelters and he gazed up at the buildings surrounding the station. He stood there in awe, buildings and cities had always had that effect on him; they'd made him feel small, but he loved that feeling.

As he stared round he pictured another life, a life where these buildings were full of people, a life where buses flowed through the station and out past where he stood. He could almost see it.

"Maybe one day." He thought.

He ventured into the city, looking for something useful. Finally he found somewhere.

The door was locked. He took a step back and kicked it. Nothing happened. He kicked again, this time harder and the door swung open. He stepped through the shower of dust which rained down from the door frame. There was a little sunlight trickling through the window and he could see a kitchen to the left, where he swiftly emptied the cupboards of food and took a few kitchen knives. There were stairs ahead of him.

They squeaked as he climbed them, not in an eerie way, but in a way that reminded him of home. It was the kind of squeak that made a house into a home.

When he reached the toop there were three doors. He stepped through one and immediatey wished he hadn't.

The walls were pink, with flowers winding all around them. There was a window on the wall opposite the door and below it sat a chest of drawers with teddies sitting on top. The light flooded through the thin blind, almost illuminating the display.

The bed was made and everything was in its own place.

It was just waiting for someone to come home.

He was overwhelmed. There was nothing here to take, there was only memories, but they were more valuable than anything he could have found. He felt he shouldn't be in the room, His presence was unnatural.

There were tears in his eyes as he pictured this little girl's life. He stepped over to the teddy bear collection and picked one up. He clutched it in his hands and stared into its button eyes. She couldn't have been more than eight, a life not even half lived, forced to suffer this tragedy. Maybe she was still alive. He wondered
which would be better. For her to die and leave a life not yet half lived, or to live on in the wasteland, to lose everything.

He began to cry. He cried for all the children who didn't deserve this. For all the children who had been so innocent, now a part of the most horriffic event in history.

He had fallen to his knees, crushed by the memories which lived on in this house. He sat the bear back with the rest and took a step back, wiping his eyes.

There was a creaking sound, followed by footsteps. Something was coming upstairs.

They were soft, as if they were trying to be quiet. As if it knew he was there.

He hid behind the door, waiting.

The footsteps came closer, stopping every few steps scouring the rooms.

The footsteps stopped at the door and the footsteps made their way inside. It stepped into the room, he could see it coming into view.

It was. . . a girl.