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Prolific Writer
Join Date: Jun 2006
Location: Long Island
Gender: Male
Posts: 384
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0020 (1300 words, please critique)
This is a first attempt at this story here, fresh off the press. I need suggestions with it though. All opinions appreciated.
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0020
You wake up. It’s six A.M.--right on time. What’s the date? You think to yourself as you bring up the calendar. September 18th? That’s odd…wasn’t yesterday the 11th? Since your records indicate a potential error, you double-check.
Scanning section 2821…
0020, seeking date confirmation…
0002, unresponsive…
0004, unresponsive…
The list goes on.
0010, date status confirmed, September 18th
0012 and 0014 fail to respond. 0016 and 0018 agree with 0010. None of the odd numbers responded.
Date confirmed---you’ve been asleep for a week.
“Mr. Johnson, Mrs. Johnson, can I get you anything?” there is no response. “Mr. Johnson, Mrs. Johnson, are you there?” nothing.
You search the living room, the bedroom, the guest room, the kitchen, garage and both bathrooms; no one. You look at the pool deck: nothing. You check the basement: empty.
I guess they’re out. You erase all chores on the morning roster.
You wake up. It’s six A.M.—right on time. You check the date. The bedrooms are empty, the beds not slept in. The Johnsons didn’t come home last night.
Scanning section 2821…
0018 responds…
“Have you seen the Johnsons?”
“No, have you seen the Smiths?”
“No.”
“Thank you,”
“Thank you.”
End call.
That’s odd, they didn’t schedule a vacation.
Checking main database, access travel agent logs…
No response…No data available.
You wake up. It’s six A.M. You check the date, October 2nd. Still no word from the Johnsons. No morning chores.
You look through the house, you check the desks, the lamps, the beds.
“Dust bunnies,” you report on the board. “Recommend cleaning.”
You go to sleep.
You wake up. It’s six A.M. You check the date, January 3rd. No word from the Johnsons. Repair man, overdue.
Scanning section 2821…
No responses.
The house is cold. It has been for awhile. You turn up the heat, slowly. The water in the pool is frozen. Dust collects on the furniture. Animals search the yard, scanning for food. Some walk to the porch, looking through the screen door.
You make a note to tell the Johnsons when they come back, then you go to sleep.
You wake up, at six A.M. You check the date, April 8th. It’s raining hard, as it has been the last several days. You’re wet, the roof is leaking. The repairman is still overdue.
Scanning main database, Worker’s Guild…
No response.
You make a note for the Johnsons; water damage. Four slight leaks on the roof.
Scanning section 2821…
No response.
You go to sleep.
You wake up. It’s six A.M. May 21rst. Still no word from the Johnsons or anyone else in the section. Main data base is still down, not taking any communications. No repair man.
You feel them inside, hundreds of them, in the kitchen. Each carrying three times their weight in food down to the base they formed in the stove.
“Caution,” you say aloud. “releasing potentially harmful substances into the air.” Then you spray the pesticide, several short bursts. You watch as they whither, and fade away.
You make a note to the Johnsons, reminding them to spray some themselves.
You go to sleep.
You wake up at six A.M. June 30th.
“Happy Birthday, 31rst birthday Mr. Johnson!” you say aloud. There is no response.
The kitchen is occupied again, thousands of little creatures. Now the walls too.
The Johnsons never sprayed.
You spray again, inside your walls, and in the kitchen, then go to sleep.
It’s August 10th, there is no spray left. The kitchen and walls are still occupied. So is the basement. Small black and brown pellets litter the basement.
The Johnsons set no traps, and there are none in the house.
You wake up September first.
“Happy 29th birthday Mrs. Johnson!” there is no response.
The skies are dark, you can see the clouds through the holes in the roof. There are sticks all over the yard. A tree that used to stand next to the pool now lays where the pool used to be. The shattered remains litter the yard. Muddy puddles now occupy the surrounding area. Two windows are broken--the furniture is wet.
A small occupant sits on the living room chair, feasting on the meal it found in the cellar.
You note the broken legs on the sofa in the list for the Johnsons—number 203 on the report.
The repairman is still overdue, and you’re taking longer naps to converse your energy.
You wake up on December 25th.
“Merry Christmas!” you shout—your voice scratchy from the cold. No hope there, the heater hasn’t worked in weeks. Snow now covers the piles of leaves on the roof.
A half dozen occupants now inhabit the Johnsons old bedroom, making homes under the bed to avoid the leaks. Their quarry has multiplied, some of them have made their way up to the main level—knick knacks and objects the Johnson’s held dear are scattered across the floors from the pursuits.
The inhabitants enjoy a Christmas dinner, while you wait for the Johnsons.
It’s May again, the snow is gone. So are bits of the roof. You can see weeds growing up the sides of the walls, both inside and out, and the sun shining through the skylight to feed them.
The inhabitants no longer occupy the bedroom, because it is now connected to the basement through a big gap in the floor. The weakened floorboards couldn’t hold up the weight of the bed. But the occupants adjusted, as they always do. As long as there’s a good food supply, they aren’t going anywhere.
You are aching all over, need hibernation.
What day is it? You think as you wake. Internal records show, June 30th.
You can no longer speak.
Happy…35th birthday Mr. Johnson? Is that right?
Scanning section 2821…
No response.
No confirmed date.
There are dozens of occupants, all different kinds. None of them care too much for each other, separating themselves by rooms—what’s left of the rooms.
You look around, there are signs of more than one skirmish. Scratch marks, rips and tears line the wall paper, couch cushions and pillows.
There are no longer any basement windows. Broken pieces of cement and tile now line the basement floor, you can see soil in more than one place.
The weeds have started growing up the walls, some of them reach to the second floor.
An intruder walks into the basement, his small cheeks stuffed to the brim. He wanders, looking for treasure to take with him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a current occupant heading in his direction. He lets out a slight squeal as he runs, up and down the walls, followed closely.
He drops what he held, several small ovals fall through the cracks in the concrete as he scurries out through the remains of the window, followed by his attacker.
Mrs. Johnson would have been 42 today, you think. All you can do is think, since your voice is gone. You have no strength left, all your resources are depleted, your efforts have proved futile.
It’s inside you. They were small at first, then they grew inside. You tried to fight them off, but you weren’t strong enough. It started down below, a small seed accidentally planted inside of you. It’s grown beyond control, as you knew it would.
With your insides devastated, your defenses spent, all it could do was grow. Now the branches of this life form press against you from the inside. There is nothing left of you to fight it, it’s only a matter of time.
You’re very foundation is weak, old age and stress have crippled you. You wait for it, as what’s inside you continues to grow.
I wonder whatever happened to the Johnsons you think.
You hear a creaking sound, the final bits of your walls begin to crumble, and you finally come tumbling down.
__________________
Quoth The Raven "Nevermore"
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