Every morning was the same routine. Morning stretches, thoughts of not feeling well rested, and the dreaded heat of my dinky, un air-conditioned apartment. I forgot to mention the fact that I had no stories to write about. Writers block left me low on cash, and low on confidence. I was drained.
Monday mornings especially had never been satisfying to me. The taste of coffee, even bitter, could make any day, even after a long weekend a little more manageable. When I went out to start my day I would venture out and find myself determined to come across a coffee shop or bistro that was original; one that caught my eye. Simple things like those pleasure me.
I took a new route that day. That day being the 16th of July on the calendar of this past year. I had only lived in San Diego for 6 months at the time, so I was still finding things and places that were fairly new to me. I walked down a street that was decorated in chalk art. I still remember it because it was something I had never seen before, and like I said, simple things like these pleasured me. At the end of the street I came across a coffee shop conveniently named ‘The Coffee Shop’ that had an easel outside that read: “Congratulations, you made it out of bed today.” It made me chuckle and had already made my Monday better before any liquid, caffeinated bitterness had even reached my tongue.
I stumbled into the little shop with bold bags darker than any coffee they had to offer under my eyes and a look that just screamed “I need to get my life together” all over my face. There was only one young woman working. Her name tag read Louise, and she looked extremely troubled. I thought maybe she was experiencing the same Monday depression that I was.
I ordered my white chocolate latte, and when she handed it to me she shook like a scared puppy. I paid the usual over-priced, vintage coffee shop price. Her hands trembled and my change fell to the tile floor. She apologized, and of course, I told her it was quite all right.
For some reason that day I was feeling extra chatty. The writer’s block had me off put for a while. I approached her again. She immediately asked if my order was wrong. I told her that it was fine. I then asked her if she was okay, and if she needed anything at all. Her face turned ghost white, and she looked around the empty coffee shop. She looked at me and said, “Is it that noticeable?” I told her I wasn’t quite sure what “that” was. She told me to have a seat, and me being me, I took one.
She started off very uneasy and very unsure that I would listen. I assured her that I was a journalist and I was very used to listening to stories. She paused and said, “This is not a story.” I shook my head as a gesture for her to continue.
“I had just broken up with my boyfriend.” She said, still uneasy.
“He had been unfaithful and dishonest. I had no choice but to collect my things and leave. I couldn’t be used and embarrassed any longer.”
I told her I understood. I heard these breakup stories all the time and figured it was just another bad one.
“I told him he deserved what was coming to him. I believe in karma.” As she spoke more I continued to agree, because I too believe in karma.
“I was walking away and I heard something I had never heard before. It was the most repulsive and gut-wrenching screech I had ever felt vibrating through my ears. I turned back and I saw nothing through the darkness, so I kept walking. I heard the sound again, and again, and again. I finally turned back and started inching my way towards the house I had just left.”
I continued to listen with an interested look painted on my face. I was trying to put together what was going to happen next and at this point, I thought maybe this crazy woman had witnessed a cat fight. I was not sure what I was going to hear next. She went on to say, “I walked through puddles that looked like tar. They were black, gooey, and repulsive. Everything was silent when I approached the door. I knocked and got no answer. It really annoyed me. I figured he was ignoring me for the thrill of it. I knew where he hid the spare key, right behind the mailbox. I took it and opened the door. The house was completely silent.”
She started to shake and her eyes became filled with tears. “I walked up the stairs and found myself stepping in more of the black substance. I was so confused. I made it upstairs and I stopped.”
“You stopped?” I said. I was on the edge of my seat.
“I stopped and looked down at the ground and I saw him. I saw him laying on the ground with a bite mark on his shoulder, skin ripped to pieces, blood trails hallways long. I wanted to faint but for some reason my body didn’t let me.” I just stared at her, not knowing what to say.
“I ran away in terror. Then I heard the screeching noise that now vibrated so much louder in my ears. I looked outside on the patio, the door was unhinged. I saw a figure. It was something gray, inhumane, something out of a nightmare. It screeched and threw itself towards me. It was oozing black substances. It was fast, and all I knew was that it was coming… and it was coming for me.”
I sat back and I had a flashback to the T.V. program I had viewed on a new disease that was spreading. There was said to be a vaccine for the disease, but what this woman was describing did not sound like a form of any disease I had ever heard of.
She continued, “I ran, I stumbled, I fell, and I don’t know how I am still here. As I was running I somehow ran around a huge hole in the middle of the earth. It was meant to be for a new house that was being built. Whatever was coming for me, whatever was coming to destroy me, fell deep into that hole. I got away.” I looked at this woman in amazement. This was something I had never heard before, and I had to believe her. There was no doubt in my mind that she was telling the truth. She had tear filled eyes, and a shaky body. All I could do was stare.
“You are a journalist?” She asked.
“Yes, I am, for 5 years now.” I replied.
“Please publish my story. Share it. Please warn people of whatever this is. I will never forget, and I will never be able to tell my story like you can.”
“Okay,” I said. “Okay, let’s record this. Let me write about you, let me write your story.” She thanked me and hugged me. In that moment her shaky body came to ease.
This is where my work originated. These interviews, these people, these stories; they’re real. That dreaded Monday morning in that coffee shop led me to many conclusions. Caffeine isn’t the only thing that makes people shake. I discovered the beginning of many unfortunate events.
Please read these stories, understand them, and use them to your advantage. Whatever is among us is coming to destroy us. Take caution and do not let doubt creep into your mind. This is not a storybook. This is not fiction. This is not a nightmare written on paper. This is the end of the world.
