I sat up quickly and rubbed the sleep from my eyes incessantly. That was not a pleasant [[dream]]. My alarm clock said it was 3:00pm.
*Yikes*, I thought. I overslept.
Looking around, I noticed a [[shape]] on the floor.Upon further inspection, I recognized the shape to be my wallet. Odd. Why was it on the floor? I picked it up and [[opened]] it.*Everything seems to still be here*, I thought, inspecting my license.
**Name: John Doe**
**Sex: M**
**Age: 22**
**Height 5'7''**
**Eye color: Green**
**Address: 118 Torpington Way, Torpington**.
I put the wallet in my back pocket and glanced around my small appartment. The singular [[window]] in my [[appartment]] had sunlight shining through it brightly.
I couldn't remember every detail.
I knew I was running through the town of Torpington the fastest I ever had. I remembered being afraid. I could tell I wasn't running from anything, rather I was running *for* something. It was the gas-station! I had to get to the gas-station. I remembered there being blurry shapes bouncing around the edge of my vision. Despite my efforts, the blurry shapes were entirely unidentifiable. They moved quickly--much faster than any human could. Also, I had heard sounds--distorted singing, maybe? I couldn't tell. Either way, the dream left me feeling slightly disturbed.
Peering around my appartment, I realized how little furniture I had. A chair my grandmother gave me, placed with no accompanying table next to the [[window]]. Also, a small bed by a floor lamp, both of which were jammed into the corner of the room. My favorite was the mini-fridge I recently purchased.
I walked to the worn wooden door of my room, opened it, and headed [[downstairs]].I walked towards the window and opened it, breathing in the fresh air. It was an unnaturally hot day. In the [[distance]], I heard what sounded like groups of people singing. Or was it screaming? I couldn't tell. Either way, they certainly needed practice.Since my appartment was on the second story of a family owned gas station, I had a good view of the landscape. Torpington was a bland town--orange seemed to be the primary color. There was orange dirt, orange trees, and orange buildings. The only seemingly not-orange portion of the landscape was a large expanse of green forest, forming a ring around the outskirts of the town.
In the middle of the United States, Torpington tended to have little traffic travel through, most business coming primarily from locals and the occasional overweight truck driver. The population was a mere 192 people, and everyone knew everyone.
I returned my focus to my [[appartment]].Taking in my surroundings, I noticed something different about the first floor of the gas-station. This gas-station, **Torpington Gas and Liquor**, was the only gas-station in Torpington. Thus, it frequently had customers, meaining it always had employees (it was owned and ran by the Hart family). But today, it was empty. I found this to be very odd, since for the entirity of the 10 months I'd been residing above the gas-station, I'd always at least seen Timothy (at age 12, Timothy was the youngest of the Hart family) running the cash register.
Ignoring this oddity, I [[exited]] the gas-station.I had several things on my mind:
Firstly, why was there singing? Or was it screaming?
I was supposed to help the old lady from church, [[Doris]], with her [[front yard]]. It was getting overgrown with weeds since she lived right next to the forest.
I needed to exercise--a brief [[run]] sounded nice.
I also needed to eat food, which I'd want to do at the **Torpington Cafe &** [[Diner]]. The diner was a nice place to catch up with the local town news.I decided to go for a run.
I had a [[favorite route]]--it traveled through the heart of Torpington and around the edge. It was a way to see the town, plus be near the forest.
Running through the center of the town, I noticed it (like the gas-station) was strangely empty. I heard singing in the distance, [[near the forest]]. Or was it screaming?
I continued running through town, now more aware than ever as to the peculiar lack of people and activity.I figured since it was so hot out, running would be unpleasant, and old Doris would certainly need help gardening.
I began slowly walking towards Doris', which coincidentally was in the direction of the singing (or screaming?) I'd heard before.
Once I reached Doris' modest baby-blue colored home, I walked through her garden onto her front-porch and [[knocked]] hard.As I neared the edge of town, the forest came into my view. It was a dark, thick forest. The singing, which now was notably definitely screaming, was just beyond the trees.
Disturbed, I wanted to investigate the screaming, but I was also frightened. [[Investigate]], or [[continue running]]? I couldn't decide.Taking a deep breath, I decided to head into the forest. I could tell that the screaming wasn't too far in, and I could reach it in a few minutes of brisk walking. I could tell now that the screaming was coming from one person.
As I began to walk quickly towards the sound, it vanished. Strangely, I became more frightened. The absence of the screaming brewed a sudden silence that was overwhelming, and I stood rooted to the spot. Swallowing hard, I [[continued]] forwards.Scared and unwilling to venture into the forest, I continued my run. Now hungry, I headed towards the [[diner->DinerRun]]. Tom, the owner, usually knows everything going on in the town. Maybe I could learn about the screaming there?As I walked towards the diner, I noticed the town was eerily quiet and empty. This, plus the combined singing (or was it screaming?) ran a shiver down my spine.
When I arrived at the diner, I swung open the door. I expected to be hit with a wave of sports-talk, television static, and laughter. However, none of the above were present. Rather, I found [[Tom]], the owner of the diner. He was scrubbing down the diners counter, and didn't look up.
*"Hey there, John,"* said Tom.
Opposed to his usual jolly attitude, Tom was moving with a slow, certain solemness that I knew meant something had happened.
"*What's going on, Tom?"* I asked, surprising myself by my own authority
Tom gave me a sullen laugh.
*"You haven't seen the deer yet, have you?*" said Tom. He noticed my look of confusion and continued.
*"They're on a rampge, John. They've killed six people now, and we're missing little Timothy still.*"
I sat down at the counter Tom was cleaning, trying to comprehend what Tom was saying. The deer were killing people? How?
Tom continued further.
*"The deer have become unnaturally strong, and we weren't prepared. It was a disaster"*.
Tom proceeded to spend the next few minutes recounting the past night and the morning. As he recounted the story, a few other towns-people showed up at the diner. They'd brought guns, crossbows, axes, and chainsaws.
*It's like the frickin' zombie apocalypse,* I thought. I'd played enough survival games to know I needed to either [[stick with the diner folk]], or get out of here [[on my own]]. No good would come from just sitting in the diner.As I walked towards what seemed like the location of the now-gone screaming, I heard something else.
This new sound was *another* person's scream--it was different sounding, and also in a completely different direction. What was happening?
Feeling panicked, I kept walking forwards. I heard rustling ahead of me, and stopped. I could tell there was a small clearing ahead, but my view was blocked by the foliage.
*What should I do? I don't know what's ahead,* I thought. I remembered the recent screams.
A nearby tree looked easy to [[climb]], but I also could [[push through the brush]] into the clearing.Noisily brushing aside the foliage, the scene in front of me unravelled. Timothy Hart was lying motionless in the dirt. His left leg was twisted at a strange and unnatural angle, his femur sticking out of his upper thigh. There was a deep gash in his neck, oozing blood rapidly.
He was clearly dead.
I stood, frozen and horrified. It was like I was trying to think *through* molasses.
I remembered how Timothy must've only just been killed, and began to regain my senses. I had to move. I had to [[start running]], or I would [[start screaming]] next.
Stealthily climbing the tree to my left, the scene in front of me unravelled. Timothy Hart was lying motionless in the dirt. His left leg was twisted at a strange and unnatural angle, his femur sticking out of his upper thigh. There was a deep gash in his neck, oozing blood rapidly.
He was clearly dead.
Perched on the tree, I sat frozen and horrified. It was like I was trying to think *through* molasses.
*Who would do this?* What *would do this?*, I wondered as I glanced down at Timothy's exposed bone, working back a heave.
I hesitated. Whatever did this must've been nearby still. I knew I had to be quiet.
I needed to warn Torpington. The best place to spread news fastest was the [[diner->DinerMilitarized]].I took one last look at Timothy's body. It was so mangled and utterly lifeless, I lost it.
I started screaming like mad.
I heard a fast galloping to my left, and a massive shape barreled out of the trees. I was pinned to the ground, and I found both my hands wrapped around spikes--no, *antlers!*
Panic, confusion, and fear all broiled inside of me. I knew this beast was stronger than me. My hands were slipping, and the antlers were starting to dig into my chest. Screaming even louder, I took one last look into the massive psychotic cervoid's eyes as I felt it skewer me.
Darkness took me.I ran as fast as I could, following my own feet. I ran into town, unaware of my surroundings. I realized my feet had carried me to Doris' house.
I ran up to her front door and rapped on the hard wood.
It flew open immediately.
In front of me stood Doris, no more than five feet tall. Hunched over, she eyed me cautiously--Or, I thought she may have been; she was wearing a full face gas-mask and pointing a shotgun at my chest.
*"Explain yourself,"* Doris distortedly squeaked.
Shakily, I explained finding Timothy and sprinting frantically out of the forest.
Noticing the craze in my eyes and shortness of breath, she lowered her shotgun and pulled me [[inside->militarized2]].The moment my knuckles rapped on the hard wood, the door flew open. In front of me stood Doris, no more than five feet tall. Hunched over, she eyed me cautiously--Or, I thought she may have been; she was wearing a full face gas-mask and pointing a shotgun at my chest.
*"Whaddya need, boy?"*, asked Doris. Her usual higher pitched voice was distorted to a strange, deep squeal that was unnerving.
Terrified, I put my hands up.
*"Don't shoot!"*, I screamed hysterically.
At this, Doris lowered her shotgun and grabbed me by the shirt, hurling me inside with surprising strength. She slammed the door behind her.
*"Shut the hell up! You want to get killed, boy?"* Doris snapped.
Now standing in Doris' home, I stared at her and then the shotgun in her hands. For some reason, I knew she wasn't talking about shooting me.
I started to think it was screaming, not singing.
*"What do you mean? What's happening? I thought I heard screams earlier,"* I asked Doris.
*"The town's under attack, boy. It has been for some time now. It's the cervidae, they're finally fighting back,"* replied Doris.
*"The cervi-huh? Fighting back?"* I stupidly asked.
*"The deer, boy, the deer!"* Doris said with a frenzied voice, *"They're tired of being hunted, they've militarized and are hunting us."*
I stood, confused.
*What did Doris mean, the deer have* [[militarized]]? I stood now stood in the entrance of Doris' house, awkwardly.
Seeing my clear look of confusion and panic, Doris reached up and grabbed me by the shirt, pulling me along behind her. We winded past a dining room, kitchen, and living room containing a massive bookshelf. Doris then waddled over to the bookshelf and [[pulled]] on a book.Immediately, steam hissed from the floor surrounding the bookshelf. A small piece of floor large enough for a moderately sized human to fit through slid open.
*"C'mon. We're going down there. Don't worry, it's safe,"* Doris said.
I suddenly found myself inspecting all my past memories of Doris. Mainly, I found memories containing gardening. Overall, I evaluated Doris as relatively harmless. But, here she stood, with a gas-mask and shotgun.
I couldn't decide. Should I [[follow Doris->follow Doris2]] or [[run out of her house->leave]]?I now stood in the entrance of Doris' house, awkwardly.
Seeing my clear look of confusion and panic, Doris reached up and grabbed me by the shirt, pulling me along behind her. We winded past a dining room, kitchen, and living room containing a massive bookshelf. Doris then waddled over to the bookshelf and [[pulled->pulled2]] on a book.Immediately, steam hissed from the floor surrounding the bookshelf. A small piece of loor large enough for a moderately sized human to fit through slid open.
*"C'mon. We're going down there. Don't worry, it's safe,"* Doris said.
I suddenly found myself inspecting all my past memories of Doris. An image of Timothy's body flashed briefly in my eyes, and I knew that Doris was probably safer than whatever did that to Timothy. That being said, I couldn't decide. Should I [[follow Doris->follow Doris2]] or [[run out of her house->leave2]]?A wave of fright washed over me--I ran out of Doris' house as fast I could.
*"You're dead meat, boy!"* she yelled after me, slamming the door shut.
I ran into the street, running adjacent to the forest.
Immediately, I noticed something plummet out of the forest. I looked to my side.
For a brief moment, time slowed down. I was looking at a deer leaping through the air.
This wasn't your ordinary deer. I'd spent some time at the gym recently, and the appropriate descriptive adjective for this deer was "shredded." Horrified, I noticed blood on the antlers of the deer. I knew it was someone elses blood.
I couldn't out run this monster. It caught up to me with ease, pinning me to the ground with its hooves. I scrambled feebly at the deer's legs. I swear it smirked at me.
It lowered its antlers and slowly began to impale me. I screamed.
*Doris was right,* I thought.
Darkness took me. I followed Doris into the secret passage way. We climbed down a ladder that brought us down several stories. When we arrived at the bottom, it was pitch black.
*"What is this place?"* I asked into the darkness. I heard Doris waddle a few feet to me right, and then flick a switch.
Light momentarily blinded me. As my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I recognized what was clearly a post-apocalyptic bunker. It was classic: jugs of water, mountains of canned vegetables, a plethora of tools and weapons, and a few cots to sleep on.
*"A place where you'll be safe,"* she said, removing her gas-mask, revealing a kind, smiling face.
I went towards the nearest cot and sat down on it.
*"Is the world ending, Doris?"* I asked lamely.
*"Yes, m'dear. The deer are rising up. It's over. We will be safe here."*
I nodded, this made sense.
I curled up and fell asleep.A wave of fright washed over me--I ran out of Doris' house as fast I could.
*"You're dead meat, boy!"* she yelled after me, slamming the door shut.
I ran into the street, running adjacent to the forest.
Immediately, I noticed something plummet out of the forest. I looked to my side.
For a brief moment, time slowed down. I was looking at a deer leaping through the air.
This wasn't your ordinary deer. I'd spent some time at the gym recently, and the appropriate descriptive adjective for this deer was "shredded." Horrified, I noticed blood on the antlers of the deer. I knew it was Timothy's blood.
I knew I couldn't out run this monster. It caught up to me with ease, pinning me to the ground with its hooves. I scrambled feebly at the deers legs. I swear it smirked at me.
It lowered its antlers and slowly began to impale me. I screamed.
*Doris was right,* I thought.
Darkness took me.As I ran towards the diner, I noticed screams throughout town. I thought of Timothy.
When I arrived at the diner, I swung open the door. I expected to be hit with a wave of sports-talk, television static, and laughter. However, none of the above were present. Rather, I found [[Tom]], the owner of the diner. He was scrubbing down the diners counter, and didn't look up.
*"Hey there, John,"* said Tom.
Opposed to his usual jolly attitude, Tom was moving with a slow, certain solemness that indicated something had happened. I had a feeling Tom knew something I didn't.
"*What's going on, Tom?"* I asked, surprising myself by my own authority.
Tom gave me a sullen laugh.
*"You haven't seen the deer yet, have you?*" said Tom. He noticed my look of confusion and continued.
*"They're on a rampge, John. They've killed six people now, and we're missing little Timothy still.*"
I sat down at the counter Tom was cleaning, trying to comprehend what Tom was saying. The deer were killing people? How?
Tom continued further.
*"The deer have become unnaturally strong, and we weren't prepared. It was a disaster"*.
I waited a moment.
*"Timothy's dead. I found him in the forest,"* I said.
Tom stopped scrubbing for a moment and looked up. He sighed, and went back to scrubbing.
*"Some others are on their way here. We're going to get out of town."* said Tom.
As he scrubbed over the next ten minutes, a few other towns-people showed up at the diner. They'd brought guns, crossbows, axes, and chainsaws.
I thought of Timothy's body and agreed with the extensiveness of their arsenals.
A few hours later, a large military truck arrived at the diner, and we left Torpington forever.As I heard Tom exchanging grim words with the towns folk, I realized how afraid I was. I knew I couldn't go out into the world alone with killer deer on the loose.
I asked Tom to make me an omlette, give me a blanket, and a place to sleep. These people will keep me safe.I felt wary of a large group of people trying to survive together. I wasn't sure how serious the situation was, but with six people dead over the course of 12 hours, I couldn't take any risks. After all, I knew all of the towns folk in the diner, and none of them were ideal survival companions.
I slipped out of the diner, unnoticed. I had no idea where to go next.
I thought of old Doris, and how she would need help in such a dire situation. Hoping she was still alive, I headed started to run towards her [[house->knocked]].As I walked towards the diner, I was greeted by the same eerily quiet Torpington as before. This, plus the now-determined screaming ran a shiver down my spine.
When I arrived at the diner, I swung open the door. I expected to be hit with a wave of sports-talk, television static, and laughter. However, none of the above were present. Rather, I found Tom, the owner of the diner. He was scrubbing down the diners counter, and didn't look up.
*"Hey there, John,"* said Tom.
Opposed to his usual jolly attitude, Tom was moving with a slow, certain solemness that I knew meant something had happened.
"*What's going on, Tom?"* I asked, surprising myself by my own authority
Tom gave me a sullen laugh.
*"You haven't seen the deer yet, have you?*" said Tom. He noticed my look of confusion and continued.
*"They're on a rampge, John. They've killed six people now, and we're missing little Timothy still.*"
I sat down at the counter Tom was cleaning, trying to comprehend what Tom was saying. The deer were killing people? How?
Tom continued further.
*"The deer have become unnaturally strong, and we weren't prepared. It was a disaster"*.
Tom proceeded to spend the next few minutes recounting the past night and the morning. As he recounted the story, a few other towns-people showed up at the diner. They'd brought guns, crossbows, axes, and chainsaws.
*It's like the frickin' zombie apocalypse,* I thought. I'd played enough survival games to know I needed to either [[stick with the diner folk]], or get out of here [[on my own]]. No good would come from just sitting in the diner.Doris was an old lady with a kind face and fierce temper. I'd met her at Torpington's Church. As far as I could tell, she lived alone and loved to garden and play cards.Tom is a bald middle-aged man. If there were any man who was supposed to own a diner, it was him. Tom cared about every aspect of his diner: the counters, coffee, people, and food, in that particular order. Most importantly, Tom was a good man.As soon as I'd moved to Torpington, I started running. Running was an activity that postponed my frequent anxiety, allowing me to be more productive. I'd found my favorite route only three days after moving in above the gas-station. It began on Torpington Way, the busiest street in Torpington. The liveliness of the street often made me feel like the whole of Torpington was my friend. At the end of Torpington Way, I'd take a left on to Dent, a narrow street (some spots on it were entirely just orange dirt) which lead directly to the edge of the forest. From there, I'd run along the trees, breathing deeply. The forest, while extremely foreboding, had the freshest, most wonderful air.