From the journal of John Archer, the Archivist, August 24

August 24, 2017

     I just read the saddest short journal I've read yet. It was written by Lance Roberts, a 13 year old who survived his whole family and was then alone.

     “My nightmare started when my father came home from work on March 29^th. He was a doctor at the local hospital, had been for years, a surgeon, a respected member of the medical community, as Mom used to always tell him. He'd had a really bad day. His patient came in in distress and then died on the table. While Dad was sewing him up, he came back to “life” and attacked my Dad. He bit him on the right shoulder and his left hand, before other people helped to subdue him.

Doctor Roberts

     Dad was checked over by the head doctor and the sent home for a few days, just as the two security guards that were also bit. Everything seemed OK that first night. Dad said he had read material from the hospital that said if he didn't get a really bad fever within 24 hours, then everything was fine. But if he got the fever, then he needed medicine and it would be a fight. We didn't know then that once you're bit, it's a death sentence.

     Dad fought for six days, six horrible days. Fever, throwing up, coughing, for days. He suffered really badly and the “medicine” they told him to take did shit for him. That's right, I cursed and there's no one left to tell me not to. The last two days, he wheezed and was barely able to breath and his eyes glazed over and his fever didn't break, it just got higher and higher. Eventually, Mom kept me and my little sister out of the room and took care of him all by herself. That's why Mom was the next one to die.

     Dad must've died while Mom was cooking his breakfasts in the kitchen because when she went in the bedroom, the screaming started. Mom had gotten in the habit of locking the door when she was in with Dad to keep Sybil out. Mom didn't want her to see Dad so sick. I broke through the door and saw my father, holding my screaming Mom down with one hand while his face was buried in her stomach. Blood was everywhere and Mom was screaming and squirming and when Sybil screamed beside my, Dad turned and snarled at both of us.

     His skin was grey and his eyes were clouded over. He didn't recognize us and immediately started coming after the two of us. I pushed Sybil out the door and closed it between Dad and us. He started this weird moaning and growling sound while pounding on the door. I put Sybil in her room, closed the door and grabbed the hatchet from the backyard that Dad used to make the kindling.

     Then, I went back in the house to take care of Dad, but when I walked down the hallway, the door was already open and Dad was in the hall with a Sybil lying under him, blood was pooling on the cream colored carpet runner Mom loved. He had taken out her throat, all in like a minute, that's all I took in the backyard. I had failed my little sister and what used to be Dad had killed her. He was chewing on her throat like it was a turkey leg and when I screamed out in rage, he turned on me. I buried the the hatchet in his head as he started to stand up. He fell to the floor and landed on Sybil. It took a lot of effort to get the hatchet back out of his skull, but I've watched enough zombie movies and show to know that Mom and Sybil needed to be taken care of before they come back like Dad.

Lance Roberts

     Once that was done, I sat in the living room for hours without moving. I don't even think I was thinking, just zoned out. When I came back, I knew I couldn't stay here. I've decided to take the car and head for Grandma's house out by the lake. She's far enough out, there's a chance she's still OK. It's the only thing I can think to do. I wanted to leave this note in case any of our other family comes looking for us. At least they'll know what happened here. I burned Dad, Mom and Sybil, at least what was left of them, in the backyard, packed my stuff and all the food and water I could get and now, I'm going to sleep tonight and leave in the morning.

     I'm 13 years old and alone. I really hope Grandma is still there or I really don't know what I'm going to do. And that's if I can get the 75 miles from here to there. Please, God, let me make it.

Lance Robert”

As a writer and artist, I appreciate any readers and their comments. Thank you for taking the time to read this blog. Please, come read the other blog I write for our artisan collective, Raven's Castle Creations, on our website at www.ravencastlecreations.com. It includes posts on art, the mythology of symbols we use in our art, history and more! Also, come see the art we produce in our Etsy store at etsy.com/shop/RavenCastleCreations. Follow us on Twitter at @ravencastleart and on Facebook at @ravencastlecreations.