Memory Monsters

The life and times of a young man in the midst of the apocalypse. Horror, dark humor and elements of drama.

The name is Joseph Tully. Formerly Joseph Tully, that is. Who I was now, was different even then.

You probably know me, or have known people like me. Maybe you still know me and others like me, even though we're now different. After everything that happened, I'm not sure how much of me really remained intact, but even with the new sights and sounds, I realize I'm still here. Most of the time anyway.

Here is not like the one I, or any of the rest of us, used to know. It's a lot darker, a lot dirtier and definitely a lot more dangerous. Not to say it wasn't like that before, but we all know what happened to make it even worse. Those first frantic weeks flew by in a state of panic, denial-disbelief and cold hard fear. You’ll remember what it was like, we all lived it. Pretty much everybody I ever knew vanished or fled, leaving me with just my alcoholic, slightly pathetic father for company. Sometimes I wonder what happened to the old gang in the end, but I’m sure they’re like me now and are just fine. The lads always had a way about them. Everything was torn apart so fast that I had no real time to mull my losses. It made no difference to me, or at least I tried not to show that it had.

All until the one moment.

Oranging glows tinting the black sky. Lights flickering and fuzzing. So many of us. That's where they are, that's where we're going. Walking's slow and sore, but that's nothing new anymore. The others are all the same. There's others appearing in front of us, I think we're making enough noise. They keep running away though, the ones up ahead. Maybe they forgot we were coming to meet them. The journey has been a long one but finally an end is close. Help is on the way, we slow forward. Slow, hurt walking.

The one moment occurred to me that afternoon when I made my unfortunate trip back from the weekly run. These were the early days, but the streets were already going sour, at least in our neighborhood. Not too many sightings of us just yet, but enough to scare the living hell out of everybody left. The reports were getting worse and worse every day, but to some it was nothing to worry about. The cities could fall, the government could crumble, but as long as their fake f*****g realities were intact and they didn’t have to see us, things were fine. Those days, my father was his usual grumpy self, rooted to his recliner like a great fat plant, ranting mostly to himself about what a load of bunk it all was, that it was all one giant conspiracy. People, he said, needed to screw their heads on and taste some common f*****g sense. That was rich, coming from a 50 year old man who'd spent most of his adult life drowning in distilled whiskey. He continued drowning even as the truth grew undeniable, as everything just beyond the front door and out our windows became ever more dire.

I'd shared his views at one time too, but then again my father always has been the type that eventually you'll agree with him just to shut him up. Living with him before the event was bad enough, now that I had nobody else he was almost unbearable. Five minutes of aural torture is a small price to pay for temporary peace and quiet. Dad, from my earliest memories, was always the kind of man who talked people around, convinced them, persuaded them to do things they normally wouldn’t have done. I’ve heard the worst stories when he’s drunk. Stories of Mum, but thankfully never me. Her absence and all that had been happening had only made his constant grumblings worse. It had been three months since her departure and about three weeks since the bug jumped. Between a rock and a hard place, time was dragging out, with Dad only making it worse. I'd been dreading going back in as I crossed the lawn, the Jack was running low that day, but the sobering shock of being suddenly pounced on shook me out of my thoughts.

I still can't remember exact details, but I do know it was one of the older ones who caused me my injuries. The marks that hurt like a b*****d. I still see him around sometimes, but for some reason I harbour no hatred. I’ve learned to no longer fear the ones like me, instead I feel a bond with them. Joining them was easier and at this stage, inevitable. I've done the same before in other situations, it's a natural survival instinct. However, my screams that day were enough to merit my father jumping up and running outside, kicking the old one back and dragging me inside, cursing under his breath venomously. He shut the door viciously, his eyes tinted red with drink and rage as I collapsed, groaning. After that, the runs were stopped. Food was rare, like it was before anyway. Dad’s dough went to the drink, Mum and me got the leftovers, quite literally. She had enough one day though, as the note told us later, she “felt it was the best option”. I never wanted her to leave, but I always told her and still tell her that I would have done exactly the same. Best part is she always believed me.

Glowing stronger now. Getting closer. The whining and moaning is still there. Me and everybody else are getting tired, but we have to keep going. It's all we can do. Keep, keep going. Somebody's up ahead, looks like we're going to meet them. What's that he's got in his hand? Something shiny. Long and shiny, silvery too. He keeps bringing it up to his face. I think I know what it is, but I can't remember. Like a lot of things. Something hints, hurts. Hurts. Help stops hurts. We’re telling him but he can’t understand. Shiny thing again.

After my attack, Dad was just never the same. Armchair time was less frequent. He stopped his ranting. The stacks of bottles were smaller. He grew quieter with each passing day. He was worried, I'll give him that, always being Joey this and Joey that. I was a lot different after the attack too. I felt fine, but then I didn't. I was cold, then I wasn't. I was vomiting, then I wasn't. Everything came and went, since the very beginning the whole thing had played itself out that way. The pain I felt was nothing different to what had come before. The blood got sticky and coagulated in my bandages, changing them was a huge chore. Dad made me change them myself most of the time. It was typical of him though.

When he became my sole carer, he had no idea how to act. She was gone before everything happened, before she would have been one of the others. He was a man used to having somebody else to wait on him hand and foot. For a little while it had to be me, while he battled his demons by looking through a liquor bottle. Only the dangerous company of good old Jack and Jameson kept him from going over. I took on mum's role most days; cleaning up after him and making sure the house didn't fall apart. We fought all the time, for us we became less of a family and more like roommates who hated each other’s guts. Caring about each other was all gone. For a time anyway, until I found him collapsed in his bedroom and the doctor forbade anymore alcohol, "unless he really wants to die".

The shiny thing made a big bang. One of us fell down. The pain. The pain continues. God when will the walk end, when will we reach our destination? Only another minute or two. Short time left till we can make it all go away. Even just for a little while. The glow is amazing. It must mean something. But the glow grows in the sky. The orange turns to amber-red. We're all getting louder as we get closer. The lights above and below are lots. Lots of them. Maybe names for them. Closer we’re getting. Closer.

The doctor's orders weren't kept to obviously. Dad took up the bottle again while we drifted further and further apart. Some days he was there, others he went outside somewhere. Things were really bad by then, probably about where it's all now. The doctors were busier than ever. My changes grew more bearable over time, even if Dad kept me in the bedroom. Through the cracks in the windows I saw the ones like me. The others were constantly running or fighting. The marks from the attack weren't bleeding anymore, but they never healed. Dad was especially worried about that, even more than his booze running out. The armchair became less of a refuge, now he took to watching me instead. Not to help. Not to comfort. Just to look and see. Caring was still there, but in a different way.

The night he kicked me out was when things hit rock bottom for me. The changes were bad enough but I guess I could live with them. Having the man who's supposed to be your parent kick you out of your own home is unforgivable. The pain came back. Not the physical kind though. That first night on my own I spent walking the deserted, deathly quiet streets. There was a lot of rubbish; old papers with the crazy headlines, crashed cars, even blood dotted in little pearlescent pools all over the grey roads and pathways. My only real company were the ones like me. I figured that if I was going to wander, we might as well all wander together. None of us really spoke, it’s still the same. Perhaps we are all too pained for it. I still haven’t figured that out.

Who was holding the shiny thing got lost in our crowd. We're outside the place now. Maybe there's someone in there, the one we're going to see. Tonight was going to be different from the others. Walk slow but hard. Pain biting into me, but the excitement going through the crowd. Our marks are what seperate us from the rest. My hands keep reaching, reaching. I don't know why. But they keep reaching, clawing.

I saw Dad every now and again, sometimes I used to creep up and peek in the windows when I was in the area with the others. I heard nothing inside most of the time. When sounds did emerge, they were of a broken man. Screaming, sobbing and even smashing furniture. Sounds like the ones he'd made when mum was gone. Now I was gone too, but he was the one who'd thrown me out. Tit for tat, I thought as I wandered away to join the others again. The sky was dark as coal the last day I visited, the day I knew he'd gone for good. Something told me he wasn't in the old house anymore. Maybe he'd finally left too. Without Mum or me it must have been damn lonely in our safe little suburban hole. Nothing to keep him company except his whiskied thoughts.

Sounds. Loud, loud neverending sounds. Our moaning, our clawing. The sounds of the ones inside. Boards were holding us back. Brown wooden streaks, blocking our way. More of the shiny things were poking out of the holes. More loud bangs, lots. We all kept falling down, some of us not getting back up. The bangs formed dark reds all over our clothes, including mine. It felt like a warm colour. The brown woods were getting weaker as we kept pushing, noise building up like skyscrapers.

Dad being gone though was just the cherry on top of my big s**t sundae. I had company, sure, but nothing like what I used to. I had no trouble. After a little while the real pain came back, not the one in my heart. My teeth hurt in my stinging gums, my stomach ached and walking was torture. My legs felt like they would snap any second, shaking so uncontrollably they were. One day I was hurting so much that I decided I had to get help. Alone. I was far from the house when it happened. Even simply trying to get help these days is getting risky for me, it was then too. As I found out.

A large, modern house. Red-brick walls, a plain picturesque white front door, sizeable lawn, the sort of thing you'd see out of a brochure. This was where I stumbled upon the person I thought would help me, but who ended up being something very, very different. I walked up the street when I saw him out of the corner of my eye. He was busy covering up his windows. Kept talking to himself too, a lot of whispered muttering about "those damn things" and cursing. Sort of like Dad, but less plump. Bent over a rusty toolbox clutching a hammer, I saw him as the best hope, so with my agonied feet I made my way over step by step. He'd gone back inside when I reached the foot of the driveway, but came back out just as I got to the windows. I remember the look on his face to this very day. The face of help. Or so I thought.

"Joseph?" he gasped.

The last board coming down now. Just the door, just the door. The guttural cries grew ever louder. So close. The red spots had stopped growing and the bangs were no more. Just the sounds of sobbing and screaming emanating. We responded. We all needed their help so very, very badly. They didn't want to give it. But we needed it, it's all that we were looking for. Clicking and cracking. Down it was going.

"Jos---oh sweet Christ!"

He tried to shove me away, but he didn't know my suffering. He needed to know. I wanted him to know. He was shouting and swearing, the two of us struggling back and forth, him trying clumsily to hit me with his hammer until he stepped backwards and tripped over his toolbox. Me, him and the hammer all went flying. Grabbing at his face, him tightening the iron grip around my neck, the fight continued. I couldn't stop my noises, my moans for help. He never stopped his either. He wasn't understanding. Eventually his strength gave way, so I did what I had to do.

The pain. That seething, burning pain. Biting nerves and bulging visions. Help is so near, yet so far all the time.

I could make it all go away; the past times, Mum going then gone, Dad gone already, the world too. My attack, my changes. I needed a release, I knew what it was but didn't want to. My body and mind said no but something deep within, some new evil said yes. F**k it f**k it f**k it all, I kept saying. I'd been resisting so long, even when Dad wasn't around and the urges were so hellishly strong I could say no. But not this time. The first bite took the edge off, the second took the shock away and everything after that was a matter of eating away layer after layer of flesh. My hands were slick, wet and sticky with juices as I pulled out long entrails, tore through tendons and stretched his skin. He was delicious.

Oh God, the pain was gone, at long last! I'd found the help I was looking for. I kept thinking of what the folks would say if they saw me, but she was safe and the old b*****d was still nowhere to be found, no matter how much I wandered. All I knew was, if I ever did see him again, I'd tell him to help me too. He owed me that much after all these years and all the crap he’d made me put up with. I left after a while, lifting up slowly from the pool of blood and flesh around me. The pain was still gone even when I had nothing left to stop it with. My moans were silent, with lifejuice dripping down my jaws and my scruffy, worn-out Nikes sticking to the pavement. When I saw the others later that day, I knew they'd all found help too. The sky was lighter that day, the evening sun turning the clouds a crimson purple.

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Cracking easily and holding badly. Splinters were flying. Our pains were now back full force. Those inside would have to help us. Loud crashing noises, like the noises the others make when they break sometimes, but not the loud bangs. The door fell down and we came inside. Screams everywhere, screams so loud I went insane, it drove us all wild. Some of them were huddled behind seats, others ran up the steps. Shiny things could be coming. More noise from their mouths.

Together. Just like the way things used to be, Dad used to be, I used to be. Mum too, before she vanished. But now they were all together again at last. I stumbled my way into the little room, the others all right behind me. Noise. They didn't like our noise, they didn't come to us when we beckoned them over. We just needed their help. It looked like we were going to get it, and very soon too. Suffering seemed intolerable for those final few moments, as we all began to reach for them...

A loud bang. Warm wetness on my chest. One of the shiny things had been upstairs after all, now the one holding it was coming down. He looked like somebody I knew. Maybe someone close. A name, a name so close yet so far. Who? Something about him. Big built, something covering his face. Those stinging needles in my head came back, like I was trying to tell myself something. Another loud bang. Looking up. Loud sounds coming out of their mouth. Feelings mixing and clashing like waves in the head.

"Get the hell away from them!", they raised the shiny thing again. Loud bang. One of the others fell down as I got back up slowly. The people inside here were nowhere to be seen, maybe they were too busy giving help to the others. The one on the stairs knew this and began waving the shiny thing wildly. His noises grew louder than ours as he went wild.

"F*****g rotten b******s!"

Some of us began trying up the stairs to get his help. I followed behind, wanting to get a closer look. Seeing us coming up, he raised. A loud bang, one of us gone, another, two of us gone. I was the next and I knew he would do the same to me. Right. He raised. I kept going, but waiting for the bang.

A click. He fumbled. More clicking. His noises stopping a moment. Him looking at me, then the others. His mouth dropped open, but no more noises still. My feet kept going, hurting all the way. Even this close, I still didn't know him. He might know me though.

"Joey?!"

I reached for him. Another name that was so close, yet so far.

"Help me! Make it go the f**k away! Please!"

"You're one of them!" he tried to push me away, but his feet wobbled on the steps. The others were still below, but they were quieter now. Their pain was now going away until another time, but I had to still relieve mine. I needed his help very, very badly. The room swam and swerved as I came closer and closer. He kept fighting back, like they always did. Their help is what I needed. What I wanted. He held a tight grip on the shiny thing, but my flailing hands caught it, sent it falling down the steps. He kept saying that name.

"Joey! Listen to me, Jesus Christ Joey!"

"Who's Joey?!" I kept asking, but he couldn't understand. The fight continued. His face turning the same color as the wetness on my shirt from the shiny thing. Me pleading relentlessly for him to help me. Stumbling forward. Finally he had decided to give me assistance. I waited eagerly, but his weight pushed me back. We collapsed down the stairs together, his noises sounding more like mine as we fell. We landed hard on the bottom step, me worse than ever and him on his way. More warm wetness was felt, this time all over. Hurts but not because of warm wetness. Help hurts.

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"Joey, this can't be stopped!" Dad screamed. He'd been pacing around the room for almost an hour now, stroking his thick stubble and trying to rationalize things after the attack on me. I felt like a million elephants were stampeding around my head, not stopping the constant tromping around. The bedroom kept floating like a ship on a stormy sea, with my legs now too weak to stand on. The wound my attacker had left me was still oozing fresh blood through my bandages, filling the air with that strange sort of musky smell. I kept tasting what was like salt in my mouth.A hellish fever was burning up my body, like an erupting volcano. Dad had been drifting between calm and collected to wild and assumptive. I told him that nobody knew how it all worked, maybe it wouldn't happen to me. The experts didn’t know for definite.

"Maybe it will. We'll see how it all plays out."

"You've seen it, I've seen it, if they scratch you or bite you, you're dead! End of story!”

I coughed, my voice trying its best to stay strong. Feeling hideously sick, the walls were closing in on me and the heat became unbearable under the blankets, but I had to say it, now or never. Slowly.

"But...what if...what if there's a medicine?"

That stopped him a moment. He ran a hand over his chin and shook his head.

"You can't cure this...I just know it. Your mother would have said the same thing."

Rising again. She. She left, but to him she never truly did.

He always had to bring her up. Now was not the time for one of his rants, especially since his son was right in front of him feeling like absolute death. I didn't care about what might happen, but all I knew was that he was refusing to let go of her so that he could see me. My throat clenched with sickness and I had to force down rising vomit to get my words out. Dad sighed and bent down to get the bucket from under my bed.

"She's...not...f*****g...here!"

The bucket came clattering to the ground, making a massive thunk on the wooden floor. I laughed to myself as Dad glared over me.

"She...wouldn't like...that..."

Pausing a moment, he looked ready to hit me. B*****d he was however, he drew the line at hitting kids. Especially after they've been bitten by one of the things outside and have spent the past hour puking, bleeding and crying to their heart's content and illness' limits. He wiped sweat off his brow and popped open the top button of his shirt, while I closed my eyes to try and ease the agonies of my condition. Dad looked over at me, speaking firmly.

"She never liked a lot of things. Why'd you think she left us? I'm sorry if missing the woman I married makes me such an a*****e to you."

"It's not just that..."

"What the hell is it then?!" he screamed.

"It's something you've never ignored, even when you had to. Now you have to, and you won't!”

“Forget her?!”

I raised a weak finger and pointed to the curtains.

“Look out the window...it’s easy to...!”

He didn’t budge. Too burnt out for an argument and possibly wanting to retreat to the bottom of the bottle again, Dad scoffed, moving for the door. The room's movements kept up, tormenting me incessantly, jarring me around. I was used to the pain now. Even the bed was starting to feel softer and softer by the minute, as though my body had become weightless. I wanted him to go like I always had, but this was the first time I needed him to stay. My pain was soothing slowly. I'm not sure why I felt so much better when the f****r had left so much up in the air. He still wasn't done though. He spoke slowly, as though he were clarifying something.

"You know...whatever happens, anything I do...is because I love you. You know that, don't you?"

I had no answer, just a silent weak nodding of the head. He left then, closing the door quietly behind him. I was certain that I saw his face change, even for a second, but I dismissed it. He'd been playing the smooth-talking game for years. Why would now be any different? The world kept revolving as the blackness moved over my vision; I started falling into a deep sleep. The image of Dad in the doorway kept replaying itself over and over as peace finally arrived. Something darker lay ahead.

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“First her...now you...her...you...”

Sadness. Gut hurts. A moving shape. Me moving too.

Dragging along soft, then hard, then soft again. I couldn't see or move in the endless void. I'd been there for a while, my dreams never came. The pain stayed though and it was back in full force, even worse too. What had been nagging was now stabbing. My head bumped off something. My limbs were stuck even if I tried to wiggle and break. Crying sounds. I began to speak up. Cursing. Cursing and lots of it.

"You sound just like the rest of them...shut the f**k up!"

A kick to my side. Then more crying sounds.

"Why'd you have to be like that? Why'd I have to be like that?!"

Something taken off me. My eyes opened slowly. Bright, diamond-white crystal dots in a dark blue straight above me, the biggest one of all in the center. Somewhere before me, somebody stood. A man. Who was he again? A dark, dark shape against the endless spotted ocean. I needed his help badly, something told me. Get his help, he has what cures your pain. The endless suffering you'll have to exist with forever. Forever was now, tomorrow and everything else. Just like before. A new kind though. I tried to get up, but the shaped man was already moving.

"Joey...oh sweet Jesus...Joey..."

Noises repeated like that over and over. I couldn't see him, but I heard a bang somewhere as I got to my feet. Crying from somewhere, inside the big box. My eyes were sore but I had to look, lots of other big boxes, more of them everywhere. There were some of us on the street. I don't know how but they were my friends. They wouldn't help me though, they needed help themselves. I tried to move again. Slow. Slow.

Quiet everywhere. I heard noises for help and noises that came from other places; big bangs, mouth noises. I had to find them. My help might be wherever they were. The darkness was my friend, but it didn't matter to me anymore. I was changed, my pain was constant but I could bear it. My pace was nothing like before but maybe it was a good thing. I didn't know. I don't know. The help was out there somewhere. I had to find it and get it. Others began following me as I made my way down the silent street.

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The warm wetness had turned to cold. The others had moved away, having gotten their help for now. I was trying to go with them but nothing worked anymore. Nothing. My pain was stronger than ever. Sounds. I looked over. He was waking up after all. Juicy red splotched over his nose and mouth. Pained noises. Sounds of the ones who were meant to be helping us, not the ones like me. He looked at me. No more mouth noises. Just quiet. He spoke.

"Joey...I'm sorry."

I lay there. Trying to speak. Joey was someone I knew maybe, that had been close maybe. Maybe I was him, maybe. But this person was somebody close. He got up and began to look somewhere around me. Maybe he would try to help me if he looked hard enough. But something else. He stopped. His mouth was making new noises and then something came out, all over the floor, while he shaked. It was the color of his skin. He looked at me and pointed with a hand. A hand that quaked and quivered. I moaned. He shouted.

"You did this...you and those things out there!"

Getting away from whatever made him make the gurgles, he saw it finally. He looked down again and then back to me. I tried to speak out more and more, but he wasn't listening. The shiny thing was in his hands. He wanted it back. Maybe the others had tried to take it already, but they didn't need it. They had the help they needed already. He was coming over to me with it, reaching back into somewhere with the pointing hand. Wetness was pouring down his face. He pointed the shiny thing right towards me.

"Oh Joey...whatever the hell all this is...what your kind did...do one last thing..."

He stopped. Crying noises for a second. I breathed. The pain was ready to tear me apart. I kept reaching but never grabbing. He kicked me away one last time. A loud click from the shiny thing. No more crying noises. He looked at me.

"Say hi to her for me..."

Oh my God. DAD. PAIN BURSTING.

Loud bang. Everlasting pitch blackness. Light then dark, then light again. Brilliant shades of blues and greens tinting the endless white eternities. Then sounds of screams, cries and millions of pained ones. Lots of movement. Some of it close, most of it far, but then I saw who. I remembered now. I see her. She looks so different. We're embracing. No sounds but none are needed. We're together again. Maybe Dad can join us here soon too. No words, but all understanding. Beautiful, beautiful. Goldness awaits, or so she tells me. The ones around her say the same thing.

My name was Joseph Tully, formerly Joseph Tully, and this was, is and always shall be my story. The sky was dark the day I died, it was darker the day I came back. Now I'm here and the sky is bright once again. This may be paradise for all me and Mum know, and everybody else here like us, but one thing remains certain as we watch over the former world.

Hell is real, Hell is alive, and Hell walks the earth. The living dead are many and Satan's soldiers have done most of their work already. They find you, hunt you and then eat you alive. A new world order has come. The old ways have been wholly devoured by the abominations. Few remain in their nightmarish wake, so if you're still reading this, be aware of one thing and one thing only...

They are coming for you too.

Author's Note

What do you think of the dialogue?
Is the idea of the broken family cliche or underdeveloped?
Is the zombie theme brought up enough?