[Recovered from a journal in an abandoned house.]
It was Tuesday when the creatures from beyond invaded our world. No matter how much time passed and how many sunsets and sunrises we saw, it was always Tuesday from then on.
My mother was one of the first to be taken by the creatures from beyond, we believe. We aren't sure what happened to her. She took a spatula in hand. One moment, she was in our kitchen, and then next, she seemed to sink through the floor. I don't think it hurt her- as she fell through the linoleum, she made no sound, and I'm unsure if she knew it had happened until it had finished. She laid on the floor of our basement, twitching and jerking, for hours, unable to be touched or helped, until eventually she seemed to relax, and her body was lifted and thrown into the wall.
Date of death, Tuesday.
My uncle, who I held little love for, was next. He came to visit the next day, in preparation for the funeral for my mother, and was a stiff, unlikeable man, as he always was. His death, however, could garner pity from anybody. We still had not seen what had caused my mother's death; in fear that it would throw suspicion on us, we told people that my mother had simply collapsed in the kitchen, and by the time we got to her she was gone. My uncle took this news with all the grace he ever did and spent all of that Tuesday blaming us for her death, but was silenced when we told him in confidence the truth of her death, and his eyes widened.
He told us, in a hushed whisper, that he had seen such a thing happen just that day- or was it the day before? His wife had slid into the wall, and he could not find her on the other side, and so she had simply disappeared. As he told us this, a force seemed to over take him, and he stood up and walked, jerkily, to the wall. His last words before he met the same fate as my aunt were this- "I don't understand it. All she did was this, and she was gone-" My eyes seemed to play tricks on me. All he did was touch the wall, and yet something more happened. Rather than the slow sinking I had witnessed with my mother, he spasmed, and his body suddenly disappeared behind the wall of the basement.
Date of death, Tuesday.
My brothers were next, and their deaths were the most gruesome of the bunch.
As we all panicked, my eldest brother took my hand and tried to quiet my screams and sobs, because, as there was no evidence once again of what had happened, we would once again be under suspicion if people knew. My younger brother, though, sat on the ground to cry his heart out. It's unclear how long it was we spent in our basement, crying for the deaths of my mother and uncle and aunt- because though it felt like minutes, when we left the basement, it was dark, when we had entered at noon.
But I knew what would happen. It would be Tuesday tomorrow, and life would go on. I took my eldest brother's hand and led him to the door to show him the sky, which was empty of the moon and stars that should have signified a true night. As the two of us looked up at our slate grey sky, my brother whispered something to me that, try as I might, I can never forget.
"I think I see a star. Do you see it?"
When I turned to look at him, his head was turned up to the sky, too far up, and it kept turning, and when I blinked I saw for the first time the creature that must have been causing all of this. I was paralyzed from fear and could not run to tell my family of the creature that was holding my brother's neck and turning his head up farther and farther until I heard a sickening crack and my brother went limp and, almost as my uncle had, twitched in the creature's hands until he fell through the ground.
The creature did not turn to look at me as it slowly stood up, unfolding its horribly round legs and thin arms, and began to walk towards the house. I finally managed to move, and, standing up to run to the house and yell to warn my family of the approaching danger, noticed that the creature had seemingly disappeared again. And yet, my younger brother, who had snuck out to watch my older brother and I, began to turn his head up to the sky.
Date of death, Tuesday.
By Tuesday the fourth, my father and I were the only two left. We boarded ourselves up in the attic, desperate to prevent the unnatural creature I had seen from reaching us, but we knew it was futile. Inevitably, that hand with its digits would reach through the wall and take one of us in hand. I had remembered my eldest brother's death too many times by this time, and come to a conclusion. Whatever it was that had decimated our family with its incomprehensible geometries had not killed my brother out of malice; rather, it seemed like it was accidental. As I recalled the memory, I realized that I had never seen the hands of the creature turn to break my brothers' necks- all the hands had done were hold.
My father and I sat across the room from each other out of the fear that if either of us made contact we would be killed the same way our family had been. My father and I sat in the attic for two days, based on the bright and dark skies we saw through the window. We sat, without moving, without talking, for two days, until there was a crashing noise outside the room we hid in.
A crash against the boards we used to hide ourselves.
A crash, and the sharp glint of an axe burying itself into the wood.
My father, by this point, was catatonic, unable to react to this; I, however, saw it for what it was. The creatures from beyond did not use axes.
"I'm coming in to rescue you! Hang tight!"
With every stroke of the axe into our fortifications, I became more alive. A colorful, strange spray from the axe painted the wood in violet and black as the planks were destroyed. I began to stand on shaky legs for the first time in days, and rested a hand as gently as I could against the wall for fear that I might fall through.
Our savior, the stranger with the fire axe, broke into our attic room and took my hand. He felt solid, sturdy, and safe. He helped me through the door, and I turned back to my father to get his attention- surely he could see that it was safe to move, now.
The stranger with the axe shook his head. "I don't think he's coming. When was the last time you saw him breathe or blink?"
I looked long at my unmoving, unbreathing, unblinking father. He didn't so much as twitch a finger.
Date of death, Tuesday.
I write this from the house of the stranger with the fire axe. He did take me from my house to save me, but I fear there is something lurking within me, not my house. I dream of falling through the bed, or of drowning in the wall, or turning my head up. The days that pass are still Tuesdays, and the sky is still lacking its clouds and stars.
I touched the stranger with the fire axe with a light hand on the shoulder to thank him yesterday, but he didn't turn to look at me. His shoulder jerked forwards and into the wall, and the rest of him followed.
I'm writing this so that somebody will know that I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I fear that I'm infested with something. My family was destroyed by it, and now it lives within me, and I'll never be free of it or safe from it. I’m sorry for leaving this journal here, I don’t know who’s going to find it. I just needed to leave an intentional mark. Already I can see the walls of this house deteriorating, turning transparent the longer I look at them. I'll stay here, until I can't, and then I'll run. But I'll never try again to reach out, for the best of all of humanity. This infestation, this bug will live inside of me and me alone.