Read Online Dead Eyes: A Tale From The Zombie Plague by James Dwyer - Free Book Online
Authors: James Dwyer
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More evidence the house belonged to an elderly person. I left the bathroom and moved onto the other rooms. There were three more on this level.
The first was once a bedroom, now filled with boxes from top to bottom. The only sign of mess in the house. Each box was filled with either photographs or old papers. Nothing of interest to me in my current situation, but clearly of some sentimental value to the owner. A room full of memories stored away. Perhaps lost forever.
The next room was a single bedroom. It looked to me like the room a carer could stay in. Single bed, single wardrobe, almost like a hotel room in its simplicity. For overnight visits, not any longer.
The final room’s door was closed. A note had been attached to the door. I tried to read what was written, my poor eyesight and even poorer torch making it impossible. I opened the door and stepped cautiously inside. Immediately the hairs on the back of my neck pricked up, instincts inside my head saying, “Bad idea. Get out!”
The room was like a hospital cubicle, an array of various monitors and machines standing dormant beside a large double bed. In the centre of the bed, what was once an old woman lay decomposing. I could still make out the woman’s features, the desiccated corpse just about recognisable as human. Whoever the woman was, she had not turned. She had died human and remained that way.
Behind the bed, a wooden bedstead was covered in thin scratches. I stepped forward to take a closer look and almost tripped over a wheelchair that was behind the door.
In the chair sat a portable radio. I quickly opened the casing at the back and removed the batteries. A perfect fit for my torch. I switched them over and the spotlight burst into life, back to its former glory.
The brighter light did the dead woman no favours. Her peaceful slumber was not how it had first appeared. The scratches on the bedstead were not random. The words “Help me” had been crudely written again and again. I walked back to the door and took the note, holding it up in the light. It was as I thought. The old woman had been abandoned.
“To whoever finds Aunt Dottie, we are sorry. We couldn’t look after her anymore. Not with how things are. I hope you found her in time and have it in your heart to help her. We just couldn’t cope any longer.”
I looked over at the old woman in her bed, left to die and rot all alone.
Survival of the fittest.
I tore the note up and threw it to the floor. I would not absolve her family of their sins. I exited the room and closed the door.
“Rest in peace Dottie,” I said.
It felt like the right thing to say, even though it was far too late.
I went back downstairs and closed the front door, bolting it shut. Then I double checked the French windows at the back were shut, and that the back door in the kitchen was also locked. Safely secured for the night.
The storm was growing stronger outside. The noise of rain pelting against the glass reminded me how cold I was. My body had become so numb, I had almost forgot. I moved quickly to the living room and the fireplace. Thankfully it was gas, not electric, and I was quickly able to light the fire. I removed my wet clothes and hung them at the edges of the fireguard. Feeling strangely comfortable, I sat naked before the flames, allowing my whole body to warm and dry before dressing again.
How could Dottie’s family have abandoned her? It couldn’t just have been about what was best for them, it was too callous. No one was forced to flee here. It was almost as if they used the undead as an excuse to turn tail and flee. Forgoing their responsibilities and leaving the vulnerable person to die.
Survival of the fittest.
My grandfather’s words circled around at the edge of my thoughts, making their presence known. Once again I was angry with myself for thinking like this. Was it always so black and white? The decision this easy to make? No room for sentiment or emotion. Just cold logic
The first was once a bedroom, now filled with boxes from top to bottom. The only sign of mess in the house. Each box was filled with either photographs or old papers. Nothing of interest to me in my current situation, but clearly of some sentimental value to the owner. A room full of memories stored away. Perhaps lost forever.
The next room was a single bedroom. It looked to me like the room a carer could stay in. Single bed, single wardrobe, almost like a hotel room in its simplicity. For overnight visits, not any longer.
The final room’s door was closed. A note had been attached to the door. I tried to read what was written, my poor eyesight and even poorer torch making it impossible. I opened the door and stepped cautiously inside. Immediately the hairs on the back of my neck pricked up, instincts inside my head saying, “Bad idea. Get out!”
The room was like a hospital cubicle, an array of various monitors and machines standing dormant beside a large double bed. In the centre of the bed, what was once an old woman lay decomposing. I could still make out the woman’s features, the desiccated corpse just about recognisable as human. Whoever the woman was, she had not turned. She had died human and remained that way.
Behind the bed, a wooden bedstead was covered in thin scratches. I stepped forward to take a closer look and almost tripped over a wheelchair that was behind the door.
In the chair sat a portable radio. I quickly opened the casing at the back and removed the batteries. A perfect fit for my torch. I switched them over and the spotlight burst into life, back to its former glory.
The brighter light did the dead woman no favours. Her peaceful slumber was not how it had first appeared. The scratches on the bedstead were not random. The words “Help me” had been crudely written again and again. I walked back to the door and took the note, holding it up in the light. It was as I thought. The old woman had been abandoned.
“To whoever finds Aunt Dottie, we are sorry. We couldn’t look after her anymore. Not with how things are. I hope you found her in time and have it in your heart to help her. We just couldn’t cope any longer.”
I looked over at the old woman in her bed, left to die and rot all alone.
Survival of the fittest.
I tore the note up and threw it to the floor. I would not absolve her family of their sins. I exited the room and closed the door.
“Rest in peace Dottie,” I said.
It felt like the right thing to say, even though it was far too late.
I went back downstairs and closed the front door, bolting it shut. Then I double checked the French windows at the back were shut, and that the back door in the kitchen was also locked. Safely secured for the night.
The storm was growing stronger outside. The noise of rain pelting against the glass reminded me how cold I was. My body had become so numb, I had almost forgot. I moved quickly to the living room and the fireplace. Thankfully it was gas, not electric, and I was quickly able to light the fire. I removed my wet clothes and hung them at the edges of the fireguard. Feeling strangely comfortable, I sat naked before the flames, allowing my whole body to warm and dry before dressing again.
How could Dottie’s family have abandoned her? It couldn’t just have been about what was best for them, it was too callous. No one was forced to flee here. It was almost as if they used the undead as an excuse to turn tail and flee. Forgoing their responsibilities and leaving the vulnerable person to die.
Survival of the fittest.
My grandfather’s words circled around at the edge of my thoughts, making their presence known. Once again I was angry with myself for thinking like this. Was it always so black and white? The decision this easy to make? No room for sentiment or emotion. Just cold logic
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