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Night of the Living Dead; CHAPTER 1

"COUNTERFEIT LIFE"

"I got enough respite to keep on trying I got enough respite to keep from crying," Starsailor Please do not copy or translate my work.

⟢ Summary; Job done! That means a break right? Good thing there is that diner in town with tolerable coffee! Or not..

Ft. Immortal reader x various creepypasta characters

Warnings; mentions of blood, typical violence, mentions and descriptions of wounds. MINORS DNI

⟢ Words; 1.9k. ⟢ Note; Finally a first chapter! I hope you enjoy :). If you would like to be tagged please let me know in the comments! I wrote this almost in one setting yesterday I believe lol- I just needed to re-read it like 10 times. I should create a playlist for this fr fr..

You can find the prologue here

You can find chapter 2 here

My request box is open, besides that you are also welcome to ask or request something you would like!

Morning comes, and like a desperate lover you stretch and sigh in relief in its warm embrace. The faint scent of the dew mixed with the hint of metal fills your senses. Will it be a bad thing to say you waited for this? You are sitting in the kitchen, facing the window, shaky hands gently picking glass shards from your thigh. The bottle of alcohol standing on the table glints when light hits it. You try to be steady, it hurts like a bitch, your blood pearls from the already picked wounds. The price of falling on a glass table- you need to work on not getting overpowered so easily. They aren’t lethal, if you take care of them now, but nonetheless annoying. Especially since the trip back is an hour walk, if you run maybe you can get to the town faster.

You should be more careful, the words echo as you pull out the biggest piece and carefully set it onto a cloth. Right on top of the smaller ones you managed to pull out earlier. After that you bring the cotton soaked in alcohol. One, two, three. It burns, and you bite the urge to hiss, the sound dies somewhere along the larynx. The color changes, from white to a disgusting shade of yellow and brown. You place it with the shards, you can’t risk someone identifying you. It’s evidence after all. A faint ring of the digital clock pulls you away from the action, you need to squint to see the time. 5:30. “Fucking…” you grit your teeth then you sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat. One more hour before someone comes, more than enough to pack up and leave. You look at your leg again, blood lazily dripping from the gashes. The pain thumbs in the rhythm of your heart beat, but it’s so familiar. You dip your fingers below the ribbon on your neck. Touching the scar, a smooth silky line going from one side to another. Deep enough that you had to hold your head from falling off. You try not to get angry, you will have time for that later. Bandaging always comes easily, hands leaving your neck to grab a fresh gauze that won’t be needed in an hour or two. The body needs tending to, you can’t waste your time and die from sepsis. After a few months you can do that without even looking, muscle memory and all of that. The orange glow of the sun seeps into your skin as you work and for a bit you can pretend everything is normal. That you are “living a boring life” and the corpses in the room over just evaporated and cleaned up after themselves. They never do, what a shame.

Yet they don’t and you are forced to get up, pack the shards and head out through the back door. Trying your very best not to step into pools of blood. Another mission completed with success, you muse, can’t wait for another one. ๋࣭⭑

You like going to diners, not really for the food. Your taste buds have been dulled, not enough that you can’t taste but enough to make the action less enjoyable. You wonder if it was on purpose, but knowing her, it probably wasn’t. Still, after a job well done you deserve a caffeine break. Maybe you can add a bagel and ignore someone burning holes in the back of your head. It’s lively today, people coming in and going out. The chatter and music fills in the blanks, sometimes when you are nosy you like listening in while you wait. People have such interesting lives that are so ordinary it sends a pleasant chill down your spine. You are only slightly jealous. Normally you come by in the evening, after ordering something and eating you nap in the booths that are rarely checked by. Not because you don’t have a place to sleep in but the noise and lights keep you in stage one or two, if you are lucky maybe three. Typically it’s stage one. The lightest form of sleep; dreams never occur at this stage. Seeing the place in a new light is a nice change of pace you just hope you won’t regret it. “Hi could I get uhh coffee,” you smiled, “black, no sugar.” The waitress squinted, eyes scanning you up and down before a bright crooked smile lit up her features. Oh.. oh no. “Hi Dawn!” you almost shudder at the name, “Nice to see you again.” she happily chirps, one corner of her mouth, the other stays. Nerve damage. If you can recall correctly. Dawn, Alex, Max and many many others, when you change towns; a new you is born. A meticulously crafted persona that seems believable and real. If you even think about staying somewhere for a longer period of time this is what you need to think of first. You have been in this town for a good few months now, people start to recognise you. It usually means that you have to get going, but you didn’t get the green light yet. You swallow the bitter taste that clings to your tongue. “Hi Rose, thought I could come by…” “Do you want anything else?” She said before adding “I am dying of boredom, please cure me.” she sighs, hand flying to her forehead for dramatic effect. Maybe it was a mistake on your part to come to the same place more than five times, but they had such good coffee. It seemed to temporarily block the “numb tongue”. Plus it’s not like this shithole had any other diners. There was a cafe in the center but even with your limited ability to taste you can tell it’s shit.

Your hands rummage into the pathetic excuse of a wallet, trying to find more loose change. Your last victim was broke as fuck, not to mention stupid. Who spends actual money on bitcoin? “Ah…wont have enough I-“ you try to sound cool, but you stammer. Embarrassment clings to the back of your neck, it feels hot.

“I can pay, what would you like, hm?”

Scaring you usually was difficult, seeing what you saw, doing what you do. Yet when someone creeped up behind you, you swear you almost jumped out of your skin.

“I what?” You stared, almost in shock, a guy appearing almost out of nowhere.

Dark brown eyes meet yours and for some reason a chill runs down your spine. You glance at Rose who seems mesmerised by the stranger.

You couldn’t really blame her.

First face, dark hair, side burns framing the jaw nicely. Pretty brown eyes that almost looked black, swallowing you whole. You hope you are not blushing, from shock, of course. He was smiling, yet it never reached his eyes.

Trailing down, he was a muscular, flannel shirt that hugged his figure tightly begging to be ripped away. Faint scars and scruffs decorated his visible forearms. Involuntarily you look down.

“Goddamn.” You mutter before you can stop yourself.

With a bitter taste you come to a conclusion; if he were your victim, he would fold you like a piece of paper. He snickered, “Should take me to dinner first before you undress me with your eyes, sugar.”

That seemed to sober you up pretty quickly, “I am so sorry I-“ you turned to Rose, hoping that she would help you out of this predicament.

Yet she was gone, probably went to either gossip or get the coffee. Knowing her for as little as you did she probably went to talk someone's ear off.

“Little lady went when you stared at my arms.” He chuckled, light airy.

“A bad habit..” Analyse, attack, run away. You try to smile, hands gripping the strip of your backpack.

And once again, leave, thuds in the back of your head. A warning and a reminder she watches.

“Haven’t seen you here before, ya knew in town?” he asks,

Your throat went dry, and laying usually came so easy “Moved in a few months ago.. “

“Not many people move here,” he said, “Ya running from something dolly?”

“From my parents,” the words crawled their way up like glass, probably the same one you pulled out of your legs earlier today. “They aren’t good people.”

You look behind him, looking at the booth you assume he came from, only to be met with the bluest piercing eyes ever. You go back to looking at sideburns.

“Oh really?”

“Yep.” You glanced over, checking if Rose returned. You saw she was staring from the kitchen giving you thumbs up.

You wonder if there are punishments for killing a harmless civil but you feel like you are close to finding out.

Forget the coffee, this man smells like danger and cigs and you have a feeling you need to go. The hag is never wrong and you don’t have the energy to entertain a hot man and then get killed for it.

“Ah, I forgot I was supposed to..be somewhere." You smiled tightly, trying your best to look as natural as you can. Trying to ignore how stiff his smile has gotten.

“Is that so? We could give you a ride-“ he started,

“It’s fine!” You give him thumbs up before awkwardly shuffling away through the front door. Tightly gripping your bag. You only heard him snicker. You tried to hurry along, ignoring the stares from sideburns and his friend. You need to get home, nap maybe. Forget the coffee, you can get it somewhere else.

๋࣭⭑ “Mom?” You ask with a voice that doesn’t really belong to you.

Tiny hands press against the wood, a door, you assume. Locked.

“Mom, mom I’m hungry.” The stomach grumbles and twists in pain. It makes “your” eyes glossy.

“I-I’m sorry, I will be good.” You press your face to the door, trying to see if someone will respond. Yet no one did, your fingers trace the scars in the wood, paint scarped. You were hungry. Dreams are supposed to be stress management, they can also process information and data from the day. Your dreams are like a mailbox that only works one way.

It’s never as simple as “Go there and do this”, no, that would be too easy. The old lady specializes in making things unnecessarily difficult.

You open the letters with a knife and the message, that seeps out like blood, comes in the form of memories that are never yours. Usually they belong to the dead, though on rare occasions (which you can easily count on only one hand) they can belong to someone alive. The latter happens very rarely and can require a lot of your attention, you don’t want them to be accused of anything. It would bring unnecessary attention to you or them, you learned it the hard way.

The memories belong to people your target had hurt, one way or another. The idea of them(your target) being a fucking asshole helps swallow the bitter pill of what you will have to do next. The only useful thing you can take away from it is their face. It's blurry but when you are close you will be able to smell them anyway.

Like a hunting dog.

You don’t open your eyes, letting the message to melt beneath your skin. This is a hard one, no face, no location. You will need to go by instinct and probably use the power of the internet.

That comes later, this doesn’t feel urgent for now you try to rest.