𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕖𝕤, 𝕄𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕤.

Too Late

Mark dashed around his house, making sure everything was locked and barricading every door he could. Pushing his TV flat onto it's screen as a precaution, didn't want that weird fucker from his TV getting involved. He grabbed a handgun, having used his shotgun as part of the barricade, grabbed some supplies, and made a break for his room.

He left the door unblocked in case he needed to go downstairs for food or water or if he needed to go to the bathroom. He curled up on his bed, shaking and crying a bit. He really had lost his best friend, hadn't he? There was no one now to care if he was dead. Nobody would know. Nobody would care. If he died here, he died alone and that was it.

He clutched his one stuffed animal and an older picture of him and Cesar ever tighter as he thought about what would happen were he to die here. If that thing were to get to him, what would it do? It had replaced Cesar, would it do the same to him? Would it take his body and trick people with it? How did it kill Cesar? What had it done to him? The body still had to be in decent condition for it to work effectively as a disguise, so what had it done??

Mark curled further in on himself for a moment before standing up, heading over to the window in his room and staring out of it. It wasn't worth it to try and jump onto straight concrete. He doubted he'd get the chance anyway. He sighed and, carefully opening his bedroom door, walked downstairs, armed and ready. He looked around to see if anything was out of place, when nothing was he looked out of his windows for the thing, hoping it hadn't followed him.

To his knowledge, it hadn't. He couldn't see it and he wasn't freezing his ass off like he had been when he was at Cesar's house...Cesar... God Cesar really was dead, wasn't he? His best friend. The only person who cared about him. The only friend he had... was dead. Mark, for the first time in months, was really, truly alone. If he had just answered Cesar's calls this wouldn't have happened. But he had been too late, and now Cesar was nothing more than another casualty, another victim in the path of creatures that couldn't be stopped.

Cesar Torres was a dead man now, one that'd likely go unnamed for the rest of history. Just another nobody from a small Christian town in the middle of nowhere. Mark hated that fact, that he, should he die here, and Cesar were going to go unnamed. Unnoticed. They'd die with each being all the other had and that was that. It made Mark cry a bit, really. He'd always imagined that he'd die side by side with Cesar, buried together with "best friends" written on their tombstones. He knew Cesar had shared that hope, as he was the one who'd brought the idea to Mark's attention.

He sat, reminiscing about everything him and Cesar had done together. The long nights spent wide awake watching horror movies or playing games. The cold winter evenings spent indoors cuddled up close to eachother, the warm summer afternoons spent outside having water gun fights or relaxing in the shade together. Holidays spent at eachother's sides, wounds healed and patched with gentle care, play fights on the lawn...none of it would ever happen again.

Why had he been so stupid?! God, he fucking hated himself for this. Mark leaned his head against the window, the cold chill of the glass causing slight goosebumps to form on his skin. He sighed, breath fogging the cold glass. Wait. Cold? When had it gotten cold? It wasn't anywhere near the time of year when the winter chill would set in. Oh. Oh no. Mark made sure everything was locked before running up to his room, huddled on his bed and staring fearfully at his locked bedroom door. He hadn't managed to pull his shotgun from the barricade of the front door, but at the very least he had a small handgun on him.

From downstairs he heard glass shatter, his window had been busted in. He yelped at the loud sound, curling back into the corner of his bed and whimpering quietly. He pulled his journal out and began jotting a few things down. Mostly frantic ramblings about whether or not he should start praying, hope now that the religion he'd abandoned would save him. He curled up further when he heard it call for him from downstairs, speaking in a twisted mockery of Cesar's voice.

He didn't want to hear it speaking, he wanted it to shut up and leave him alone. Mark wanted that thing out of his house, but deep down, he knew it wouldn't leave until he was dead. Mark froze entirely as he heard it ascend the stairs to the small hallway that stood outside his room. He knew his door was locked, but the sharp, cold paranoia that came with the creature told him to get up and check it. Get closer to the door the thing was standing just beyond. Should he try and open it a little to be sure it was really locked? Maybe it wasn't there. Maybe he was safe and-

No. No no no no no. Mark shook his head, seeming to clear the static that had begun to well in the corners of his brain and fog up his thoughts. That was all it wanted him to think. It wanted him to leave so it could kill him. He wouldn't let that happen. Mark sat there and began to record the audio. The mocking tone and offputting voice of the monster. He'd sit in that room as long as he could to wait out this thing's unwelcomed stay. Keeping himself alive was the least he could do. It's what Cesar would have wanted.