HAUNTING GHOSTS, joel miller

INTRODUCTION

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Once upon a time, and Sam Maddocks was sure that the world had been good...well, no, not good, that didn't seem like that was the right word at all really, but perhaps it had just been better. Maybe it had been better than the pile of shit that was left in its shadow, a wasteland of cancerous hopes and cruel dreams that haunted what was left of humanity, that haunted her, that clawed at her in the quiet of the night when the screams and howls of something inhuman, of something that once was, reigned around the thick walls caging her in like a lullaby drifting in the wind begging to be heard, to be seen, to be let in.

She had been young when it came, when it evolved, when it spread, when the skies erupted in burning flames that painted it all red, red, red. She remembered it all too well, when the ground seemed to tremble, when the world seemed to crumble around her, when all that was light seemed to be snuffed out in the black abyss and a bloody symphony of death rose from the ashes...she had been nothing more than a kid when her life was ripped at the seams when the sickness had been discovered...when it was already far too late.

Because, just as sickness does best, that bastard rot that had started as a mere infection had spread everywhere and anywhere, consuming and devouring everything in its wake until all that was left to survive upon the weary earth was bitter memories overshadowed by mourning, by the twisting vines of festering disease filling the air with its suffocation, with its dreadful desire to not be left alone in the dark, and so having no choice but to take and take and take...until there was absolutely nothing fucking left in the forgotten remnants of life except ruination and damnation.

And so now, all Sam was, and all she would-no, no, all she could ever be, for the curse of survival, was bloodied knuckles drenched ever more in red sin, her bruised shoulders holding up the weight of the world like burdened atlas against the skies so someone else wouldn't have to. Forcing herself into the ring, to the trenches, to the dirt and to her knees, letting what was left of the earth take piece after piece from her mortal corpse until she no longer recognised the monster staring back at her in the broken fragments of her reflection, all sharp edges and sharp teeth and grief disguised in rage...all for a promise that she'd kept that never should of fallen upon her willing ear.

In what was left of the earth, it was just her and her little pest, her darling Ellie who was almost as feral as the world outside and could be just as cruel with her barbed tongue, bared and bloody teeth matching her own, weaning violence from violence and considering harm merely a comfort in the dark damnation of what was left of salvation.

So, what happens when her only chance at sanity crumbles at her weary feet? When the kid she had practically raised, who she had suffered and lived for most desperately, disappeared into the abyss of rot and came back decaying from the inside out, ruined with no absolution and full of grief, falling into her Sammy's cursed arms and begging God to kill her, only to have him shove more torment down her throat because he knew no better...and then what happens if that girl was stolen from her by those that swore they were the light when the young woman, the fighter, the survivor, the hound had long since believed they were anything but.

The answer is simple really, it's a tale as old as time, it's written in the stars, in the myths and stories that had survived the devastation of earth, it's so predictable it's almost painful. What happens when a woman who has absolutely nothing but somehow still stands to lose everything?...All hell breaks fucking loose.

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"I'VE HEARD IT SAID THAT LOVE TURNS PEOPLE SOFT, BUT I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE BRUTAL."

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Dedications

-dehishouse -hanlonss fireestar stillobsessed000 ichorborn Are we shocked?? I mean really, are we suprised in the slightest that I would make another Pedro Pascal fic. I don't want to hear NOTHING! NOTHING-