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(Concept of Steven and Cherie)

Steven Whitman

7pm, Friday, June 9th, 2023.

There were bright lights, glasses clinking together. Merry laughter amongst numerous tables, none more apparent than from the man and woman that sat at the heart of the restaurant. "Oh, you always seem to know what I'm thinking, Steven!" Cherie, a stunning woman with bushy red hair, swooned in her chair. She was admiring the red wine her date, Steven, had guessed was her favorite. "How do you do it?'

A hearty chuckle came from the silver haired man, tightening his tie. "You could call it something of a gift, my dear. Perhaps we just share that much of a connection," Steven responded, taking another fruity sip of his red wine.

They talked merrily about things they cherished. Days spent walking through Diaedem Harbour, hearing the sounds of waves crashing from the shoreline. Their eyes often looked toward the beach. The restaurant was atop the roof of the town's hotel, having stood there for the past two years. Compared to the rest of the buildings, it was the only one that looked brand new. Modern. Its existence made the town look like an ancient relic. Despite that, most of the people in Diaedem went about their business without a care in the world.

Conversations of strangers mulling endlessly around the room. For Steven, it was tiresome. His smile dullened. Shifting his gaze back to Cherie, he asked, "Cherie, what do you think of all this Undead nonsense? So much chatter about it appears to have blown up these days."

"It is a little strange how quickly it blew up," she admitted, taking a sip of her wine. "It must be because it's almost been a thousand years since the last we'd heard of the Diaedem legend happening. Part of its story is that it repeats at exactly that time."

Steven sighed. "Indeed. It appears we're growing close to the most recent century they're supposed to make an appearance... Just a load of hogwash if you ask me." He took a meaty last bite of his steak, wiping his mouth with the table cloth. "Let's go for a walk my dear. I grow tired of all this incessant flare."

Shortly after, they made their way to the elevator and took it down to the lobby. Cherie talked cheerfully to Steven about her favorite products of his (he owned a soap and bathhouse company) and her hopes for their future. He nodded and smiled at what she said as they passed the front doors. He was hardly listening. It had only been two years since he'd settled into the town of Diaedem Harbour. He'd known the moment he visited it a decade ago that he wanted to build an establishment here. It was a beautiful place to be sure, a town winding down a hill to a white sandy beach. He'd had his hotel built within the town because of how much he'd fallen in love with the view.

From the glorious lighthouse on the sands to the worn buildings throughout the hill. It was easy to tell what was recently renovated and buildings that had serious wear and tear. It would've made a good ghost town... If only the people in it didn't exist.

What he couldn't stand however was how obsessed everyone was with the superstition of the Undead. When he'd first heard of it, he'd thought they were talking about zombies or some other sort of flimflam. It was similar in the sense of the dead being resurrected, but that's where the similarities ended. It was the rising of those recently deceased within the summer of the one hundredth year, only they would walk amongst the living. Not a rotten corpse like in the movies, but completely normal and whole. Normal, until they randomly decided to slaughter whatever was around them, with no provocation or reasoning understood yet to the townsfolk.

The Diaedem Bloodbath was a historical event, one that supposedly repeated every couple of centuries, but chalked up, in Steven's point of view, to being nothing but cultists doing the ridiculous depravities they always did. Nothing that seemed remotely supernatural, let alone worth investigating. Every house on the block had a cross on it despite not every citizen being super religious. The chapel wasn't particularly full on Sundays or the rest of the week, for that matter. Sometimes, Steven wondered if moving to this town was a good idea, but it did bring in good profit.

To think the town had only been nothing but shambles of an ancient Native village back in 1920 was nothing short of incredible. Times past the World Wars, it was slowly more and more modernized, but most of the oldest buildings still remained. From the Roley Poley Motel to the Shawhill University and even the train station seemed like timeless relics. His hotel may as well have been from the future compared to the rest of Diaedem.

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"Tell me, Cherie. How long did you say you'd lived in this town?" Steven asked.

"My whole life. Little over twenty-three years, give or take."

"And you mentioned you have a sister that lives here as well?"

"Oh yes, Maria and my mother both stay here. Most residents here are long timers."

Steven frowned, turning his gaze to the crashing waves along the beach. "What about your father? Sorry to pry, but I just find myself a little curious."

"It's no trouble, Steven. As for my father... He passed away. Rather recently, in fact." Maria's eyes turned to the stars, swallowing back the desire to cry. Her hands balled into fists. They trembled. "He was going on the train to visit my grandparents when it... it..."

"Apologies. It wasn't my intention to dig up painful memories." He remembered it well. A few months prior, one of the trains departing Diaedem blew up in what was said to be a freak accident. Many ran through the smog, yelling and screaming as they tried to help those trapped inside the burning train. His fingers rubbed against themselves, the ghost of the grimy burnt teddy bear he'd picked up beside the tracks. It had been missing an eye, and one arm was nothing but stuffing.

Shaking off the memory, he pulls out a neckerchief from his pocket. Holding it out, Cherie takes it. "T-thank you." Drying her eyes with it, she tries to return it.

"Keep it. May it dry your tears yet again, should you ever need it again."

Cherie Mousie

11pm, Friday, June 9th, 2023

Cherie stared dejectedly at her own reflection as she ran a brush through her hair. She'd been dropped off a little over an hour ago. The date, for the most part, had been fun, sweet, but memories of her father turned everything bitter by the end. It was almost impossible to smile once that subject had been brought up. She didn't blame Steven for it. It wasn't as if he could've known. Her hair shimmered under the light, her eyes growing heavy.

The sharp breeze from the bedroom window tickled her. It sent ripples down her spine. She brushed her teeth, gargling and rinsing. The ticking of the clock in the room was the only thing other than herself filling the silent void. His words about the legend hung on her mind.

"I don't take much stock in superstition... That being said, there have been quite a few strange circumstances as of late," he'd said as he drove her home. "Do the Undead manipulate the town as well? Is it something only known about in Diaedem?"

She'd shaken her head, frowning. "I don't know much about it, to be honest. I'm surprised you want to know. I thought you hated talking about it, Steven?"

"I do... but you never know. Myth or no, perhaps there are others who would seek to take advantage of those rumors. Cause harm simply for the sake of getting away with whatever they may please."

It was never a thought that'd occurred to her before, but it made a pit in her stomach. "I hope you're wrong about that."

After finishing up in the bathroom, Cherie moved toward her bed. A sharper chill ran through the room. "Gosh, it's freezing!" She rubbed her arms and went to close the window. Her heart nearly jumped out of its chest when a small animal leaped onto the window sill. "Oh! Tinkle, you little devil! Where've you been?"

The fluffy white cat Tinkle meowed in greeting as she hopped onto the bed. She snapped the window shut, turning to hug her little fluff ball. Before long, the cat wriggled with complaint and jumped down. She walked out of the room faster than Cherie could follow. "I missed you too..." Cherie said sarcastically, chuckling to herself.

Ugh, it's still so cold... I didn't leave the A/C on again, did I? She went to go and check. It was off. The other rooms on the top floor all had their windows closed as well. She was half tempted to check the first floor but groaned at the idea. As much as she loved her home, walking around in the dark always made her anxious. Her eyes would wander along with her imagination. Even if she turned the hall light on, walking past the stairs to look at the dark living room made her think of all the scary movies she'd ever seen. She shook her head, turning out the light. I'm sure it'll just warm up as I sleep.

She let out a loud yawn. Cherie headed back to her room, pulling up her covers. A loud meow made her freeze. At first, she thought Tinkle was just being mischievous again. But then a loud crash came from the living room. It's most likely a vase or one of her potted plants. Oh, not again!

It wouldn't have been the first time the little menace had made a mess. A cheerful little jingle buzzed by her dresser. It was Steven. She pulled her little iPhone up and smiled to herself.

When you are angry, it's your gentle self

I love until that's who you are.

In any case, I can't love this anger anymore

than I can warm my heart with ice.

I go on loving your smile

till it finds its way back to your face.

Cherie giggled quietly and texted, 'Never took you for a poet, Mr. Whitman. I suppose even you can be a little cheesy now and again.'

'And here I thought cheese was your favorite part of every dish.'

'You know me so well... What are you up to?'

'Just finished rereading this book called 'The Unknown'. Fascinating stuff by a new author, Alex Winters. Have you heard of him?'

'You've surprised me again. The super intellectual Steven Whitman, a fantasy reader? I love this side of you... and I'd heard of it. Is it any good?'

'Any good? It's a masterpiece! You certainly would enjoy it, Ms. Mousie! I have an extra copy, if you'd like it.'

'Wait? Isn't that the name of the author moving to town soon? In a few weeks, I thought I'd seen an article recently about it. Some of the kids in college were talking about him too.'

'What?! That's immaculate news!'

'Do you think he might meet Alice Starr? What if they both wrote a novel on the Undead? Wouldn't that be great?'

There was a pause. At first, Cherie thought maybe Steven had gotten distracted or fallen asleep. 'I doubt Alex would ever be interested in such nonsense. Bad enough, it's all anyone is talking about, but even you are obsessed with it, Cherie?'

'I've always loved horror more than fantasy personally... You were so curious about it earlier. Does it really bother you that much?'

'It just seems so illogical. People rising from the dead... We've had hundreds of stories about zombies. What makes this one so special?'

Cherie had a thought and smirked. 'Are you just afraid it might be real?'

'Don't be ridiculous. Now you're just being foolish.'

'How is it any more random than demons and angels? The Unknown is full of things that don't exist, but you love that. I didn't think you were such a scaredy cat, Steven.'

Another pause. A much longer one this time. Cherie's eyes were practically on the verge of shutting when her phone blipped one last time. 'Good night to you.'

At first, she thought he was joking. Surely he couldn't be that upset over such a ridiculous topic? Once again, he had surprised her in the worst way. With an irritated sigh, she pulled up the covers and went to sleep.