Have fun.

Have fun.

How could I possibly enjoy myself while hauling propane canisters, bundled up so tightly I might as well have been the Michelin Man? But there was no other way—I needed every layer. Sweatpants under jeans, two sweaters, and a leather jacket so stiff it felt like armor. Gloves duct-taped at the sleeves kept my hands safe, and a motorcycle helmet completed the ensemble, fogging with each strained breath

Was I hot? Yes.

But was I protected from bites? Also yes.

I never really understood why in zombie movies the characters didn’t just wear a bit more clothes. Like, have you ever tried to bite through a leather jacket? Impossible. I tried, as a test of course.

I was not the only one dressed ridiculously though, my brother also made a great impression of a sumo wrestler.

“You think three is enough and we’ll leave the rest of the canisters for others? Just in case.”

He answered without looking away from the road.

“Yeah”

A man of many words.

But anyway. Now that the canisters were loaded into the car, it was time to move on to our next stop. Sliding into the passenger seat I reached for the charger in the cigarette lighter and plugged it back in my phone. As the engine rumbled to life, the radio turned on with a crackle.

“…and again, curfew remains in effect. Authorities advise against any unprotected travel, especially through the east side of Belford due to recent ‘high activity’…” The voice pauses. “If you are listening to this broadcast, we encourage community spirit and preservation of resources. Please remember, avoid encounters, stay silent, and ration supplies…”

High activity my ass. They’re a bit late with the announcement. Last couple of days the streets were filled with zombies, couldn’t get anywhere with the car, had to turn back home. Now suddenly this is the first day in a while that the streets are so empty.

We keep on driving, the windows were rolled down, but there wasn’t a single sound from the outside—just an unnatural silence that seemed to lean in closer the further we went. The streetlamps, long dead, loomed like watchful figures under the overcast sky. A shambling corpse or two could be spotted on side streets.

“Citizens are also reminded to steer clear of wooded areas—new sightings of wolf-like creatures with…distinctly human eyes have been confirmed. Lastly, any encounters with doors that weren’t there before—especially those appearing in walls of familiar buildings—should be avoided at all costs.”

The announcements done, next up was Lady Gaga’s Edge of Glory, and to this amazing piece of pop music we rolled up to the local ShopSmart store with, thankfully, not a zombie in sight. I wonder if they are migratory? Is that the right word? Some days there are loads of them, and some, like today, we barely see any while driving through.

I glanced over at my brother, who looked about as thrilled as I did. He adjusted his helmet and muttered, “I’ll go in this time, you get the rope.”

Doing exactly so, I followed him out of the relic of a car. Hey, it might be old with the radio being the most advanced electronic inside of it, but it has never failed us.

Marcus got done tying one end of the rope around his waist as I held the rest of the bundle in my hands.

The doors whirred open as if they’d been waiting for us. How this shop still had electricity will remain a mystery.

A blast of stale, almost clinical air hit my face. Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed ominously, lighting up towering shelves that stretched further back than they should have. It was a layout I didn’t remember; I used to be able to walk right to the milk aisle with my eyes closed, but now the aisles twisted away into shadows.

“Good luck brother, remember, 10 minutes maximum and stick to the closest shelves.”

After a quick salute which I returned, he went inside, the coil of rope steadily shortening in my hands with every step Marcus took deeper within. Eventually I lost sight of him around one of the corners of the aisles.

This supermarket is just one of the many paranormal instances which have appeared in the world since a month ago, which is when everything got turned upside down. Suddenly without any warning at all various fairy tales, horror stories, supernatural beings, turned into a reality we now had to live with.

What we had here was no ordinary supermarket, but a devious maze which would entrap any poor soul who wandered too far inside. Many got lucky, deciding not to go too far in after seeing the eerie and wholly new layout, after hearing wailing and faint scuffling noises in the distance. Who in their right mind would ever try to explore it after seeing aisles stretch out to the horizon? One unfortunate guy did.

About a dozen days ago when the internet and electricity still worked—I read in the neighbourhoods group chat that someone managed to find the exit only after a week of wandering inside. Thankfully he had plenty of food and water since the shelves somehow were always fully stocked, but he spent a good hour talking about shadows still shopping around without a single person to cast them and undead shambling after him. Feeling this aura around the store, I’m inclined to believe him.

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What do I mean by aura? It’s hard to describe. It’s not just a color or a shimmer, though there is something faintly like that—the way heat rises off asphalt in summer, distorting the air. The colors are wrong, too, shifting between shades that don’t have names, hues I can barely look at without feeling dizzy.

My phone vibrates, the ten minutes are up.

I tug the rope twice since he is still inside, and after a short but anxious moment I receive the three tugs back in confirmation. Less than a minute later I see him coming out, a full bag in each hand.

He stumbled a bit as he emerged, blinking like he’d just walked out of a dark theater into the blinding light of day. “Got the goods,” he said, grinning, but it was thin. Even with his eyes half-hidden under the motorcycle helmet visor, I could tell he’d seen something back there he didn’t like.

“Lets get out of here then, time to go home”

He gave a curt nod and tossed the bags into the backseat, and we both slid into the car.

As I turned the key, the engine sputtered a couple of times, hesitating as if it, too, could feel the oppressive weight of whatever lurked in that store. For a second, I thought we might be stuck here, but then it roared to life, and I wasted no time slamming the gas.

A minute later, Marcus finally spoke. “There was an entire section for toys.”

“And?”

He shook his head, staring out the window like he was trying to shake off the image. “Not regular toys. Like, I saw these dolls just staring down from the top shelves. Their eyes followed me, man. And I swear one of them whispered something, but when I turned to look, it was gone.”

“Shit. Think the store’s somehow getting worse?”

“Not sure, hard to tell at this point. Where else will we get food though? Gotta loot the store as often as possible and save what we can for winter. Winter is coming.” He said with a chuckle. And honestly, the reference got me to smile too.

Winter was coming—that much was certain—and with it, who knew what horrors the cold would draw from the depths of this warped new world.

We hit the main road, listening to whatever song was playing on the radio as I watched the fading light bounce off the cracked asphalt. It used to be comforting—driving home from some errand, maybe stopping to grab a coffee and snacks on the way, passing a few other cars. Now it felt like we were driving across the back of some sleeping beast, just hoping it wouldn’t wake up.

“Attention, citizens of Willowbrook and the surrounding area,” a gruff, no-nonsense voice announced. “This is the National Guard. A temporary supply depot will be established at St. Michael’s Church in two days, this thursday. Basic necessities, including food, water, fuel, and medical supplies, will be available. For everyone’s safety, please follow all military orders and regulations.”

The announcement came to a close, leaving a tense silence hanging in the car. Up until the previously playing song resumed, the contrast would have normally brought me to laughter, but my mind stuck on the announcement.

“Think there are any chances of it turning into a permanent outpost? Something like that would be great, a sign that the government is actually doing something about all this I mean.”

I didn’t have a good answer, and I felt a pang of fear at the thought. I wanted to tell him it was just the first step of a plan the military has, that someone would fix this, that governments around the world must be scrambling for solutions. But deep down, I wasn’t so sure. In a month, everything had changed, and the things we used to think of as mere stories—ghosts, monsters, eldritch horrors—were now lurking in places like our local supermarket.

“Maybe it will, maybe it will,” I said, trying to sound confident. “I mean, people can adapt to anything, right? We’ll find a way to deal with this.” But even as I said it, I felt the hollowness in my own words. What would adapting even mean in a world like this? Would we just keep going back to that haunted store, keep risking our lives for scraps, pretending it was normal?

Dangit, driving through town and seeing how deserted the place is always puts me in a melancholic slump. Happy thoughts, Henry, happy thoughts.

“I feel like every time we go back in there, something… notices us more, the shop, I mean. Like it’s waiting for us to mess up so it can keep us.”

Well, there go the happy thoughts, straight out the window.

The idea hit me like a punch to the gut. It felt uncomfortably true. Every time we went back, it was like the place was learning us, like it was growing more familiar with us and drawing us in, piece by piece. But it wasn’t just the supermarket. The whole world felt like that lately—watchful, patient, ready to swallow anyone who lingered too long in the wrong place. And each time I thought about it, a creeping dread slid down my spine. The feeling must be even worse for Marcus since he was the one going in the shop the last couple of times.

“Try not to dwell on it and take a little break. I’ll go in next time, yeah? You’ve just been in there a bit too long, it’ll pass,” In the corner of my vision I see him nod with more confidence. The nod is probably more for himself than for me.

The sun was getting uncomfortably close to the horizon, only half an hour or so before sunset.

I glanced in the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see something—anything—following us. We’d heard stories of creatures that only came out after dark. People called them all sorts of things: night walkers, shades, shadows that didn’t need light. Whatever they were, they’d claimed at least three people in our neighborhood alone. And yet, here we were, driving home as if the world was still safe, as if there wasn’t something waiting for us just out of sight.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, pressing my foot a little harder on the gas. I wanted to get home, to barricade ourselves in and feel some semblance of safety, however flimsy.

As we left the twisted remnants of town behind, the road narrowed, becoming more like a pathway burrowing through the heart of the forest. Dense trees crowded in on both sides, their skeletal branches stretching overhead to form a canopy that blocked out much of the fading light. Marcus stared out the window in silence, his face a tense mask of worry.

“Almost there,” I murmured “Just a minute or two or three and we’ll be home.”

Finally, I saw the crooked mailbox and the line of overgrown bushes marking our driveway. I turned in, and our house appeared at the end of the gravel path, squat and dark against the last light of day. At the moment, it felt like a fortress.

As we pulled into the driveway of our home in this forest, I saw our dad hunched over in the garden digging up onions out of the soil of our modest garden. What was he still doing out here? Digging onions of course, but I mean why wasn’t he inside already? It was getting late.

Dad straightened up when he heard the car, giving a small wave with dirt-caked fingers. In just a moment we got out of the car and walked up to him, the bags in hand.

“Why are you still outside? It’s almost sundown.” Marcus asked.

“I couldn’t just stay cooped up inside while you’re both still out there, you know I worry about you.”

“Any trouble today?” I inquired, taking a look at the nice harvest he made today, onions and carrots, a good amount of them too.

“Nothing today, nothing to worry about, Bryndrel spent most of the day keeping me company, kept watch up until about an hour ago.”

Just for your information, Bryndrel is the local forest dryad.

Anyway, It was about time the three of us head inside.