Part 1
Your choices shape the path.
Your aim is to lead your character to a situation where the potential of survival will be higher than elsewhere. In the world of The Darkening, it’s all about choices. In the case of this short interactive story, which takes place at the same time the apocalypse began, your character will know nothing about what to avoid. This means that a lot of the choices you will make will lead to your character’s death. If you haven’t read The Darkening yet, or if you don’t know what it’s about and what caused the apocalypse, you are in the same boat as the character. This is not a story about winning or losing, or reaching some kind of an end. There is no resolution to this story. Instead, it’s about navigating through a hostile world, where simple choices though reasonable, may very well cause your character’s demise. Add to the above the behaviour of other survivors towards your character, and your chances of survival become quite unpredictable. So, your goal is to guide your character into a situation where the chances of survival are higher than the previous state. You need to help your character survive a little longer.
Having said that, allow me to repeat one thing: there is no end to this story. There is no resolution.
It’s ten o’clock at night, and I’m so tired that my feet feel as if they’re encased in cement. Job hunting is awful. Actually, what’s awful about job hunting is getting rejected every single time. At least I’m home and I can finally get some rest.
My place may look like a meth head’s dump, but it’s all I have and it’s where I’ll rest my weary bones tonight.
As I enter my dilapidated palace, the two envelopes lying on the floor draw my attention. Damn it. I have a feeling what one of them is about. Just what I need to end a shitty day. When I flip the light switch, I marvel at how much I’m going to miss the mundane and ordinary things like electricity.
The envelope’s big red letters glare at me: final notice. The words inside are meaningless. Blah, blah, blah, foreclosure, blah, blah. I crumple it and toss it to the pile of unpaid bills. The second envelope has the logo of the company I applied for a job three weeks ago. Maybe … just maybe my luck has changed.
Blah, blah, blah, we regret …
Yeah, whatever. Now what? Homeless? Where was that burger place again? They were hiring. Better flip burgers than have rats the size of my foot nibbling on my nose and ears out in the streets.
It’s not like I’m useless—no matter what my old man has been saying, I’ve held better paying jobs than he ever did. But for the past year or so, I can’t seem to get a break. It’s one bad thing happening after the other. First the accident, then my boss went to jail for embezzlement, then the company went bankrupt. Since then, even my friends have abandoned me. If I were a conspiracy theorist, I’d say the world is out to get me. If it is, it’s doing a hell of a job.
The lights flicker and sputter for several seconds. The light bulbs in the kitchen and the living room explode. I’m pretty sure I heard the one in the basement blow up too.
Oh, for crying out loud. They weren’t supposed to cut the power for another week. What kind of company cuts the power in the middle of the night? Sadists, the lot of them. Then again, cutting the power doesn’t make light bulbs explode.
I carefully make my way to one of the windows in the living room and peer outside. Apparently, the whole neighbourhood has lost power. At least it’s not just me. I draw the curtains and am ready to hit the pillow, when my peripheral vision catches light flickering and flashing from outside.
Growls.
Bestial roars.
Screams from neighbours’ homes.
My heart misses a beat. What the …?
The floor and the walls vibrate with a rumble that seems to be coming from the deepest pits of the Earth. For a moment it sounds as if a hundred, a thousand, a million roars howl in unison.
And the screams. Everyone screams at the same time; men, women, and children.
A howl pierces my ears. Shit! It’s right outside my home!
Before the howl ends, a car crashes into something. A pained cry matches the growl. I cover my head and duck, and dare a peek behind me. I’m mortified of what I will see. My heart pounds the inside of my chest.
Nothing. There’s no one. I am alone.
The chorus of monstrous grunts subsides, but it is not over. Every now and then, sporadic screams and howls erupt. One comes from the Jeffersons’ house across the street, another from Mrs Page’s place right next door. After what feels like an eternity, the growls become less frequent. I can still hear them, but not as often and not as nearby.
What’s happening? What’s going on out there?
I tiptoe to my front door. My fingers are shaking as I’m about to step outside. What if there’s someone out there waiting? I try to swallow without gulping in case they hear me. I can’t stay here forever. I’ll take down whoever is out there. Or whatever. I always keep a baseball bat near the door in case someone tries something funny. Whatever’s out there, I’ll smash its head. My heart takes on a rapid beat in my chest. Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud.
I storm outside, screaming and swinging the bat.
There’s no one.
Another growl, another scream from a block away. The skin on the nape of my neck tightens. I’m panting like a steam locomotive.
The rear tail light of a car sheds a hazy crimson glow through my picket fence. Curiosity beckons me. I set one foot after the other, despite the little voice in my head telling me to run and hide. My fingers flex around the bat’s handle. One step at a time.
I peek over the fence. A police car has crashed into a street light. The car’s lightbar is switched off, but its headlights are on. The driver’s door is open, but what hangs from there cannot be the driver. I clamp my mouth and press my fist on it to prevent myself from throwing up.
There’s a severed arm lying on the sidewalk and what appears to be a leg. But the rest of the body is torn to pieces, the torso cracked open.
What is going on? Animal attack? A bear? No, it can’t be. There are no bears here. Slowly, I back off.
An ear-piercing howl comes from the Jeffersons’ house, and then a squeal. I freeze. It must be Hailey, their oldest daughter. She cries out in pain again. I barely catch a glimpse of a dark shape near the window.
“Hailey?” My voice comes out thin and broken.
Her scream dies out.
“Hailey?” I repeat. “Talk to me.” I want to go to her, to help her, but instead I take a step back.
Running footsteps thud towards me. Less than a second later, a man speeds by. “It’s the end of the world,” he yells. “Hell is here.” He stumbles on the dead cop, regains his balance, and runs past the smashed car. “Demons! Dem—”
Something dark appears behind him. The baseball bat slips my grip. The dark shape grows steadily until it towers over the man. Its growl drowns the rest of his words. The man lets out an ear splitting scream that lasts a couple of seconds before it dies out abruptly. Something warm runs down the inside of my thighs. From where the dark shape appeared, only grunting and crunching noises come.
I bolt back to the house and lock the door. I need a weapon. On my way to the kitchen, I stumble on a chair and the table. The drawers. I need something to defend myself with. Anything. Oh, God! I’m going to die. I’m going to die! It’s coming for me. My hand brushes over a kitchen knife.
The basement. I have to get to the basement.
When I reach it, I close the door behind me, climb down, and crawl to a corner next to the staircase. If it follows me down here, I’ll attack it from behind. As long as it doesn’t see me, I’ll surprise it. I weigh the knife in my hand. Maybe kill it. The blade has got to be at least seven inches long. “You’re not getting me that easy.” No way. Stinging sweat enters my eyes, but I blink it away.
Whatever is happening out there, it will pass. I just have to survive long enough for the national guard or the army to deal with it. They can deal with everything. I nod to myself. I have to survive until then.
I wake up with a stiff neck and a feeling of needles all over my right arm. I must have dozed off at some point. I move to the bottom of the stairs looking up at the exit. There are no sounds, no growls, no screams. Nothing. Is it over? Has the army come?
I need to know. There’s a bar of light under the door. I push the light button on my watch. It’s half past nine in the morning. My stomach grumbles. I haven’t eaten or drunk anything since yesterday. Not to mention I haven’t showered or used the bathroom either.
I flip the light switch. No power. I climb the stairs carefully and put my hand on the door handle.
A shiver crawls up along my spine. What if it’s not safe? What if someone’s waiting? I can always come out at night. It will be harder to be spotted. But I’m hungry and thirsty. I smell bad and I need to use the bathroom.
CHOOSE YOUR DESTINY, SURVIVOR. Do you go out to see what has happened, find help, and get something to eat and drink, or do you stay in the dark basement, hungry and thirsty, waiting for night to crawl out of your hole? One answer leads to your character’s death. The other prolongs your torment. Choose wisely.
Copyright © 2018 Chris Sarantopoulos.
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