Chapter 5: Arkham
by Elise LeBlanc
Where Zombies Come a’ Calling
By Elise LeBlanc
Zombies. Shambling monsters back from the grave, undead and wanting to cull their unending hunger on the flesh of the living. Cut their teeth on our bones, dine on our brains and wash in our blood. Horrible monsters civilized society should, in every right, fear. Friends, we must prepare for the possibility of one day finding ourselves standing face to face to these menaces. I encountered them, firsthand, in the once sleepy little burg of Dunwich, just ten miles south of the Connecticut border. Once this town must have been a nice place to live in, charming even, with a quaint haberdashery and a small town feel. One could even see traveling the countryside and stopping for a spot of tea and a picnic lunch in its once lovely fields.
But no more. A urge with you, plead with you: if you value your lives, never set foot in the town of Dunwich. The town is now destroyed, a mere shell of what clearly once was. The Dunwich Haberdashery littered with sharp rocks and broken glass. Locals from nearby towns shun the place, citing the cries and wails overheard at night emanating from this dreadful place. Even our brave driver would go no further than the bridge, his horse, clearly, sensing something overtly supernatural and evil oozing from its very core. My affiliates and I were forced to traverse these rocky unkempt roads alone and without guard. We found this to be a grave error. As darkness wrapped its dark fingers across the sky at twilight, they came upon us. At first they seemed typical country bumpkins, (perhaps their ancestry a bit too entwined together than civilized society is quite comfortable with) we became all too quickly aware that this was, while probably the truth, not the only thing wrong. At first we saw what we believed to be two local men, walking in a jerky fashion, as if two legged mobility was far too complicated for their skinny and barely covered limbs were prepared to do. They came at us, shouting in gibberish and flailing their arms about them in a much unnatural way. They knocked down my ally, and began, most horrifically and beyond any logic, biting at the dear fellow. This could not be the work of any sane human being. These creatures may once have been men, but they clearly were not now, turned by some unnatural and ungodly way into monsters, wearing the clothes of men.
Luckily my compatriot was able to escape and sustained no unnatural wounds from this attack, though they had been able to break the skin, none of the monstrous traits have been passed down to him. Perhaps it is this fact, that whatever disease, if it be of man or the devil, a bite does not pass on the curse. The only ones affected appear to be the townsfolk, perhaps more susceptible due to their interconnected genealogy. We broke to a run to a house, were we locked the doors. Luckily, there appeared to be no more of these monsters outside, and when we ventured about again, once the coast was indeed clear, we were again, proved wrong and foolish. A mere bit up the road amassed a horde of these monsters, coming for us at their peculiar gait. We ran back again to the perceived safety of the cabin, only to soon find it clearly no stop to these monsters, who clambered at the doors and windows and somehow managed to climb up to the roof, and were clearly about to engaged us by slipping down the chimney, of all things!
So, it is with deep regret that I write this, but one of my fellows, brave unto the last, saw to it to sacrifice himself and hold the door steady as the rest of us made our escape out the back door, running until we could cross the bridge and leave that hated and cursed place. I do hope that his end was quick and painless, and that he himself is not now wandering the backwoods and grimy buildings in what remains of Dunwich, Connecticut. Be warned, constant readers, these things exist, and they might one day come after you.