Two Dead Boys, a short strange tale

Posted: September 2, 2012 by Simone Young in Horror Stories and Novels, Late Night Work, Short Stories, Zombies
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Hi Readers,

Finally it’s done, completely done.

Please enjoy and let me know if you spot any errors I will be happy to change them.

Two Dead Boys

Preface

My name is Darryl and I am writing this account of the last few months while my memory is still fresh. I believe it happened despite everyone saying otherwise. I know it happened. I have the scar and death certificate to prove it.

You may think this a little fantastical and downright unbelievable but it is a one hundred per cent true.

I know.

I lived through it.

My doctors tell me it is my way of dealing with what happened, what they say happened, a nuclear station meltdown, but it is not. I escaped before the explosion. I had to. I had to tell others what happened but they think I am mad.

I will keep this detailed account safe and add to the paperwork I have and one day I will prove that I am in fact a walking dead man.

It is true. I have the proof.


Chapter One: The first weird thing

It all began during my senior year. We were two weeks in and everyone was already stressing about prom, graduation and exams.

Josh and I were raised together and always lived next door to each other. We were more like brothers than friends. We went to school together and our school was two towns over from the little collection of houses where we lived.

We lived on a small cluster of houses surrounded by farmland. Farmland our fathers worked on. Between the two families the houses held nearly twenty people including ailing relatives, parents, children, grandchildren and farm hands.

That day, the Tuesday, was the first day something strange happened.

On the farm there was an old storm/bomb shelter and the walls were nearly nine inch think for protection. This is, word for word, what my dad told us when we got home school.

“The donkey, dumb ass, was acting all strange like it had been bitten and the poison was slowly poisoning the body it was starting to go lame. Your Uncle Bill was trying to help, though he was soon pretty much blind as the ass knocked off his glasses. While we were trying to move the retched donkey it kicked out and caught your Uncle Bill right in the eye, and propelled him right through the storm shelter wall. By the time we got to him he was gone.” He relayed, fighting back the emotion, my father was the stoic type. “The doctor said he drowned from the blood in his lungs that had gotten there due to the damage caused by the fall.” He told us in horrific detail.

My father was always adamant that he would never hide anything from us no matter how horrific much to both our mother’s dismay.

“What about the donkey?” I enquired.

“Put down,” he replied, his face stern and stoic. “It had been bitten, it was the best thing for him. He was old.” Dad explained and left the room, leaving Josh and I to digest what we had be en told.

The workmen were hard at it fixing the storm shelter but yet there was an odd quietness hanging over the farm.

It didn’t occur to us then how strange Uncle Bill’s death was. Not by a long shot.

Even the next two events didn’t cause us to think, our town was still smarting from the death too much to even think about it.


Chapter Two: Two Freaky Scenes

Luckily the next event didn’t involve a death but it was, shall we say, pretty damn strange.

At the school Josh and I went to there was a few, for want of a better word, handicapped students. Among them was a blind boy and a dumb girl. They were from a family that lived just down the dirt road from us and we often gave them a lift.

One day, around a week after Uncle Bills death, Josh and I decided to do a few tricks on our skate boards but needed a referee. So we, I know it sounds strange, asked them to help us out. Julie, the dumb girl, agreed and Paul, her blind brother told us he would tell us what she was saying. They were twins which was always a source of amusement to us both.

Although she was mute Julie was incredibly pretty and the fact she didn’t speak was a plus for most of the guys at school, if you get what I’m saying.

Though she was pretty she was a thick as a post, she was also very, well, slow. She was in a special needs group but we didn’t hold that against her. She was a good laugh regardless of her shortcomings.

She watched as we did our tricks and her and her brother sat in deep though and an odd type of conversation. After around ten minutes of showing off she told us, via Paul, that Josh was better than I. As I was about to ask her why, though I knew it was because she fancied him, their father passed by. He was also dumb, a mute, never spoken once in his life.

Paul told me that I was good from what he heard but josh was just that little bit better.

As their father reached us he surprised us all by screaming “hooray,” at the top of his voice. It shocked us as we had always been told that he was physically incapable of speech.

My dad was close by and he heard it too, it shocked him too. He came running over and asked us what had gone on.

When we explained the whole thing to him he just walked away and giggled as he went.

Paul and Julie left with their father. Between then and the explosion their father never said another word.


Chapter Three: Huhh?

The third event yet for from the strangest happened two days after we showed off for Paul and Julie. It also didn’t involve any horrific and twisted death but oddly strange none the less though it does involve an accidental death or two.

Josh and I had been driving around our semi-rural town, having a bit of fun and we ended up in our counties over grown cemetery near an old abandoned church and we started acting out battles we read about in history. Much like when we were younger.

For hours we played, pretending to shoot at each other, fighting and being typical teenagers. It was Saturday and unbeknown to us at the time the church was no longer abandoned. A new priest had moved in that week and he had, stupidly, called the police.

When the officer arrived we were shocked, we tried to explain, yet he completely ignored us. It was as though he couldn’t hear what we were saying.

Once we arrived at the police station, petrified of our parents finding out. We were processed and put into cells next to each other. We sat on the makeshift beds and we could hear the officer’s talking as the station wasn’t that big. One of the officers enquired, “Peter, why’d you arrest ‘em, they were only playin’. The priest is new in town. If they’d ‘ave known they’d ‘ave gone elsewere’s.” His drawl evident in every shortened word yet our arresting officer didn’t even register that he was being spoken too, he just continued writing up our arrest. “Peter, are you even listening to me?” he asked, his voice raised, nothing registered.

Another, more senior officer, one level under Chief of Police, joined the conversation and got the officers attention. “Peter, you can’t hear anything, can you?” Peter realised he was being spoken to yet his face showed he was completely puzzled.

The senior officer then told one of the others to take Peter to the hospital to get checked out and then released us with a stern warning to stay clear of the old church.

Driving home we knew we had a lucky escape and we were glad it wasn’t going on our permanent record with college so close.

Smiling we turned up the stereo and drove back to the farm. Driving the long, stretched out road was dull and boring and the day started to take its toll and I started to fall asleep, Josh was already asleep next to me, snoring loudly.

I jerked myself awake but it was too late. We were about to collide with a two foot wide fern tree. I had no chance of stopping the car as we were going too fast.

I saw the tree speeding towards me at over ninety miles an hour. The last thing I remember before a prolonged darkness was the tree in front of my face, so close that I could smell the sap and the muddy bark. Then there was just complete blackness and emptiness.


Chapter Four: Resurrection and realisation

The next thing I remember is waking up. I was in a coffin, I had been buried alive, that was the only answer, and it had to have been. I managed to bang my way out, pulling my way up and out. Once out I looked to my left and noticed a slightly banged up Josh next to me.

We looked at each other. A few cuts and marks but nothing to serious.

Then I saw the stiches visible under his dishevelled top and the look on his face told me I had them to. Looking closer I realised that it was in fact a Y incision, the type you see on the chests of the dead bodies on these crime dramas.

We had died in the accident! We were dead! Why the hell were we back? We weren’t zombies, we had to much control and awareness to be a zombie.

We headed to the farm. If anyone could help us figure it out, Dad could.

When the door was opened we were initially greeted by a continuous flow of women screaming and fainting. After they calmed down they hugged us and we sat down and we noticed a lack of appetite and I didn’t want to dwell on the reasons why.

We looked over at my dad who had looked as though he was expecting to see us and had been giggling the whole time the others were screaming

When the others, the family, went back to bed Dad began to explain what was humouring him.

“It’s all like that rhyme that you boys used to sing when you were kids.” He began, His face still showing an odd smirk. “Two dead boys got up to fight.” He reminded us. I recalled it instantly as did Josh. I looked at him and he looked at me and instantly realisation hit.

Everything that happened in the rhyme has happened with two exceptions, the first verse and the last line.

“That rhyme is about us! What happens if we complete it?” I ask, worried and concerned about the possible implications.

“I have no idea son,” Dad replied, his face contorted in worry, “The best thing is to complete it and see what happens.” He advises us. I had to say it made sense. He went to bed still chuckling to himself.

We thought about it and discussed it at length that night and saw no other way of ending this whole sorry affair.

Leaving the farm the following morning we grabbed two Civil War swords that grandpa had collected and two of Uncle Bills pistols while Dad when to get Paul, the blind witness. All the while the women of our little family were hysterical and worried about the plan. They knew there was no way around it.

Chapter Five: First verse

We stood in the freshly ploughed cornfield. Swords glistening in the morning sun and pistols heavy. With one weapon in each hand we faced each other then flipped back to back.

Talking ten paces it dawned on me that I was about to hurt my best friend, my brother, not by blood but he was my brother none the less. How could I bring myself to do that?

I knew I had to. I knew it was necessary but it was still hard and painful to do.

As I finished my paces I turned around as fast as I could and emptied the old pistol into him as he did me.

There was no pain, no blood, there was just a gaping, puss riddled hole. It was as though we were still dead and out young attractive bodies were decomposing from under us.

Nothing happened. At first!!!!

Josh and I collected all the paperwork pertaining to out deaths and put them in a safe yet faraway place.

We started to go back to a normal life. Our bodies stopped decomposing and started going back to normal after we had our organs taking out of the bag they were in and put in their normal place.

Two months after one of the girls at school started acting strange almost as though she was no longer alive. She was vacant, emotionless and then came the biting.

The ‘infection’ spread through our close network of towns like a wild forest fire. It infected men, women and children. They were all turned into brainless, emotionless creatures. They were adamant on making more.

At first we were worried that we had caused it but we couldn’t be sure. We talked about it. Our joined family had been turned and we were trapped in the nearby cattle pen. The barn seemed to obvious and had to many entrance’s in it.

The CDC wrote the area off as a biohazard and the governments did the unthinkable and sent in a small yield nuclear missile and ‘sanitised’ the area blaming it on a meltdown at the local power station.


Chapter Six: Escape

What they didn’t know was that I escaped to a nearby infection free city.

My body was almost back to normal. The only thing that was missing was a beating heart.

I couldn’t let things be and started to tell anyone who would listen what happened and soon got myself committed to this hell hole mental asylum.

I am no longer living yet not yet dead. The doctors could not explain my lack of a pulse. Whenever they asked me I told them the story and they labelled me paranoid.

I was committed as they were sure I was completely insane, mental, mad, and barmy, they pretty much wrote me off.

None of the meds they have given me have had any effect on me what so ever. None

I know Josh was vaporised when the bomb hit. Everyone and everything was gone.

After a few months in this hell hole I began to notice signs of the infection in the hospital. It was just a few and could be wrong and they could have been heavily medicated but if I’m right then we have a problem.

I don’t want to die but if me living causes other people to die and not stay dead what right do I have to say my existence out weights theirs. If I spread the infection then I need to sort something out, but what? How can something no longer living actually die?

I have a lot to think about and this place is perfect I just wish they would leave me alone and stop telling me that I am crazy.

Only time will tell if I’m going to spread the infection until then I’ll hide here.

My blind witness, Paul, is still alive too. He was sent to a hospital two states over to get some rest bite and surgery before the explosion. Though he is now orphaned he is glad to be alive.

Before the ‘duel’ I asked my Dad what was wrong with Peter, the deaf police officer, the night Josh and I died. My Dad told me, “He had accidently discharged his weapon in the police cruiser and burst both of his ear drums making him completely deaf.

The rhyme had come true. I’m still living as it Paul, though for how long I don’t quite know.

* * * * * * * *


Chapter Seven: Dr’s analysis of Darryl Dorkings

Subject is paranoid and delusional.

His paranoia is based on his assumption that if anyone gets close to him they will contact some mystery illness that will turn them into zombie like cannibals.

His delusion is based around the idea that he is the walking dead, that him and his best friend came back from the dead to complete a child’s rhyme that is in fact a prophecy. He also claims his town and several near it were’ sanitized ‘ by the government in order to prevent the spread of this mysterious infection.

Noteworthy Information

The subject has no pulse, needs no food or water and any/all drugs/poisons do not have any effect on him. He has no blood and feels no pain, heat or cold.

Experimental Outcomes

Cells show signs of infection with the same virus that killed his home town and resulted in their deaths. The virus is unique and holds the key to creating the world’s most perfect army and/or and ideal weapon in biological warfare.

Subject is oblivious to the experiments we are running using the virus he is carrying nor is aware that he is the subject of an intense biological study.

Subject with remain committed until such time as he and the other test subjects are no longer needed. At which point the area and those in it will be ‘sanitised’.

As for the link to the rhyme ; yes it is there I see it when he explains it in sessions. It puts a whole new spin on rhymes and poems and those that write them.

Personal note.

The subject is a walking petri dish and possibly slightly insane but I am drawn to him. I can’t explain it. I want to touch him so much it hurts and I don’t care if I get infected. I sometimes struggle to stop myself. I am not the only one. Several female staff and patients have voiced the same urge.

Dr Annetta Jones

BSc, Ma, PhD, Md

Psychiatrist, Molecular Biologist, Epidemiologist

Here’s a reminder of the version I used for the above tale. There are severally different versions out there.

One fine day in the middle of the night,
Two dead boys got up to fight,
Back to back they faced each other,
Drew their swords and shot each other,

One was blind and the other couldn’t, see
So they chose a dummy for a referee.
A blind man went to see fair play,
A dumb man went to shout “hooray!”

A paralysed donkey passing by,
Kicked the blind man in the eye,
Knocked him through a nine inch wall,
Into a dry ditch and drowned them all,

A deaf policeman heard the noise,
And came to arrest the two dead boys,
If you don’t believe this story’s true,
Ask the blind man he saw it too!

Hope you liked it.

Happy writing

Simone

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