The Red House

Jack stared at the beautiful hazel eyes of his girlfriend along with her dark brown hair that flowed down to her thighs. She walked ever so slowly towards him, she had a gentle grace as she moved. Inhaling deeply and steadying his hands, placed his finger on the trigger and press tightly. A loud bang burst from the shotgun that he held against his shoulder and forearm. Along with the bang came the bullet that tore through Jack’s girlfriends head, the bullet hit her directly in the forehead making an explosion of crimson red and dark grey brain matter. Some of her blood sprayed in Jacks face making him blink and shutter. The girl staggered for a bit then fell with a sickening wet splat onto the dark wood floor. Placing the gun down onto the couch Jack slowly stumbled towards the corpse that lay on the ground before him. Jack stared at the blood that was on the wall, it reminded him of fresh paint. He then pointed his gaze at the grotesque body on the ground. Tears slowly started to form as Jack grabbed the legs and dragged it over to the pile of his family members. The decaying bodies of his family lay on top and beside each other, like some sort of sick game of dog pile. He placed his now dead girlfriend beside his brother who was the first one to turn. He slumped on the couch, sobbing as he held the shotgun in his lap, remembering how it had all began. Within a few short weeks his entire neighborhood, the entire country had become a land of blood and chaos. The news could only put out one broadcast before it was shut down completely, what he saw shocked on the news shocked him. The news said that there were hundreds of reports of people attack others and eating the dead, soon after, dead air was the only thing on TV. That same day his brother became Ill and within a few hours, he had become a walking monstrosity of his former self. Jack wasn’t there to see his brother kill their parents, he was out with a friend when he saw the news report and immediately ran home. It took only a few minutes before he had ran through his front door only to find his mom in the corner, her throat ripped open and a pool of blood that surrounded her legs and feet. In the hallway leading to the kitchen was his brother, crouched over the half eaten corpse of his father. Jack hesitated then ran upstairs to his parents bedroom to get the shotgun that his dad had kept. After that it all seemed like a blur, a blur filled with screams of himself, the color of blood spraying and the loud bangs of gun shots. When the blur was over, he had found himself covered in his brother’s remains. His girlfriend had come over for safety only to get bit by Jacks next-door neighbor and slowly turn on him as well. Now Jack was sobbing his head in his hands along with the shotgun that laid in his lap. Getting up he made his way to his room, as he entered his bedroom he noticed the family portrait that was on his nightstand. It was when he was young, around the age of six or seven, maybe even eight. The picture was taken at his grandparents farm, right in front of the old red house that he loved so much when he visited. Jack slowly, quietly shut his bedroom door and locked it. The soft click of the lock reassured Jack that everything would be ok. Grabbing the picture, Jack sat back in his desk chair and he could hear the sound of thundering footsteps making their way up the stairs. Placing the gun barrel in his mouth and with tears in eyes, Jack took one last glance at the picture before the door burst open. With one last press of the trigger, Jack ended his life before the monsters could.