Chapter 1 : The Last Normal Night
The shouting, the singing, the music of the pub pounded in Frank's ears like a hammer.
Despite his refusal, he had been dragged out by his colleagues for a boozy night out, and here was the result: bleary eyes, unsteady legs. Frank had never handled alcohol well.
He tried to stand, ignoring his colleague who was frantically tapping his shoulder, urging him to dance.
Grabbing onto chairs and tables for support, the shouts of his colleagues telling him the night wasn't over yet faded into a distant echo. All he wanted was to find his way back to bed.
Outside, he flagged down a taxi and climbed in. He rested his head against the window, watching the lights of London drift by. The glow of the city soothed him a little, and then he drifted off.
A light tap on his shoulder woke him. He was already home. He hadn't even noticed the time pass. He paid the driver, then made his way into the building.
Gripping the handrail, Frank climbed the stairs with difficulty, the dizziness making every step a challenge.
He finally reached his door, spent a good ten minutes fumbling for his keys, and let himself in.
He tossed his bag without caring where it landed.
He threw himself onto the bed, shoes still on, light still off.
Finally home.
Within a minute, sleep had taken him. Frank had finally found rest after his long day.
But something was wrong.
Frank found himself in total darkness. Not even the faintest sliver of light could penetrate it. His heart was pounding, and his legs could barely hold the weight of his body.
Still, he forced himself to stand.
"Is someone there? Where am I?" Frank called out.
But his voice came back to him as an echo, as though something in the darkness was mimicking him.
He pressed both hands against his chest, trying to calm his racing heart. He had never felt anything like this. What was happening?
Then a voice broke through the silence. A voice that did not belong to this world, like the rolling of thunder and the crashing of a great waterfall all at once.
"It is the beginning of the end, my son. The time has come."
Frank jolted awake, his heart hammering in his chest, his body drenched in sweat. The voice still echoed in his head.
What kind of nightmare was that?
Alcohol really does things to you. I think that's the last time,
he whispered, dragging himself out of bed.
He made his way to the light switch and turned it on, then picked up the bag he had thrown earlier. He walked to the bathroom, turned on the tap and splashed water on his face. He paused for a moment, staring at his reflection in the mirror. A strange sensation moved through him, an indescribable chill that swept from his feet to the top of his head.
He left the bathroom, went back to his room, changed the bedsheets, and lay down again.
It's the start of the weekend. A little nightmare isn't going to ruin that,
he murmured, his eyes already heavy. Alcohol was truly not his friend.
Suddenly, a sound of indescribable violence tore Frank from his sleep. A sound that made the very walls of the building tremble, as though thousands of trumpets were blaring all at once.
He pressed his hands over his ears. The noise was unbearable. Then, after a few seconds, nothing. Complete silence.
Another nightmare? That's two in one night!
He lay back down, and this time, nothing disturbed him again.
Frank's alarm clock went off, pulling him out of sleep.
He opened his eyes with a start, then pressed a hand to his head. It was throbbing painfully.
He lay still for a few minutes, gathering himself. Then, with some effort, he shook off the heaviness keeping him in bed, got up, went to the bathroom, and went through his morning routine.
It was around seven o'clock when Frank stepped out of the building in his sportswear. He jogged down the stairs and pushed through the exit.
He took a moment to breathe in the cool morning air, the red brick facades of his street still quiet, before breaking into a slow run.
But something was off.
As Frank turned onto the main road, everything was in disarray. Cars abandoned in the middle of the street, people shouting, faces twisted with panic.
What's going on?
He kept running, trying to look past what his eyes were showing him.
Could this be some kind of zombie outbreak, like in the movies? Why else would people have left their cars like that?
Frank slowed as he came upon a man kneeling on the pavement. He appeared to be in his fifties, his face contorted with grief, tears streaming down his cheeks. Frank almost walked past him, but something made him stop. He turned back and crouched down to the man's level.
"Good morning, sir," Frank offered, with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
The man didn't answer. He kept weeping.
"What's wrong? Why are you crying?" Frank pressed gently.
The man looked up at Frank with an expression of disbelief, as though Frank were the last fool left on earth.
"I think it happened. That thing my wife always talked about. It actually happened. She's gone."
"What happened? Where did your wife go?" Frank asked, his eyes wide.
Deep inside him, his heart hammered like something trying to break free. A truth he did not want to face was beginning to follow him, like his shadow, like his own breath.
