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Monsters known as "Abominations" rule the world as we know it. And Zebulan is turning into one. Will he be able to fight the urge to kill? Zebulan is slowly gaining back his memories in a world filled with monsters called abominations. Unfortunately, the more he remembers, the further the infection spreads. Will he be able to unlock the secrets of his past that hold the keys to saving their world as they know it? Or will he succumb to his inevitable fate?

Horror / Action
Lexi Melton
Age Rating:

Chapter 1

It was cold.

Biting cold.

He could hear the wind blowing, and he felt it tearing through his short hair as he started to gain consciousness. He opened his eyes to see a sideways blurry landscape in front of him-twisted shapes of snow covered trees blurring in with the white storm raging around him.

He tried to get up only to find that he had a massive headache-one that sent pins and needles through his brain. He suddenly saw a flash of different images in his head that he didn’t understand. The man looked around as the world came into focus. Questions immediately started to come to him.

Where was he?

Why was he here?

And most importantly… who was he?

He couldn’t remember a thing.

The man scrambled up in a confused panic, only to slip and fall into the biting snow again. He gasped and held onto his arm, which was covered in blood and shooting dizzying pain up to his shoulder. He looked left and right, only verifying that he was utterly alone. An unforgiving wind blew through him, and he tugged at his worn jacket, shivering.

Questions could come later. Right now, he needed shelter. The man grit his teeth and stood up-fighting the pain in his head and arm. Not knowing what else to do, he started walking. His vision was darkening around the edges… He staggered and leaned against a tree, closing his eyes tight. He felt so confused-so lost-so alone…

The man walked for what seemed like hours, barely holding on-when through the white wind, he thought he could see buildings… Almost in disbelief at his luck, he started walking a bit faster, stumbling a bit in the process. Would he be saved? Could he get some answers?

He made it to what seemed like a worn wooden shack with a thick heavy orange curtain hanging in the doorway. Eager to get out of the cold, he drew it back and stepped inside. The residents of the shack looked up in surprise as the frostbitten man collapsed on their doormat.

The next few minutes were hazy and confusing as people came for him. He could barely hear their muffled voices, which sounded like they were talking into bottles. The man ventured in and out of consciousness, catching a few words here and there…

“...think he might...”

“...surprised he’s even alive…”

“...abominations could have…”

“Who is he?”

He fell into the cold blackness again, more images crossing his blank mind. He could feel the adrenaline pumping wildly through his veins, but everything only stayed under the surface. Without any sense of time frame, he slowly started to gain consciousness.

The world came to him little by little. He was first aware of a heavy blanket covering him, and he opened his eyes to see a worn ceiling above him, filled with cracks and water stains.

Something was dripping.

With a wince, he sat himself up, and found that someone had bandaged up his arm. While he was grateful for the hospitality of the strangers that had fixed him up, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that sleep had not revealed more answers on who he was. Maybe someone else would know…

Gingerly, he pulled the blanket off of himself and stepped barefoot on the cold cement floor. It was then that he caught a glimpse in a mirror a few feet away and saw his reflection for the first time.

He seemed to be well fit, with toned arms and a chiseled face. The faded striped sleeveless shirt stretched over his chest was torn in places, and was stained in one place by some unknown dark green substance. He had a small scar under his right eye, and his short blonde hair stuck out in odd places.

He knew that usually when one looked in a mirror, everything was supposed to be familiar, but the man sitting on the bed before him did not register anything in his memory. It bothered him that his own reflection was just as much a stranger as the people outside the bedroom he was staying in. The man shakily stood up, leaning against the peeling wall for balance, and with a deep breath, he stumbled out the door into the other room.

He stepped into a larger room with many tables and a bar, where several people were drinking and talking somberly.

“Oh. So you’re awake? I was wondering if you would or not.”

He looked over to see an older man with a silver goatee and short spiky hair cleaning a glass and smiling warmly at him.

“Are you feeling better?”

The injured man rubbed his head, wincing again.

“I guess so. I think I had quite a hit to the head, but other than that, I think I’m fine.”

“What happened to your arm?”

“Don’t know. I can’t remember.”

The older man grunted, setting the glass down on the shabby bar and putting a hand on his hip.

“My name’s Markel. What’s yours?”

The man opened his mouth, but then remembered that he didn’t know what his name was. His eyebrows furrowed forward as he tried to think-he tried to will something to come forward, but it simply remained blank. He sighed.

“I don’t know…The last thing I remember is waking up in the snow. I can’t remember anything of who I am or how I got there.”

“You must have gotten hit in the head quite hard then. Have a seat-it looks like you could still use some rest.”

The weary man gratefully sat down, leaning against the bar and looking around at all the people in the room. It didn’t seem like he was the only one who was exhausted. A woman even had her head down on a table-crying.

“So… Is everyone alright here?” he asked, his eyes traveling over a blank eyed teenage boy with a bandage over his right eye.

Markel paused and looked at him with concern.

“Do you really not remember anything at all?” he asked with his gravelly voice.

The man shook his head, and the bartender gave him a suspicious look over.

“Hmm. Well, there was another attack.”



“Attack from what?”

But at that moment, the unknown man started to feel woozy, and he leaned forward a little too much-falling into the bar.

“Woah now-take it easy-maybe you should get back in bed.”


“Go. We’ll get you something to eat when you get up.”

The man took one last look at the tired grungy people around him and reluctantly stood up and staggered back to the room he had come from. He wanted to know what the attacks were from. He wanted to know why the people here seemed so tired. He wanted to know a lot of things, but the pain in his head was too much. With a gasp, he collapsed onto the bed…


Bright sunlight shone green through the leaves of summer trees as the couple lay serenely against the warm trunk.

“Read me another chapter.” the woman asked, her black and purple hair spilling out over her shoulder. The man smiled and closed the book.

“Why don’t you just read it yourself?” he teased. The woman rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“Zebulan. Don’t be a jerk. You know I hate reading.”

The man named Zebulan smirked and leaned in real close to her, his eyes twinkling.

“What are you going to do to get me to read more?” he asked in a whisper. The woman smiled devilishly, getting so close that their noses were brushing up against each other. Without another word, she kissed him. After a moment, they pulled away, and she sat back expectantly.

“Alright. You win Alpha.” the man said, still smiling. The woman lay her head back on his shoulder.

Then the scene changed.

There was fire everywhere, the images disjointed and unsettling. Blood spilled out over white snow, and screams and inhuman screeches filled the air.


The man gasped and woke with a start, covered in a cold sweat.

His name was Zebulan. He remembered that now. However, that was about all he remembered. Who was that woman Alpha? What was the fire and screams and blood? Zebulan slowly sat up, thinking hard about his dream, when something in the mirror caught his eye.

A thin black line swirled itself over his arm up near his shoulder.

He swore it hadn’t been there before. Was his mind playing tricks on him? He blinked, but it still remained. He looked down at his arm and ran his hand over it. It was almost like he had gotten a tattoo in the middle of his dream. What did it all mean??

More troubled than before, Zebulan pulled on his worn boots that had been tucked away into a corner. Then he walked into the other room. It was much as he had left it-except there were different people and he could tell that it was later in the day.

“Markel-I remembered my-.”

He was interrupted by a scream.

Zebulan whirled around to see a woman pointing at him and screaming bloody murder. What was her problem? Why was everyone staring at him? Without any warning, someone was suddenly slamming him against the wall, causing him to see stars.

“What-.” he began as four more guys pinned him down. “What’s going on?!”

He looked up at the disgusted furious looks staring down at him and was shocked to see that Markel was among them, looking as if he had just swallowed something vile.

“He’s turning. No wonder he doesn’t remember anything.” a man with vibrant red hair spat, whipping out a knife and pressing it against Zebulan’s throat. He swallowed, his heart pumping madly away in his chest.

“But-I remember-my name is-.”

“Shut up!”

A fist made contact with his face, and his vision became dotted with stars.

“We need to kill him-.”

“WAIT!! I don’t understand-.”

“The swirl you idiot-.”


Everyone froze.

“They’re here.”

With one swift motion, the knife flashed, and Zebulan felt a searing pain across his throat, and the warm wet blood started to spill out on his shirt. He collapsed and started to choke on his own blood as the men around him dispersed and everything went into chaos.

Zebulan was unsure of what was happening for a while. He was aware that he was dying-lying in a pool of his own blood, and that there were screams and screeches going on everywhere… There was fire.

Then suddenly, he was coming back to consciousness. He coughed up a bit more blood as he slowly pushed himself up off the ground, and then reached up to touch his throat. There was no gash, no cut, no injury.

The world around him was dark, the room he was in was empty. He could hear screams coming from outside, and an orange glow emanated from behind the thick curtained door. Zebulan coughed again, and stood up, leaning against the wall. How was he still alive? They had slit his throat...

At that moment, there was an explosion, which shook the ground beneath him and almost sent him toppling back down into the lake of blood he had emerged from. He didn’t know much, but he knew that he had to get out of there. And with that thought in mind, he emerged from the building and stepped into hell.

Night had fallen, but fire lit up the sky as several buildings were blazing, the orange and yellow demons dancing over the terrified screams of the people they were consuming. Zebulan trekked through the melting snow and moved past those running for their lives. He spotted a clothesline nearby and grabbed a shirt and coat-not wanting anyone else to see the swirl on his arm and make another attempt at his life.

He was also still soaked in blood.

But he would worry about that later, for something had just caught his eye. Something fast and dark. What was it? He began to feel extremely uneasy as he hurried past the chaos and carnage. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw a body on the ground.

Markel lay broken and slaughtered in the snow before him, his eyes staring and his mouth gaping open. A shattered knife lay mere inches from his hand. Zebulan winced at the gruesome sight of the dead old man and broke out into a run-just wanting to escape from the dismal scene. Everyone was fleeing into the dense forest from whatever was attacking.

He looked back for only a moment as he heard a maniacal laugh. On top of one of the burning buildings stood a deranged figure, holding what looked like a dismembered appendage from some poor person. Zebulan felt sick as the monster gave a victorious cry and bit into its prize savagely, its appearance only slightly illuminated by an orange glow.

Through the forest he ran, only to stop again when he found a deserted house and a trough of water that was on the verge of icing over. Not wanting to run into anyone else with questions, he ripped off his shirt and plunged his hands into the freezing water to clean off the blood. Then he pulled on the stolen long sleeved shirt and coat and left the blood stained clothing half buried in the now pink snow.

He had no idea what he was going to be doing next, or who he could even turn to, but he knew for sure that the black swirl on his arm was bad-and that he had to keep it a secret.

Dark tall forms of trees flew past him, and soon, he found himself running through the forest alone. Had everyone else been taken? Killed? Eaten? Burned alive? The thought made him want to vomit. He had seen women and children running away from the aftermath. Zebulan began to slow down. Guilt started to spread through him as he thought that he should have helped or something at the very least.

Even if they had tried to kill him.

A twig snapped in the silence, and Zebulan whirled around, fear pumping adrenaline through his body. Someone in the darkness chuckled menacingly, and he immediately figured that whoever was stalking him was not a refugee. At this moment, he wished that he had something other than just his fists as weapons-a knife or a gun or something.

Then he recalled the shattered knife mere inches from Markel’s hand and figured a knife probably wouldn’t even be that advantageous in a situation like this.

“Don’t be afraid…” a sultry voice said from the darkness. “We’ve been looking for you. You’re one of us. The humans won’t understand you. We’ll help you find purpose and meaning in your life-the reason why you were created…”

Zebulan backed up against a tree, his heart jumping up into his throat.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “What did you do to me?”

“It’s not about what we did to you…” the voice lulled. “You have just barely been born. Created. The reason why you don’t remember anything is simply the fact that there are no memories for you to access. You haven’t experienced anything yet. You are...our baby so to speak…We haven’t even given you a name.”

Zebulan felt the hairs on his arm prickle, and an uncomfortable shiver ran up his spine. That didn’t make sense. He knew his name. He knew of a woman named Alpha. And deep down, he somehow knew that these monsters had done something to him. If he was brand new in the world, how would he know how to talk? Or speak? Or even what things around him were called?

“I think you’re lying.” he said cautiously, wishing he could see whoever it was. The thing in the shadows gave a whispery laugh.

“What makes you say that young one?”

“Because I may not remember much, but I do remember that I already have a name. It’s Zebulan.”

The creature paused, and he thought he could see something ever so slightly coming towards him in the shadows to the right of him.

“Who told you that dear one?” it asked.

“No one.”

And then Zebulan could see the outline of the creature standing there cautiously, but ready to pounce. He turned and punched with all his might, and the thing gave an inhuman screech as he ran for it.

Great. Now he had just pissed it off.

He ran as fast as he could, pushing brambles and branches out of his way, things whipping against his face. Then something slammed into him from behind, and he went flying forward into the snow covered forest floor. He could feel the creature’s strong hands around his neck more than he could see, and he kicked the beast hard as he gasped for air.

Apparently, he was stronger than he thought, for the creature let go with a cry of pain. He took this chance to roll out from under it, and then found himself falling down a slope and then sliding across a sheet of ice on his stomach. He lay absolutely still, knowing if he tried to stand or anything, he could very well fall through the ice.

And then from the edge of the pond, he could see the creature illuminated by moonlight.

It could have been a woman with long matted hair and ragged clothes, but black swirls covered her skin from what he could see. He almost wished he could get a better look at her, but he didn’t dare move. Sharp white teeth glinted in the moonlight as she smiled and began to stalk toward him.

She must not have realized that there was a frozen pond.

The creature had barely gone a few feet, when there was a rumble from beneath them. She stopped and looked down, realizing what she had gotten herself into, and then disappeared beneath the surface as the ice broke. She thrashed around and attempted to get out of the freezing water with another screech, and Zebulan began to shimmy himself towards the edge of the pond. When he carefully slid onto land, he looked back at the disturbed water as the monster slowly stopped struggling. After a few moments, the water was still.

Shaking a bit from the encounter, Zebulan shot off through the dark snow covered forest again-hoping that he would eventually come to some answers…

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