follow you into the dark - carl grimes

II

-

ii.

fenesta ca lucive
"your beloved is dead and buried,
crying always for she slept alone"

-

I have a human in my house.

Well, I guess it's not really my house.

My dad and I moved into this dilapidated Victoria era cottage when we came up onto the mountain, years ago, at the beginning of everything. Well, I guess, moved into isn't the right term. We just tried staying the night. That was all it took.

Growing up in the town of Roanoke, I knew all the stories of these haunted woods. Of Devil's Pass Road. How no one dared ventured there, because the few who did, simply never returned.

There were stories about the house, of course. About a witch who lived in it. Or a goblin. Or a Demon. Or whatever else silly creature the human mind could create and comprehend. Depends on how it was told. But, no matter, whoever lived here, owned the mountain. Whoever lived here, killed anyone who stepped foot in her territory.

I had been so scared, being toted along behind my father. But the town had been overrun by the dead, the mountain was our last option. I cried silently the whole way up the road, thinking of all the tales and rumors that circled the classrooms and hallways in hushed whispers and wide eyes. I knew I was too old to believe in scary stories, but at that point with everything happening in the world, I honestly could not tell fact from fiction.

In the end though, the stories had some truth to them all along. Except for one thing. What happened in the woods was much, much worse than anyone could ever imagine.

I don't want to go into detail about what happened the night my father and I died. But, what can I say, the mountain is cursed.

No matter about all that now. It's in the past.

Whether it was dark magic or a demonic entity or who knows what; the house is here all the same. And the only thing that occupied it is me.

And, now, him.

He sits curled into the corner of the couch when I come back in from taking care of a few things. He's not shivering anymore, his arms are folded over his chest, knees pulled in close. I'm sure it's cold in here but he doesn't complain. It's better than out there.

I'll admit that my curiosity is piqued by this human, and I do move closer, I just want to get a better look, sitting on the coffee table in front of him. And despite me attempting to be very quiet and unnoticed, he's able to sense my presence. He straightens up a bit, moving his head slightly as if though trying to figure out which direction he's supposed to be looking.

"My name is Carl." He says unprompted, I wasn't planning on him going by any name but it's too late. Now, he is Carl. "What's yours?"

I don't give Carl an answer. He has a name now. The things humans call each other. And he wants to know mine. I have one, of course, it silently prays itself in the back of my mind. Tangled in cobwebs and tainted memories. Something I have not been called since I was still alive. I have a name. It just doesn't belong to me anymore.

"How do you secure this place?" He continues when my silence has gone on too long.

"What?"

"Do you barricade the doors? What weapons do you have-?"

"Stop." I say this sharply, without any intention of being mean, just overwhelmed with all this speaking and thinking and this human named Carl. I'm caught off guard with it. And I've never exactly been social.