follow you into the dark - carl grimes

VIII

-

vii.

vincent
"now i understand what you tried to say to me
how you suffered for your sanity"

-

Carl stays up for his shift on watch and I pretend to sleep to appease him. I lie at the foot of the bed and stare at the ceiling as the hours pass.

He thinks I don't hear him when he cries.

I allow him this moment and give him as much privacy as possible by simply not listening. It's not much, but it's all I can do.

He fingers soon reach over and feel for my shoulder, giving me a soft shake and I sit up, grateful to no longer have to feign the stillness of unconscious rest. "It's your turn." He whispers, then pulls the covers up and over himself. A sigh leaves his mouth as he settles in.

"Goodnight, Carl." I offer my soft reply a few moments later, but receive no response as he drifts heavily into a dream. I hope it's a peaceful one.

-

Carl awakes very suddenly.

"Do you hear that?"

"What?" I question before I realize. "Oh. You mean the scratching in the walls?"

"Yes. That." He staggers upwards, as the sound continues. "What is that?"

I haven't really cared to check. Whatever it is, is better off left alone. But Carl can't help but be nearly frantic over it.

I stand up with him, approaching the wall that the headboard is settled against. There it is again. A loud thump and a goosebump raising shudder of claws. Hesitantly, I raise my hand to the surface.

"Sharon? What the hell is that? Is there something in the walls?"

I feel my predator senses heighten, beneath my hand the wall seems to breathe with life. I hear it thumping along the fiberglass insulation. It passes against my hand once. It's heartbeat is fast.

"Sharon-?"

My hand is then abruptly smashing through the drywall, immediately sending debris to the floor. I've got my grip on the thing's fat, furry body.

"Sharon! What's happening?"

"Oh, my God!" I screech, surprised with myself and my actions and the raccoon I've just pulled from the depths of the house scrambling in my clasp, scratching and biting at my arms, howling and hissing. "Oh, my God!"

"What did you do?! What is that?!"

The thing clambers on like a banshee and then, without a second thought except to make it stop, I snap it between my hands and it goes limp.

Everything goes quiet.

"...It was a raccoon."

"Did you just grab that thing out of the wall-?"

"I've got good news and bad news."

"Bad news first."

"Bad news is the raccoon is dead."

He can only nod his head in acceptance. "And what, may I ask, is the good news?"

"...We have breakfast."

-

Apparently, I am the feral animal cooking specialist. Or, at least, that's probably what Carl assumes as he thinks on the mountain I caught, killed, and cleaned my own food for the last couple years.