Letters to Lou *Larry Stylinson*

Age 15

Harry shot up from his cot at the deep wail outside, his head darting around, but there was nothing. He swore he heard it, but then again, he's already heard it in his head several times. In the dark, there was nothing but the harsh pitter patter of rain as it splat against the window, some drops hitting the wood floor through the broken glass. Whispery breathing came from the two other figures beside him on the large cot spread on the floor, much slower and steadier than Harry's raspy gasps. Minutes pass as Harry's heart raced, listening for any confirmation that he had in fact heard an undead outside.

There was nothing.

Harry breathes out a sigh of relief, slumping back down on the mattress just as the figure farthest from him on the bed props himself up.

"Harry?" the silhouette whispers. A crash of thunder booms outside, and a streak of lightening lets Harry catch a glimpse of Louis' sleep ridden eyes. "You alright?"

Harry was breathing much calmer than before and started to say yes, until his blood froze at the same deep wail coming from beyond the window. It sounded like a wounded human, except warped into a desperate hungry whine.

Harry's eyes darted to Louis, who was frozen where he was propped up. It wasn't until a third whine, sounding even more desperate, that Louis ever so silently eased himself up from the mattress onto the floorboards of the abandoned mansion. In his socked feet, Louis tiptoed to the corner of the room, snatching up the silhouette of a pistol.

In the dark, Harry's hand searched around for the wooden baseball bat that he kept at the foot of the mattress. Beside him, Darcy's breaths still came slow and steady. Her brown locks of hair were fanned out across the stiff pillow, her face at sweet peace soaking in the moonlight.

"Dar Dar." Harry whispered, nudging Darcy's shoulder gently. She murmured quietly for a second, before nodding back asleep. "Dar Dar." Harry said more urgently, this time her blue eyes shooting open.

"Papa?" she whispered, her voice raspy from sleep. She looked at him questioningly before a sharp shriek pierced the air. This time it wasn't from the window.

In the moment Darcy shot up, loud sloppy footsteps resonated from where the front door of the mansion once stood, torn down when Harry had arrived. From the white light of lightning, Harry made out the long bat at the end of the cot, and grasped it, just as the door to their small room was teared down with a sharp crack!

Before Harry even stood, the first undead flew back, flying into possibly three more behind it. In another crack of lightening, Harry made out the decayed face of the undead in the pearly white light, possibly once a woman, with a smoking bullet hole in her chest.

Shrieks filled the room as the first undead threw itself at Harry in blinded hunger. With a swing of his bat, he clocked it's head, slamming it into the corner of the room. Apparently little league wasn't a complete waste of time.

Harry definitely had miscounted, as four more undead scrambled through the doorway, wailing. Adrenaline raced through Harry's blood as one charged at him, another at Louis behind him. Another shot of the pistol rang throughout the night, as Harry raised his bat for another swing.