Genetic || Short Story

g e n e t i c

A short story written for my English Language class.

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IT was barely 1:30am. She awoke with a start, having heard the phone ringing in the hallway. Her eyelids heavy with fatigue, she forced herself out of bed, before heading to the phone. Slowly, she picked up the receiver, lifting it to her ear.

"Hello?" Her voice was hoarse and brittle.

"Fawn! Did you hear?" a voice demanded in a panic.

Limply rubbing her eyes, Fawn scowled. "Hear what, mum?"

Sobs were heard over the line instead of a clear answer. "Your–Your–!"

"Mum, calm down. What's happened?"

"Your grandparents!" her mother exclaimed. "They've been killed!"

Fawn's stomach clenched; her chest tightened. She had always been close to her grandparents, so this knowledge was too much for her.

"W-What?" she murmured, choking back her tears. "Oh, my God ... "

"I'm sorry, baby!" was the final thing she heard from her mother, before grief consumed her strength, causing the phone to slip from her grasp.

* * *

IT was all over the news. The deaths of Fawn's grandparents was an occurrence so unusual, that reporters lapped up the story like a kitten drinking water. Fawn and her parents received an outpour of condolences from everyone who heard the story. It was an exceptionally tough ordeal for them all.

Police had, of course, investigated; and had come to the conclusion that they'd been administered a lethal injection. There was no knowing who had managed to enter the house to do this, and so the house was raided for any evidence. A couple of days later, CCTV footage emerged from the night it happened. The clip depicted the sound of scraping – a prolonged, metallic scraping – against a door; perhaps a window. A silhouette appeared from the right-hand side of the screen, before the image flickered off. The footage didn't give much away, but it gave something important away – it was murder.

* * *

EXACTLY a week after Fawn's grandparents died, she decided to pay her parents a visit, to see how they were coping. She'd only seen them once since the tragedy, so thought it would be nice to show her face.

As she approached the front door, she discovered that it had been vandalised – there were large scratches down its length, and the lock was broken. Puzzled, she ventured further into the building, noting the hallway had an acidic scent. She turned the corner, entering the living room. Just as she was about to call for her parents, she saw them. They were sleeping silently on their separate armchairs, their heads tilted back. At least, that's how it appeared at first glance.

"Mum? Dad?" She moved closer to them. There was no response, so she ruffled their shirts gently in turn. "Hello?"

As her fingers parted from their sleeping bodies, her eyes flitted to the crimson liquid which covered them. In initial reaction, she gasped, before staring down at her parents in horror. In a panic, she violently shook them, in the hope they would awake. But, they moved not a single bit.

"No," she cried. "Please."

She collapsed to her knees, and began to sob uncontrollably.

* * *

"BREAKING news! Rumours have surfaced that an anonymous serial killer could be behind the large number of mysterious deaths lately. CCTV showed a figure, wearing a strange white coat with unidentified red stains, walking around the town late last night with a briefcase and a syringe. If anyone sees this individual, steer clear. Report him immediately by calling–"

Fawn switched off the TV, instead lifting a newspaper article from the ground. She was sat cross-legged in her living room, every speck of floor surrounding her littered with newspaper pages. It had been exactly a week since her parents died, and the pain hadn't gotten any easier to deal with.

It was dark out; past midnight. She was trying to fit the pieces together to work out more about the deaths. With more coming out in the news every day, she was getting closer. They happened at the same time on both occasions; exactly 12:32am. They occurred exactly a week apart. But that's all she had worked out.

Without warning, Fawn started feeling lightheaded. Her vision blurred; she had to lean her head against the sofa behind her. A voice suddenly spoke from outside.

"You must be vaccinated; you are sick," it told her. "You have a genetic illness, and must be vaccinated."

"Genetic ... " Fawn whimpered. "Generations ... "

She looked at the clock. It read 12:32am. Behind her, she heard a prolonged, metallic scraping.