THE LONGEST DAY OF THE YEAR
JUNE 20TH – 23:57 HOURS
My name is Ari. I am recording this for posterity.
June 21st…the Summer Solstice…the longest day of the year.
Some of The Faction claim to have seen the creatures, but it is a lie, for the beings cannot cross onto our plane until June 21st. We have seen drawings, however. Sketches and descriptions by scholars, left behind by the survivors of previous years. They say the beasts are shadows, all claws and teeth and glowing eyes. They move with ferocious speed. Their bodies allow them to bend, twist, stretch and transform in gruesome ways even the human mind can’t comprehend. According to The Prophecy, the creatures thrive on the Summer Solstice. In preparation of the breaking dawn, The Faction has moved into The Bunker, a safe haven designed to protect us from the creatures. We have been sealed within this space for the entirety of the day. The Bunker is reinforced with steels and alloys that are ahead of our time; the greatest scientists came together to create this underground haven, but I fear that even the strongest, most advanced materials will not protect us from the creatures.
At dawn’s break, our plane’s energy aligns with that of another – what the scholars refer to as an “astral” plane – where various demons reside. When the planes coincide in existence at the day’s dawn, a portal is created between them, allowing the demons trapped in the astral plane to transport to our world. They are vicious creatures and will stop at nothing to kill us all.
It is now…23:58.
The leaders of The Faction vowed not to break the seal of The Bunker once it was closed. No one has entered or left, and panic is tangible amongst our legion as the break of dawn grows nearer. Aside from the caves and underground tunnels scattered throughout the area, The Bunker is the only place safe from the sunlight. We must avoid the light at all costs; if we become enveloped in light, we will quickly be devoured by the darkness. I do not trust The Bunker to remain sealed against the creatures, but I dare not speak my worries. The others need to remain calm if we wish to avoid a complete loss of all life.
23:59.
From my bed, I can see everyone I have ever known. Friends are trying to sleep, tossing and turning as their fears run amok in their minds. Mothers of children I grew up with are crying, hugging their husbands and praying for the day to come and go quietly. The older members of The Faction seem resigned to this existence in The Bunker. Perhaps their long lives leave them less afraid of what lies ahead. My brother is on his own bed, staring at the ceiling. He is wearing a strong face, but I know he is scared. We all are. My parents are assisting with the distribution of supplies and food, but I can see my mother crying as she hands an old man a blanket. She is more frightened than me, I think. I wish there was something I could do.
…it is midnight.
JUNE 21ST – 0001 HOURS
The world is silent as the grave.
I feel like a living corpse, waiting to be slaughtered.
For a moment, The Faction is still. There is no sound. Everyone is holding their breath. The Earth seems to stop turning, and we hear nothing. Then, it happens.
A horrible screeching rings out through the air, and although we’re underground, beneath metal and dirt, we can hear it perfectly. Everyone covers their ears. The screaming feels like needles stabbing at our brains, and people collapse to their knees in pain.
Just as suddenly as it started, it stops. Some people are bleeding from their ears, and it looks as if a few of the elderly may have had heart attacks from the shock and sheer volume of the noise. But there’s no time to help anyone; I can hear scratching on the metal above us.
The Faction is quiet, again, as the scratching grows more furious. The claws of the creatures scrape against the metal, making indentations that are clearly visible on our side of The Bunker. The sound is like nails on a chalkboard, and it’s too much for some of us to handle. People bury themselves under their blankets and mattresses. Some hide in alcoves or small tunnels. All I can do is watch from my bed, my body breaking into a cold sweat. I am afraid.
Miranda is a twenty year old TV nut. She has been writing since she was seven years old and writing is what she's wanted to do her entire life. Michael Crichton is her inspiration. For more information, check out her official website: http://docsaico.weebly.com
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