The Skin of Our Friends

The Skin of Our Friends

Dear Ezrah,

They’re outside again. I can hear ‘em crawling around. It gets harder and harder not to become squeamish at the sound of their decaying forms dragging along the halls, nothing but bone and rotten flesh rubbed raw against the shitty motel carpet. In all honesty, I’m sure the blood would probably be indistinguishable from decades of caked-up grime made up of only-god-knows-what that has been forced into these floors. I need a distraction, so I’m writing to you. I ain’t afraid though. Noah and I have enough supplies in here to last us a few more weeks until you get back. These stink-bags got a few more days in ‘em at most, I’d say. Regardless, it’s been two weeks since we last heard from you; Ol’ Jameson couldn’t have wondered that far, could he? Not with the entire cityscape bein’ flooded with crawlers after all.

What’s it like out there? I reckon James and his patrol team are holed up in that old liquor store off the corner of 53rd, livin’ up the “final days,” don’t you? What was it called again? McGee’s? Yeah, that was it. Probably poundin’ back doubles of that top-shelf shit that you and I couldn’t afford on our finest day. Either way, they need to hurry and pop out of whatever shit-hole they’ve gotten themselves stuck in so we can get the hell out of dodge. I don’t know how much longer I can stay cooped up in this dirty old motel.

It’s the end times after all, we need to be out there, seein’ the sights. So far, I’ve only seen the inside of this rundown room. Even Noah’s gettin’ restless; he's been mutterin’ to himself day in and out about some voices he’s hearing through the walls. ‘Says they’re calling to him and that we can finally be free if just…let 'em in. Not sure what all that’s about, but I’ve been fendin him off just fine. Could use your help, though, to knock some sense into the kid. Just please write back to us soon, okay?

Yours dearly,

-Georgie.

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Dearest GeorgIe,

Howdy, Georgie, my apologies for taking so long to respond. It’s been…hectic to say the least. The good news is I found James and his troupe! The bad news is, well, they ain’t quite the ways we were hopin’ to find ‘em. The best I can say is that I hope it was quick. Funnily enough, or maybe not so funny, you were right about their alcohol related venture. Safe to say the high-dollar supply had been successfully ransacked. The troupe, or well, what was left of ‘em were strewn about the place, torn to high hell. Seems as though a pack got the jump on them, but I’m not entirely sure what to make of the entire ordeal.

Nothing of James’ seems to have survived the attack, but I’m not sure if that’s because he didn’t survive or if he just happened to catch the worst of it all. You know the guy better than me, figure this is somethin’ he’d plan out on his own people? If so, why? What could he possibly stand to gain by slaughterin’ his own and high-tailin' it out on his lonesome?

Either way, I’ll be makin' my way back over yonder soon, I reckon. What’s this you’re sayin about Noah mutterin somthin? Is this a recent development? Keep an eye on that boy, could be some new sickness we ain’t heard of yet. That or just some good ol’ cabin fever. Be it as it may, y’all stay safe till I get back.

Love,

-Ezrah

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Ezrah,

He’s lost it! He’s truly fuckin’ lost it, Ez. I don’t know what in the high hell has gotten into him, but he's screamin. Full-blown hollerin ‘bout some declaration. He’s talkin’ about James, I think. ‘Says he’s done some sort of somethin’ successfully and that he’s coming back for our “reintigration.” He was bouncin’ off the walls of the room. I’ve never been so frightened in my entire life. He’s gone now, Ez. Noah’s gone, and I haven’t the sense to go after him. I don’t know what to do. Please write back soon, I’m alone, and I fear I’m losin’ it as well. I’m startin’ to hear things too ya’know. These four walls feel as though they’re startin’ to close in and I ain’t one of small spaces, Ezrah, you know that. I don’t know how much longer I have in this room before they get to me, too.

Yours,

-Georgie

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Georgie,

You need to leave that room now. There’s something I didn’t tell you about the carnage left behind with James’ troupe. In each of the eviscerated bodies, there was the number ‘106’ crudely carved into them. I didn’t piece it together at the time, but that has to be a message from James. He’s the only one I couldn’t find the remains of.

With what you said regarding Noah, there must be somethin’ more sinister at play. I’m not one-hundred percent sure what’s goin’ on, but I’m rushing back as soon as possible. I figured this letter would reach you faster than I could. Please, please, lord, I hope this finds you before he does. Georgie, I need you to get as far away from that God-forsaken place as possible. I don’t know what’s gonna go down there, but it isn’t lookin’ good.

With urgency,

-Ezrah

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~Letter found~

Ezrah,

I received your letter and am writing from my new position, a few miles east of the old motel. They almost saw me, but I escaped, Ez, there’s somethin’ deeply wrong with them. I only caught a glimpse, but it looks like Noah and James found each other. There's somethin’...different about them. They look off, somehow? They were moving across my line of sight, heading towards the back of the building, but their movements were stiff. I heard my name bein’ called as well, but it was all wrong, Ezrah. It wasn’t coming from their mouths; their lips weren’t moving. No, it was…different. Terribly different from the soft timbre of Noah or the gruff nature of James. It was as though the voice of something long-dead was crawling out of a throat long passed its rightful usage.

It kept beckonin’ my name. It was so loud, Ez, it felt like it was bouncin’ around in my skull. Hell, it feels like I can still hear it somewhere in the back of my head. Luckily, I don’t think they…or well, it, saw me runnin’ in the opposite direction. I hope you find me before they do. Please hurry, Ezrah.

Sincerely,

-Georgie