Leon

News channels are one of the last things I thought I would ever have an interest in, but the boys and I stay glued to the boob tube all night. At some point the schools are cancelled getting a frown from me and a brief cheer from everyone else, even Chris. The boy is the same age as me and really should know better. The talking heads are adamant that people stay inside for their own safety.

The city is calling in everyone from exterminators to retired firemen. The Governor of the state is quicker than most to realize the potential severity of the situation. The national guard were notified and everyone with a passing acquaintance with the government is told to be on stand by.

Hospitals are flooded with the injured and by midnight, despite the danger of being outside, the looting naturally starts. Well, humans are nothing, if not predictable. The few news crews willing to brave both mini-monsters and looters, show people stealing everything from TV's to colouring books. The entire country is going mad, it seems.

Mike and Danny, 12 and 13 respectively, are as worried as I am. They are pure troublemakers and have a bad habit of running small packages for the West Avenue boys. Chris was just an idiot in my opinion, not the lovable oaf version either. He was a stereotypical bully and I honestly had no idea what he did with himself outside the house. When reports of the looting starts he wants to go join in, I have to remind him of the killer fuzz balls outside the door.

Mr. Smith still hasn't return, and even I was somewhat worried about him. In the back of my mind I am pretty sure he is dead though. Who risks their life for beer in an emergency?

In the morning the internet has bad cell phone footage of little green men. Not the 'Take me to your leader' kind. Everyone agrees they have to be Goblins. The news isn't far behind, even though they took an hour insisting the videos had to be fake.

Come 9 AM the White house is insisting the president is safe and will issue a statement shortly. By 10:30 the statement is postponed while he was moved to a secure location and the nation mourns for the vice-president. The VP's security detail is credited by the press with being the first to kill an Angel, but given the dirty bodies, the claws and talons, the internet decides to call them Harpies.

Every religion seems to agree it is the end of the world, so you should quickly send more money to reserve your room in heaven. And an awful lot of folks seem to be impatient for Cherub room service because suicide rates are through the roof. Of course, North Korea, some terrorist and the more militant right wing nut-jobs agree it was all an obvious plot by the Great Western Satan libtard Guberment.

Not to be out done, more than a few hippy communes try to reason with the more humanoid monsters. Explaining that we can get along and there was enough love for everyone. They will be missed. Their drug addled minds, not so much.

I start to print out everything I think might be useful depending on how things go. A mix and match batch of information from wilderness survival to possible bomb shelters in the city.

And so the first days go. More and more bizarre monsters appear. More people and places are going dark, and more half eaten bodies line the streets. At the end of day 4 there are rumours of dragons in Europe, but no video. China is locked down, but still active according to satellites. On day 5, France set off a nuke in Paris and no one seemed to know why. Everything else I can handle, but that one makes me go to my room to shed silent tears. Whatever hope I have that everything can somehow work itself out is blown away with Paris.

On day 6, the lights went out, but by then I was honestly surprised they had lasted so long. I always thought if one country ever used nukes, the rest of the world would follow and only ask what happened well after the fact. My believe in humanity was never strong. Mr. Smith has a small generator out back, but I don't think it wise to draw unnecessary attention to the house.

Outside by now is teeming with small dangerous beast of all sorts. I have not heard any gunshots in days but occasionally there were screams. Chris and I keep our Bats close at hand. We have long since barricaded all the doors, taped cardboard to the windows and set a watch for the night. Everyone keep falling asleep during the watch but at least we are trying. Rattling door and windows sometimes happen during the day.

I have a feeling we were going to have to bail long before we run out of food, so I make sure everything was cooked and we eat like kings. Mr smith has a treadmill I'm surprised he ever took out of the box. We use it a bit to relieve boredom, but also because sitting around inactive can not be a good look in this new world. So we eat, exercise, keep an eye out and listen to the news, right up until the lights go out.

At the end of day seven everything has pretty much stopped working. We have enough food for at least another week, I figure. Both bathtubs are filled with water. Pouring some into the tank keeps the toilets working. Adam has nothing useful in his room, except some pills I doubt are of medicinal value. Mr. Smith's room has another baseball bat though. I let the three others carry the bats, while I have the larger kitchen knives strapped to myself with newspaper sheaths. At least while we are inside. If we have to leave though, Mike is giving his bat up.

Problems start two days later. Everyone is already going stir crazy from being trapped in the house. Whispered arguments are happening more and more. I am speaking less and less, which is my thing when I'm upset. Finally Chris says he is leaving for his girlfriend's house. Didn't know he had one. He wants to make sure she is OK, and I don't see any reason to stop him. We are all going to have to leave eventually, best to do it on our own terms.

The dumb ass tries to walk out the door with just the bat in his hand. I literally face-palm. We help him pack his school bag with a change of clothes food and water, we check outside for monsters. Not as many as the early days, but purple rats and goblins are out there. Chris is confident he can make it if he is careful though, and I agree. He goes out the back door, and I wished him luck as I lock it behind him.

Not even an hour passes before Mike and Danny come to me with their bags pack saying they are heading to the West Avenue Boys club house. I just sigh and try to talk them out of it. I don't like them much, but I feel obligated as the oldest to point out they could literally die out there. They are too young to know they are mortal though. Not like I can keep them here against their will. Too much noise could have monster bursting through the door at any moment, if I try to physically keep them here.

Three days later and almost two weeks since the message first appeared, things got interesting. I am in bed reading when another blue box pops up.

Attention Sentient Beings

Incorporation of [extra-universal energies] into [Native Inhabitants] has been deemed necessary for the survival of [Native Inhabitants].

Additional but non-essential information can be obtained from [Celestials].

Please note, you may feel a slight dying sensation

"Is that a joke?" I ask no one out loud.

A few seconds later, I can tell it was not. Luckily the pain is so intense it stops me from screaming long enough to pass out.