#ricposts

Alaric wasn’t sure when exactly it happened. He was hungry — so he’d wandered into the kitchen. First, he’d opened the freezer door, checked for chunky monkey. Disappointed, he then turned to the cupboards, chastising himself for not keeping on top of the groceries for the kids… at some point, vertigo hit him like a freakin’ landslide. He’d held onto the counter, white knuckled. Something itched, inside — really on the inside. In his brain, something was there, where it shouldn’t be. It was hard to describe; but Alaric had brought a hand up to his head in confusion, before he stumbled over to the sink a millisecond later, thinking he was gonna hurl. 

And yet, nothing. But nothing changed, either. 

He could feel his insides buzzing, something… almost tickling his mind, brushing against it. A sick feeling knotted in his gut again, and he leaned further over the edge of the sink. A wave of — something — enveloped his mind, then. Like something was trying to push him out of consciousness... like he was drugged with some strong sedative, except this was all jagged edges and his heart felt like it was gonna bust, his chest felt tight with worry and pure, horrible panic, and an overall sinking feeling that was enough to have him gripping the sink for support just to stay on his feet. 

Anger. It was his, but it wasn’t. He was getting furious and he had no idea why… 

"Keep it together," he muttered to himself, and he was shocked to hear the strain in his voice. As he spoke the words, a migraine hit him so suddenly and horribly that it was enough to cry out in pain. He blacked out for two seconds, but he wasn’t going without a fight. Whatever this was… 

It was alien. It wasn’t him. 

The nerves in his hands felt fried somehow, numb, and Alaric had no clue that he even had something in his hands until he saw it through blurred vision when he came to again moments later: to his shock, upright, and clutching the meat cleaver from the kitchen knife block. He meant to put it down immediately — but then something inside stood, rose up, did something! — and it was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It was horrible. Empty and… evil. 

And a pained sort of panic, Alaric had no idea what was going on, let alone what he was doing. He could barely see, struggling for consciousness as he was, but he knew whatever it was that was trying to take control... It had to be stopped. He — no, it — took a step. ”N—” he ground his teeth so hard his jaw clicked, his temple jumping. “N-no.” The force pushed back, insistent, and beyond powerful. He did the only thing he could. Gathering all the control he possibly had… his fist snapped back to his torso; the one clutching the meat cleaver. 

His first thought was that it was cold. The blade was cold. 

Then he realized what he’d done as he spit up blood. “Wh…” He looked down at the knife before his eyes rolled back. 

Alaric was only out for about a minute before something in his brain kicked in, realizing that he was dying. It provoked consciousness, or at least some semi attempt at it. The blood loss was tremendous… pressing a hand to the wound, Alaric struggled to make his way upstairs to his cell phone… he didn’t remember much of it. He knew that at some point he’d realized the power was out, and wondered when it’d done that, or why, as he felt along the walls, trying to stay on his feet. 

God, this wasn’t like any of the other ones. He wasn’t coming back from this, was he? He was gonna die with a knife in his gut, trying not to slip in his own blood as he practically crawled up the stairs just to get to the goddamn phone to call for help… at the top, he wasn’t lying to himself any more. His limbs were the heaviest things he’d ever lifted. His eyes were refusing to stay open, and this creeping frost bite-like chill was slithering along his veins, making everything hazy and distant. He was cold… he wished, ridiculously, he had his jacket on. 

Halfway across the hall way he fell. “G-ahh!” The knife jerked inside, ripping a blazing fire through him, tearing tissue and slicing him into ribbons and everything was agony. He wanted to yell, scream for help, but the fall had stolen the use of his lungs, breath. In the doorway to Jenna’s bed room, he peered through blurry eyes into the darkness, seeing the outline of his cell phone beside the photo of himself and Jenna on the night stand. No matter how much he wanted to reach it… a part of him was okay that he wouldn’t, he thought.