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By Exlus Bennett

GENRE: Fantasy, Horror, Thriller
LOGLINE: This is a straight story. The framework for a play or film.


Two brothers are forced to survive in an attic when the environment has become hostile and dangerous because of what lurks outside.


(Unnamed Horror Story) by Exlus Bennett It’s been 834 days since my brother and I moved into this attic. Right now he’s sulking in the corner because I tore him a new one for cooking that bacon. It’s my own fault I guess. I should have never brought the bacon and propane powered hot plate home. Now the whole place smells like bacon. I don’t mind the smell of bacon, hell I like bacon too! But I don’t know what it is that attracts those things out there. Is it smell, sound, lights? I don’t know. All I know is that they’re fast, strong and vicious! Everytime I climb out of the window to go scavenging, I pray I’m able to get back to my brother. I’m not even scared for myself anymore, I’m scared for him. I’ve been trying to teach him what I know. There’s a few old books in here that I read to him. But, I don’ know if I taught him enough to survive on if something happens to me on one of my trips. He’s taking it hard…still crying, silently. I don’t blame him. It is his birthday. What eight year old don’t want to celebrate their birthday? But cooking that bacon wasn’t the way…I think. I’ll try to make it up to him in a little bit. I’ll read his favorite story to him. I think I’m one of the few people to make King Lear a comedy for kids. I don’t know if I should open the window to let the smell out or silently wait for it to go away on its’ own and hope nothing happens. If I open the window, those things may be able to track the smell to here. I can’t risk that. I’ve fought them once and I don’t have a lot of bullets left for my rifle. It seems like I have to shoot them several times for one to stay down. In the beginning, my aim really sucked, but I’ve gotten better…I think. Since this whole ordeal started I’ve been unsure of myself and second guessed decision I’ve been forced to make. If mom and dad could see me now, they’d have a good laugh or be stunned by the outcome. They’d say how I never listened to them; How I never made a good decision; That I was irresponsible. Yea, they’d be in shock now. I look at my little brother and feel sad for him. He was barely five when our lives changed forever. How do you learn to cope at that age? What does this kind of thing do to a kid inside? I know how I’ve changed and feel, but Brie, how does he do it? Even before I yelled at him for cooking the bacon, he wakes up optimistically. He was actually smiling this morning! I just tell myself that he doesn’t know the depth of which we are in danger. Those damn things! I find myself always thinking about those things. I can’t have a simple thought without returning to the way they look, how they move, the sickening sound they make when they hunt you. I hate them so much and yet they scare the hell out of me. I don’t know if that’s what makes me so angry; my fear or them or how they make me fear them. I still have the occasional nightmare about what they did to my best friend Tommy. And all I could do was watch. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t help him. I can hear his screams now… “Danny, I’m sorry I cooked the bacon”. My brother. I stop re-living my horrors and force a smile to my face. “That’s okay Brie, you didn’t know”. I look out the window and I don’t detect any movement. Maybe those things didn’t smell anything. Maybe they were too far away to know. “Did you eat some of the bacon you cooked?” I ask him. He turns and looks at the plate of mangled, cold crisps. He shakes his head ‘no’ and starts to look sad again when I interject, “Well don’t you think you should?” His face slowly morphs from despair to a slight grin. He runs over to the plate and begins to devour the bacon strips. I watch him as his eyes open wide with each piece he consumes. At this moment, there’s nothing else for him, but the joy of eating that bacon. I smile weakly when he looks at me with those bright blue eyes he has. It is his birthday after all. I’m glad he made it to this one. (on going story)

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