The following collections of journals were recovered from a caravan outside of Duluth, Minnesota. The exact date of recovery is not known nor is the origin of the speaker. The Bureau for the Restoration of History (BFRH) would like help in identifying the man who kept these records. This unedited record of events is still considered the most accurate history of the apocalypse that occurred on April 15th, 2011.
“It began with a drum. Then the monsters came. I’ve been hiding ever since.”
I took a yellow memo pad from the supply locker. I hope they don’t care. I need to write something down. I remember hearing somewhere that having a journal is a good way to avoid going crazy. It was on the Today Show or something like that. They’d have to be experts, right? Doesn’t matter, I won’t get in trouble. The bank won’t be working for a while. I don’t care though, after everything that’s happened. I don’t want to work here anymore if this is going to happen in the area.
It hit around six tonight, right before I could close the drive up.
There was this weird hammering sound everywhere. I thought it was just some construction, but it didn’t stop. It started, and the drumming came through every wall and counter. It was almost like a casual vibration or something.
They came shortly after, the screams.
At first they were everywhere around the building, people screaming, running, and being chased. A fat, white guy with a Twins jersey on came running by the bank’s windows and something grabbed him from underneath the window. There was a scream, crunch, and nothing else. I hid down behind the counters. Something exploded outside, sending a tree branch into the front doors, throwing glass everywhere. I crawled to the basement.
There were more explosions, like they were following me. The lights went out quickly and without warning. I heard some brakes screech and a woman screaming. The door to the basement still worked, a battery controlled the whole thing. Three hours since then, my phone is holding the time at least. I’m going to hide here all night. The mold and dust smell is driving me a little nuts. The basement had a few cookies, and stale chips from the office parties. I ate them all. I don’t care. I tried calling my Dad, Sister, and my girlfriend. No answer, nothing, not a whisper. It was probably like 9/11 when the phones crashed or when Michael Jackson died. I’m going to try and sleep soon. The walls keep shaking, and there are distant sounds of smashes and screams.
War? The Russians? An earthquake in Saint Paul? Whatever, I’m not going to sit down here all night. I’ll have to pee eventually. The bathroom is upstairs. I’ll try and sleep first, and I see if I can drive home in the morning. My dog is home after all. She hates thunderstorms.
She can’t be doing very well with this.