Dylan Gray - Alioth RasElased

Dylan parked his car, sighing to himself. ...and thus ends another wonderful day... He had just arrived home from a date with his girlfriend, Anna. Yawning, he took out the house keys and made to unlock the door when he noticed a glint of moonlight in the corner of his eye. Something coated the grass in the front lawn. His curiosity piqued, he moved closer and crouched next to the mysterious substance, smeared some on his fingertips and sniffed it. He recognized the smell instantly.

What the hell? He froze in horror. Blood!? Turning to face the house once again, he saw that one of the windows were shattered. Panic gripping him, he fumbled with the keys in his hands, running to the door. The lock clicked, the door opened, and Dylan rushed into the darkness. The smell of blood was in the air, and he heard the unpleasant sound of something being torn apart. He felt around in the darkness for the light switch and switched it on.

He would have screamed at the sight, but he didn't want to alert the thing in the next room. The floor was covered with blood, and in the darkness of the living room, he thought he saw an unmoving figure sitting on the couch. But what horrified him the most was the humanoid figure that sat half-shrouded in the darkness in front of the couch. It looked perfectly human, but its clothes were in tatters and it was covered in wounds and blood, and if it wasn't for what it was doing, Dylan would have gone up to it and offered to help-- It was busy eating. He didn't need to think about what it held in its hands anymore. It was red, bloody, and the way it ate it reminded him of animals eating their prey. The only thing that came to mind was that he had to get away, far away from that thing.

He moved hurriedly back to the front door, and an unexpected sound reached his ears. Splat, just like stepping in a puddle. The thing stopped what it was doing, and slowly turned its head to face him. Its face was grotesque, like a man's but bloodied and warped, without any life in its eyes. He froze. Time froze. Terror kept him in place, forbidding any movement.

Then he heard it. An all to familiar, yet all too unwanted sound, metal clinking against wood-- or specifically, the sound of keys hitting the floor. Time burst into movement once again, and so did the thing, crawling on all fours towards him.

Dammit. Dammit! Dammitdammitdammitdammitdammitdammit! He ran, not towards the outside, for that path was now blocked, but deeper into the house. He knew he had to find something, anything to fight that thing. He entered his father's study, and grabbed his favorite item hanging on the walls: A lever-action Winchester 1894 rifle with most of its barrel sawed off. He pointed it at the thing shambling towards him and pulled the trigger, praying that the thing would stop in its tracks.

But it didn't. Everything was silent except for the shambling of the thing. He swore under his breath. Apparently, his father never kept any ammo around, all the guns were just for display purposes. Dammitdammitdammitdammit! Searching around the room, he grabbed what would probably be the only useful thing to him at the moment: a simple longsword.

It was heavier than he expected, and just by the weight alone, Dylan could tell that this was more than just a prop. Heh... Father always made sure his things were authentic... Raising it up over his head, he ran towards the thing, and with a scream, brought it down as hard as he could. There was the sickening feeling of blade sinking into flesh and bone crunching, and then the thing stopped its movements. He had driven the sword halfway into the thing's skull, mostly by its weight alone.

He fell to the floor, leaning on the wall. This is crazy... What the hell is going on here!? Outside, he thought he heard moaning and screaming. Pandemonium had been unleashed. He looked around the room, filled with guns, yet none loaded with bullets. Useless.... they're all useless... He held the sword in his hands, the one that saved his life, and took its sheath from its place on the wall. Returning the blade into its sheath, he hung it on his side, and as an afterthought, took the Winchester rifle with him, in case he finds an ammo store. He left the house, pausing for a bit to mourn over his father's remains and quickly got into his car. He had only one destination in mind, the person he had to save. Anna, please be alright...