DAY 1.
Holy fucking shit, it's pandemonium out there. I'm in the bedroom right now after closing windows and locking my door; it's truly is a blessing in disguise that I'm on the fifth floor and not the ground level. I've loaded my gun to defend myself just in case anyone comes in. There's so much screaming.
A couple of hours ago, the county emergency broadcast blared out on all channels, advising us to stay indoors because a "dangerous meteorological event was taking place". I don't know shit about meteors. I took heed, but the broadcast got weird. Contradictory information and instructions, all focused on the event, the night sky. It wasn't a fucking meteor. Something's up with the moon. And to look at it means death. Or something close to it. You can't let moonlight seep in from your windows—mirrors are a no-go. The announcement said nothing about the how, the why, or what the county is doing about it. I doubt anyone is coming. This feels like the end of days.
The broadcast cut to black, then displayed a haunting message:
"IT CAME IN"
"THE MOONLIGHT"
"THROUGH THE WINDOW"
"I DROWN IN IT"
"IF YOU ARE AFRAID"
"THEN WE WILL LOOK TOGETHER"
I lunged forward, turning off the television. No way was I going to see whatever they wanted me to see. Clearly, whoever was in charge of the broadcast was compromised. But before I can even stew on what just happened, the shouting started. Not just from the streets—but my apartment building. Abrupt, shrill, and recognizable; I wasn't close to my neighbors, their screams haunting. This was and sent me to my bedroom, fetching my revolver. They had to have been watching the same broadcast. Is the moon doing this to people? How?
My neighbors grew silent, but the screams elsewhere continue, even now. I can hear sounds from the adjacent apartments. Frantic babbles and moaning. They're still alive. Right now, I'm hunkering down until morning and hoping for positive development. TV is off limits—for obvious reasons—but I have a radio somewhere in the kitchen; I'll try to see if anyone else is out there. There have to be others, right? Hopefully, people still use radios. Well, we're going to have to.
Do you know what's funny? I had planned to go for a walk tonight.
They're still screaming.
DAY 2.
I found my radio, it's still damaged from the last time I used it half a year ago. Takes some fiddling to turn on, but otherwise bearable. I messed with dials to see it could pick up notable broadcasts; I found one, a local transmission from an individual who clearly spent his life pretending to be an anchorman. He was putting on a voice, but its shaky tone betrayed an acute awareness of how fucked up things have got. I think he must've lost someone to all of this. Poor guy.
"Is anybody out there? Shit. It's all over. The night is death—the moon is—don't look at it! You don't die, but you become deranged and try to spread the influence. M-My wife, she… I-If anyone is out there, don't go outside at dusk. It's not worth it—!"
It cut out. This was a crisis that wouldn't resolve quickly. I needed to take stock. While I was quite knowledgeable in cooking, I had gotten used to purchasing long-lasting frozen foods and canned items to tide me over until I could next go out grocery shopping. I stocked the freezer with enough food to last two months, and the pantry is full of dried goods. So far, so good.
The main issue now is water. Particularly containers; water from taps probably won't last, I needed to stock up if I wanted to live. The largest containers I had were five jugs, which hold five gallons amongst them—thank God for my aversion to tap water. It's not much, but it should be more than I need for at least a few days. I went into my bathroom and started filling the jugs, careful not to make much noise and attract unwanted attention. Dwelling on what happened to the people around me is an exercise in futility; they were gone—certainly changed by the night sky.
There'll be many opportunities in the future to get more food and water. That's what I'm telling myself now.
DAY 3.
I heard screaming again, but this time from a different direction. During the day, the city is a madhouse. Combat, chaos—it's awful. Everyone's scrambling for supplies, trying to find shelter, anything to help them before the sun goes down. I feel helpless. On my end, I've been trying to seal any entrances and exits with whatever I can find; I even put in some makeshift locks on the door. I don't want to go outside—even when the sun is out. I'll stay in the apartment as much as I can, and try to keep my blinds closed.