I never thought I would end up here. The last human. It sounds like the beginning of a movie or a video game, right? But in reality, it’s just me, sitting in the dimly lit basement of what used to be my best friend’s house, staring at the flickering screen of an old computer. I can hear the wind howling outside, like the universe itself is mourning the fate of humanity.
It all started a few months ago, when the first reports of disappearances began trickling in. At first, it was just people from our town—local kids who went out one night and never came back. We all assumed they were just runaways or lost in the woods. Then the news spread. It wasn’t just our town. It was cities all over the country. One by one, people vanished, leaving behind only echoes of their laughter and a pervasive sense of dread.
In the weeks that followed, I lost everyone. My parents were among the first to go. I remember how my dad would always joke about “the end of the world.” It seemed so ridiculous back then. I never thought the world would actually end, but as the sun set on the last day I saw them, a chill ran down my spine. It felt like I was being watched, like something sinister was lurking just beyond the trees.
I was left with nothing but silence. I roamed the empty streets, looking for signs of life, but it was always the same. Houses stood empty, doors swung loosely on rusted hinges, and the air felt thick with despair. I would call out for anyone, hoping for a familiar voice to answer back, but all I heard was the echo of my own calls, fading into the shadows.
I eventually found refuge in this basement, the one place I could still feel a connection to the world. My friend Sarah had always loved this house. We spent countless nights here, watching horror movies and eating popcorn until we fell asleep on the couch. Now it felt haunted, like a tomb filled with memories that whispered of a happier time.
The flickering computer screen was my only companion. I had managed to find an old generator in the corner, which provided just enough power to keep it running. I spent hours searching the web for any sign of life, but all I found were empty forums and frozen conversations. Every page felt like a ghost haunting me, reminding me of the life that used to be.
Then, one night, something changed. As I clicked through the familiar sites, a new link appeared—a message board titled "Survivors." My heart raced. Could it be? I hesitated for a moment, then clicked it open.
The posts were frantic and filled with fear. People described a creature, something that hunted by the light of the moon, something that appeared only in the darkness. I read about how it would lure its victims, calling to them with familiar voices, promising safety before dragging them into the abyss. My heart sank. It sounded like something straight out of the horror movies Sarah and I used to watch, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was real.
Days passed, and I continued to read. There were fewer posts as the days went by. One by one, survivors wrote their final messages. “It’s not just the darkness that’s dangerous,” one read. “It’s what you think is safe.” I shivered, the words sinking into my mind like nails into wood. I wanted to ignore it, to brush it off as paranoia, but every night I could feel the air thickening, as if something was creeping closer.
Then, a week ago, I heard something. A whisper, soft and sweet, echoing from upstairs. I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. It was the voice of my mother, calling my name in that comforting tone I had longed to hear. I rushed up the stairs, fueled by a desperate hope. “Mom?” I called, my voice cracking. “Is that you?”
But the house was empty, just shadows stretching across the walls. The whisper came again, beckoning me back to the basement. It was a trick of the mind, I told myself. Just a figment of my imagination, fueled by loneliness.
But that wasn’t the last time it happened. Each night, the whispers grew stronger, more insistent. They weren’t just my mother’s voice anymore. They morphed into other voices—friends, family members, even strangers. Each one promised safety, warmth, and love. Each one lured me to the stairs, inviting me to step into the light.
Last night, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to know. I had to see what was up there. I climbed the stairs, feeling an unnatural warmth enveloping me as I reached the top. The air smelled sweet, intoxicating, as if summer had burst forth from the walls. I pushed open the door and stepped into the light.
But there was nothing. No one. Just me, standing in the empty hall. I felt a rush of despair wash over me, and the sweet voices faded into silence. The truth struck me hard. I was truly alone.
Suddenly, the lights flickered, and I heard the voices again. But this time, they weren’t sweet. They were mocking. “Look at you,” they jeered. “The last human, standing alone in a world that has forgotten you.”
I backed away slowly, panic clawing at my throat. It was then that I noticed something in the mirror hanging on the wall. My reflection stared back at me, but it wasn’t just me. There were shadows creeping behind me, dark figures that seemed to pulsate with malice. They were smiling, their faces twisted in glee.
In that moment, the truth sank in deeper than any fear. I wasn’t the last human. No, I was something else entirely. The last human had never existed. The whispers, the shadows—they were all part of me now. As I turned to run back to the basement, I could feel the darkness pulling me deeper, swallowing me whole.
And in the end, I realized, it wasn’t the darkness that hunted me. It was me who had become the shadow, the monster lurking in the light, waiting for the next lost soul to come knocking.
