September 1, 1954.

Maurine hated the way the ceiling would drip, drip, drip, like a cesspool of freakish bacteria were leaking into her school. Everything else at Edgemont Prep was perfectly conforming to every standard; especially Maurine herself. Most people claimed it as the reason for her lack of friends: she would rather jump into the lion's den than break a rule. While the popular crowd would skip school every now and again, pleasant little Maurine would stay in the cage of her mind, reading spooky poems she would find in her mothers bookcase. "Stories are stories," she would always say. But, that never stopped Maurine from believing in chilling creatures, hiding in the woods somewhere.

Last week, though, is when everything went to ashes. Fondly, Maurine would stare out the window while she waited for class to begin, sitting curled up under her desk.

But at one point, the television had flicked on, and greyish images raged to catch her eye. The students sat up pin-straight in their desks. Fear and intrigue had plagued their generation.

"Now, don't nobody make a ruckus," the man on the news said. "I'm sure these creatures can't get ya' if you have light. They're like vampires, ya'know? 'Cept they're real, and they'll turn you left if you tried to fight one, they'd bite one, a' your youngins, I tell ya. They write on the left cause that's where they came from. Damn Democrats let loose monsters worse than a' alligator!"

Every little instinct in Maurine's body told her it wasn't real, but the weeks that followed assured everyone otherwise.

Bit by bit, each day teachers and students would go missing, and return a little off from their normal selves. Maurine thought of it as a rumor, until one of the teachers escaped, with another student.

It wasn't like Maurine cared much, those kids were never nice to her. But, the danger set loose on the school, and Edgewood Grove surrounding it made the hairs on her arms stand on end.

In the paper the next day, everyone saw pictures of Ms. Martin, and Gregory Tastings, but monsterified. Their skin was black and bubbly, three inch claws grew out of their fingers, their glowing red eyes stared violently, and their hunchbacks flowed into a scraggly second left arm, clawing for blood.

It read, "Wanted: abominations."

Everyone worried for the most popular girl in school, Cheyenne Tastings. Her brother had been replaced with a nightmarish creature, but she didn't seem to mind.

It was just another rebellious mishap in the rollercoaster of her life. She wore a slim black dress with red tights, instead of the traditional school uniform. Cheyenne never did her homework, she loved to host illegal parties, and skip school often.

Everything was for a thrill, which was likely why the rumors spreading like wildfire never phased her.

But Maurine's tension increased by every passing day, as more and more children continued to go missing. Gooey purple slime stained desks and patches of floor, leading Maurine to not trust anyone from then on. Each person left in school wrote with their right hand, but in her mind, that didn't make much of a difference.

As more people disappeared, Maurine feared the worst for her town. Shadows of creatures followed her around, and she avoided talking to anyone, for fear of killer instincts.

At least, until Cheyenne Tastings herself invited Maurine to eat lunch with her one day.

Our hero hesitantly stepped over to the popular girl. Cheyenne had a cheery grin, flowing pigtails, one slightly longer than the other, and fake pointy nails.

"Come on," Cheyenne beckoned sweetly. "You're Maurine Hawthorn, right?"

Maurine pursed her lips. "Yes...I don't usually talk to people."

"Oh, it's alright," she insisted. "I won't bite. It's rough out here, ain't it?" She nibbled on a slab of red jerky.

Maurine nodded shakily. "I suppose so. No one's safe in Edgewood anymore."

"You don't think I'm one of the monsters, do you?" Cheyenne noticed Maurine clutching a flashlight close to her chest, as if to keep it beating.

She pushed a branch-brown lock of hair behind her ear. "No, Ma'am."

"You're welcome to tell the truth." Cheyenne smacked her juicy red lips. "I can prove it to you."

Maurine slowly lowered the flashlight to her waist. "And how, perhaps, would you do that?"

"The creatures are sensitive to light, aren't they? Shine that flashlight in my face."

Maurine stared with panic in her eyes: "Are you sure? What if it blinds you?"

"I'll be fine...you want to prove it, don't you?" Cheyenne smirked. "It'd be nice to have someone to trust."

Maurine agreed silently, and raised her flashlight once more. It flickered on, a beam of holy light bleeding through the room. She aimed it directly into Cheyenne's face.

The girl didn't blink, nor twitch, nor make any sound at all. The room shook with tension, reflecting Maurine's raging heart. And then, just like that, it was over.

Cheyenne raised her hands up proudly. "See, Maury? You can trust me. I can call you Maury, right?"

"Sure," Maurine replied briskly. She turned her head away from the other.

A smarter lone survivor; she wondered. How had someone with such a fragile ego, such as Cheyenne Tastings, survived in this Edgewood apocalypse? "How did you move on...after your brother?"

"Bit the dust?" Cheyenne finished, batting her eyes coyly. "Oh, he was a nuisance, anyways. We just moved to stay at my uncle's. His locks are tighter, can't be gnawed through, y'know?"

Maurine nodded, as if she understood exactly where the other was coming from: "My house doesn't have windows," she whispered. "Nice and safe."

"Sounds perfect for someone like yourself." Cheyenne chuckled. "It's a good time to be a wimp-a-saurus with no friends."

Maurine shrugged. "Four eyes are better than two. Survival depends on communication and adaptation."

"You mean six eyes," Cheyenne teased. "Glad to be a buddy. Especially when classes are few and far between."

The smaller school girl nodded. "Triangle classification isn't worth much to bloodthirsty predators, I take it."

"Hopefully not," Cheyenne answered. "I can't remember anything they taught us, and it's only been a week."

Maurine batted her eyes. "That's how it always works. The cerebral cortex reserves more space for things related to survival. It takes us back to the predisposed wiring of the stone age."

"I'm going to pretend I understand that mumbo jumbo." Cheyenne licked her lips. "Anyway, the school is getting less safe by the day. There are likely plenty hiding amongst the presumed survivors."

Maurine gripped her flashlight tighter: "So, what are you suggesting?"

"I know a good shelter not far from here, through the woods and in a warehouse over the hill," Cheyenne said. "My uncle said he used to hide from cyclones there."

Maurine tilted her head. "Do you think we could make it there and be able to hide until someone can stop them? That seems like a high risk of death."

"Higher risk when you're on your own," Cheyenne remarked. "Plus, you have the flashlight. As long as it's not dark, we'll be okay."

"Can we get there before sundown?"

Cheyenne grinned. "If we run we'll survive."

The adrenaline pumped through Maurine's brain, somehow jolting her liver up farther than she ever thought possible. As the two of them ran through the forest, dark shadows loomed over them, and the sun continued to dip lower every second.

"How much longer until we get there?" Maurine questioned. "I don't know how long my legs can take this."

Cheyenne bit her lip voraciously. "Not long, do not fear."

Every flower bowed down, submitting to the strong winds of the chase. Every time the two stepped, more branches crunched in anger.

Pain seeped through each muscle as Maurine ran for her life, never daring to look back into the evil red eyes of The Left. The conquerors that ruled Edgewood Grove as of now, for who knows how long.

In the process her flashlight fell into a ditch, but for survival, it didn't seem to matter.

After what seemed like hours of endless stampeding, running, and clawing to get to safety, Cheyenne led them straight over the hill. Dead, brown grass covered every ground surface.

A stone cold steel warehouse sat in front of them; no windows, just a barred door that cranked open slowly.

Out of breath, young Maurine stood stiff, facing the door: "How do you know we'll be safe here?"

"It's the only perfect place I know," Cheyenne answered.

Then the door swung open, revealing an empty black void: "This seems awfully dark for such a big place."

"I'm sorry, Maurine," Cheyenne said. "You were one of the smart ones."
She shuddered. "What do you mean?"

"Clearly, not smart enough," another voice bellowed.

Cheyenne turned toward her and ripped her own face off, a human disguise, protecting her from the light. The lack of it revealed a dark scaly face, deformed, with glowing red eyes.

A clawed left hand burst out of the side of her dress: "The right will only hurt us."

"We need to eat," a third one of The Left growled.

Maurine stammered. "How did this start, why did it happen?"

"When you let the pain out onto the world, it always takes over," the creature said.

Cheyenne spoke, "We feed on all the beauty and rightness in human creatures. Thankfully, that means when we feast, you won't be all gone."

"Left we write, left we bite," a chorus of monsters started to growl in unison.

"Left we write, left we bite."

Crack.

And in the end, for Maurine, all that was left of her was left behind.