GENRE: Christian Paranormal
"Can they get in here?" Carla whispered, with wide eyes and a face that appeared to change expressions in the soft flickering candlelight.
"I hope not," Dan replied, his breath floating out in white waves, cross-legged on the worn carpet and nervously looking around the circle.
"They can't," Paul lied, carefully chewing the partially frozen apple pie he had somewhat thawed out by the living room fireplace. He wanted to keep that fire going all night, but they'd see it for sure.
The snow covered farmhouse was deserted and drafty, caught in the frigid clutches of Iowa's snowiest winter in ninety-nine years. At least that's what Ed Wilson had said on the local news just a few days before all hell had broken loose. The nine-millimeter strapped to Paul's right leg was cold as ice but he couldn't feel it anymore. He would have to get them to warmer weather, and fast, because if the walking dead didn't get 'em, the freezing temps would.
Carla continued scanning the farmhouse's many windows while clutching her two young boys on the stained carpet. It made Paul paranoid. He knew what she was thinking and wished they were boarded up too, or at least had thicker curtains.
"Mom, are they gonna to eat us?" Mike asked.
"What? No sweetie, they're not going to eat us," she told him, rubbing his back.
"I don't wanna diiiiiiie!" Matt suddenly cried out too loud.
"Peanut, will you stop! You are not going to die.