I?ve been trapped in my grandpa?s nursing home for 3 hours. The noises outside are getting worse.

"The five stages of the apocalypse are like the five stages of grief."
Grandpa?s voice nearly made me jump. I?d been sat facing the window of his room, staring out at the view. It had been a while since he?d last spoken. I?d lost track of time.
Now I turned to find him staring at me. Watching me through milky blue eyes.
"What did you say, grandpa?"
"The end of the world, son. It?s close now."
I looked at him and forced a smile. This was the most I?d heard him speak in ages. The poor guy has had dementia for the past year. Barely remembers who I am anymore. Most of our visits consist of him sitting in silence while I waffle on about friends and family. Share news with him he probably can?t even understand. So despite the fact this sudden talk of the apocalypse was a little weird, I was keen to keep him talking.
It?s good to engage with them as much as possible. That?s what Brian, one of the nurses who works here, always says. It keeps their minds active.
"What do you mean the end of the world, grandpa?" I asked now. "It looks okay to me." I gestured towards the window of his second floor room, which offered a view of the garden outside the nursing home. It was early evening, and the freshly mown lawn was bathed in a soft golden light. The pond sparkled. Here and there a few residents were out walking with family members in the grounds. Making the most of visiting hours.
I smiled at grandpa, but he didn?t smile back. "That?s what I meant about the five stages, see." He reached up and tapped his nose. "Denial?s the first."
I frowned at grandpa. This was a new one for him. Sometimes he tells me old stories about his childhood, and during those he can occasionally appear quite lucid. But he normally loses his thread pretty quick. Abruptly shifts topic. Repeats himself. It had been a while since I?d had something that felt like an actual back-and-forth conversation with him. Even if it was one about the world ending. So I decided to humour him.
"Okay, grandpa," I said. "You got me there. How?s the world meant to end, then, anyway?"
Grandpa shook his head at me. His milky eyes flicked around the room, as if to make sure we were alone. When he next spoke, he?d lowered his voice to a whisper.
"They get in through yer head, see," he said. "They?ve been looking for a way in for years and years."
"Who?s been looking for a way in?"
"You wouldn?t know them. They?re not interested in your lot." Grandpa raised a trembling hand from the armrest. He extended one gnarled finger and pointed it at his chest. "It?s old ones they like. People with tired minds, whose defences are weak. Like me."
Okay, I?ll admit it: by this point I was a little creeped out. It wasn?t just what grandpa was saying, although that was weird enough ? it was the way he was saying it, too. There was an intensity in his eyes ? an awareness ? that I hadn?t seen in him for a long time.
But any uneasiness I did feel, I pushed to one side. The important thing was that grandpa was talking. He was animated. That was the bit to focus on.
"Okay, grandpa," I said. "So we?ve had denial. What are the next stages?"
"Anger and bargaining." He lifted his hand again, and once more extended his finger to point. This time towards the window. "If you look out there, you?ll see it. Things are moving quickly now."
Even though I knew that what grandpa was saying was nonsense, I found myself turning to the window anyway. Looking down on the garden below us. It was an instinctive thing, I guess. When someone points at something, you look.
The garden had cleared a little since I last looked out. I could only see two people at the moment, edging across the lawn. One was Brian, the nurse who works here. With his bright blue uniform and bulging frame, he?s sort of hard to miss. Brian was accompanying an elderly woman for her evening stroll. It looked to me like Mrs Lansham from the room down the hall. She?s more with it than most, and often raises a hand to me in greeting when I walk past her in the corridor. She has a curly grey perm and slightly horsey teeth. A sweet old lady.
As I watched, Brian and Mrs Lansham drew level with the oval-shaped pond in the middle of the lawn. They stopped. Turned their backs to the window, so they were facing it.
The pond is one of the nursing home?s better features. I?ve stopped to look at it a few times myself. It?s full of colourful fish, drifting hornwort and water lilies. A real feast for the eyes. The residents all love it.
Mrs Lansham stared at it for the best part of a minute, her left hand clutching Brian by his chubby right bicep. Then she turned to say something to him. I couldn?t hear what she was saying, of course ? there was the window between us, and I was way too far away. But I saw her lips move. I saw the yellow-white flash of her teeth.
Brian apparently hadn?t heard her, either. He stooped down so his head was closer to hers. So his ear was roughly level with her mouth.
And that was when it happened. That was when I finally realised I was caught in the middle of something I didn?t understand. Something I still don?t understand. In the hours since it took place, I haven?t been able to get the image out of my head.
Brian leaned closer to Mrs Lansham, waiting for her to speak. Waiting for her to repeat herself. But for several seconds she did nothing. Just stood there staring at the side of his face. Then, just as he was turning his head to see if she was okay, she lunged forwards and bit his neck.
From my vantage point on the second floor, I saw everything. One moment Mrs Lansham was as still as a statue, the next she was latched to the side of Brian like a tic on a dog. Her horsey teeth cutting into the fat flesh below his ear.
Brian screamed. Even though I was behind the window, I heard him. He yelped like a dying animal. Mrs Lansham reached her bony arms around his body, fastening herself onto him with a speed I wouldn?t have thought possible. As he thrashed his body to try and free himself, I saw her feet leave the ground.
But she held on. Even when Brian stumbled backwards and toppled to the ground, she held on. By this point, blood was spilling from his neck in red torrents. It ran from the place where Mrs Lansham had fixed her teeth into him, staining the collar of his blue uniform black. Brian was screaming for help now, his voice high-pitched and terrified. Begging for her to let go of him. When she didn?t, he started beating at her head and back with both hands. But it was no good. Nothing seemed to work. Mrs Lansham remained firmly attached to his body. Her mouth locked in place. After a while Brian?s struggles grew weaker, and then they stopped altogether. Finally, one of his fat arms flopped backwards and landed in the pond with a faint splash. It lay there like a dead fish.
At this point I became aware of a sound behind me. Low laughter. I?d been staring at the scene in the garden in a state of shock, but the noise snapped me back into action. I turned to find grandpa staring at me from his chair. Chuckling beneath his breath.
"The thing people don?t realise about the apocalypse," he said, "is it doesn?t happen with a big bang. No floods, or thunder. It just creeps in, bit by bit."
I ignored him and started across the room. Heading for the door. My plan was to run out into the corridor and start yelling for help. Find a nurse and get them to call an ambulance. But as I reached the door and went to grab the handle, I paused.
I could hear noises in the building. Sounds drifting down the halls. Bad sounds. They were muffled through the wood, but all the same I was pretty sure I could hear a woman screaming on the floor below. One of several voices crying out for help. Crying out in pain. I leaned my head forwards, pressing me ear tight to the wood.
Bang. I flinched. Somewhere in the corridor outside the room, a door had crashed open. I heard a man?s voice, raised in alarm.
"Mr Lovell, I need you to return to your room right away, please. We?re asking all residents to?"
The man?s voice abruptly cut off with a yell. I heard crashes outside in the corridor, followed by a dull thud. The yelling started up again and continued for several seconds, before tapering off to a whimper. I held my ear against the wood, frozen. Eventually the whimpering stopped too. It was replaced by a soft sucking noise that made me feel ill.
I stepped away from the door. It didn?t have a lock, so I picked up a wooden chair from a table in the corner. Wedged that beneath the handle instead. Then I ran back to the window and closed the curtains.
After that was done I sat back in the chair I?d been in earlier. Stared into space. I don?t think the fear of what was happening around me had fully kicked in then. Mainly I just felt numb. In shock. I clasped my hands in my lap, twisting them together.
"You?re in it now, son."
My grandpa?s voice. I looked up and saw him watching me. His eyes were fixed on my face.
"In what?" I asked after a moment.
"The fourth stage," he said. "It won?t be much longer now."
*
All that happened about three hours ago.
I?m still sat in the same chair. Still trapped in my grandpa?s room.
A couple of times I?ve gone over to the door to listen, but I?ve never gone further. I can still hear things outside, see. Muffled cries for help. Screaming. The occasional sound of feet in the corridor, shuffling slowly up and down. As if the owners are looking for something.
I?ve peeked out of the window a couple of times, too. Only a couple. The first time there wasn?t much to see. Just Brian?s body lying next to the pond, his arm still trailing in the water. No sign of Mrs Lansham.
She was there the second time I peeked out, though. That was about an hour ago. I?d heard a faint noise coming from the garden, so I peered through a crack in the curtains to see what it was.
It was a mistake. I wish I hadn?t looked. What I saw down by the pond filled me with a sick terror that?s stayed with me ever since. It?s left me with an image I don?t think I?ll ever be able to forget.
The noise outside was coming from Brian?s body. I knew that as soon as I peeked through the curtains, even though I could hardly see Brian. He was blocked by five or six elderly residents, including Mrs Lansham, who were gathered all around him. Some of them were hunched over, while others were on their knees.
They were eating him.
Their heads shuddered back and forth as they took bites out of his fat, meaty flesh. Brian?s uniform was a blood rag. What little was left of it had been stained black. His arms and legs shook as the patients he?d once cared for gathered round to gnaw on him. They were like birds tearing apart roadkill.
And as I stared down at this scene, my mind numb with horror, Mrs Lansham suddenly glanced up. I don?t know if she?d seen the curtains twitch, or if she was simply catching her breath between mouthfuls. I guess it doesn't matter.
What matters is that she saw me. I know she saw me. I backed away from the window as quickly as I could, but I wasn?t quick enough. Before I stepped back from the glass, her eyes found mine.
So now I?m sitting here in the darkness. I turned the main light in the room off after what I saw happening to Brian. Just kept the lamp on. It?s starting to get dark out, and I don?t want to draw any more attention to myself than I have to.
I don?t know what to do. I can hear noises down in the garden, and in the corridor outside the room. I can?t think straight. Whenever I shut my eyes to try and focus, all I can see is the same image of Mrs Lansham ? Mrs Lansham staring up at me, her mouth caked in blood and a strip of skin dangling from her horsey teeth. Her eyes boring into mine. Watching me the way a cat watches a baby bird in its nest.
And that isn?t even the worst thing, either.
The worst thing is grandpa. He was quiet for a long time after everything started happening. So quiet I almost forgot all about him. Whenever I?ve glanced in his direction over the past couple of hours, his eyes have been closed.
But they?re not anymore. Oh no.
Now, grandpa?s eyes are open again. Open and staring. Watching me. Following me around the room wherever I go.
About half an hour ago, grandpa started to dribble. The saliva bubbled from the corners of his mouth and made a glistening wet patch on his chin.
10 minutes ago, he started muttering under his breath. I couldn?t hear him at first, and I didn?t want to get any closer to try and catch what he was saying.
But he got louder. He got louder and now he?s repeating the same words, again and again. Repeating them while he watches me. Only five words, but they?re enough to make my entire body field cold.
"The final stage is acceptance."
"The final stage is acceptance."
"The final stage is acceptance."


Source.