Last of the Old Earth Dwellers

As a child, my grandmother would scare my brothers and me with tales of the Old Earth. Monstrous stories of fire and death. She was part of the Last Generation, a dwindling community of Old Earth dwellers. In the beginning, they were celebrated with parades. Their children listened closely to the harrowing stories and shook with fear. But even now my brothers snicker. I’m grown, with children of my own, but my grandmother still sends a shiver down my spine. I would never tell my brothers, but I avoid her craggy gaze. They say she’s losing her mind, speaking in nonsense. I’m afraid she speaks in truth. Once I tried to visit her in the Community for Old Earth Dwellers. It’s a decrepit place, makes you tuck your face in your shirt as you walk by. I was seventeen and full of questions, so when I knocked on the metal doors I wasn’t yet afraid. The clanging echo of my fist was muted by the pressure lock hissing alive. I quickly hopped over the ledge, careful not to bruise my shins. The door slowly rolled closed behind me, the light edging away to darkness. I hated this part, the brief seconds before the fluorescents blinked on. I would always squeeze my eyes shut until I heard the fizzle of electricity. Only then would I pop off my helmet and shake the red dust from my jeans. The intercom had the quality of a tin can, but the entrance buzzed open when I mumbled, “Edith Johnson”. I remember leaving a sweaty mark as I dashed through the already retreating door. The smudged writing on my hand read “room 145”. The squeaky hall was empty, but a thousand eyes poked my skin. I think I sprinted the last twenty feet, huffing to a stop at grandmother’s door. I was still raising my fist when the door creaked open an inch. Grandmother’s lined face peered near my shoulder and grinned a gummy smile.
“Jeremy,” she croaked, “come in.” Before I could step further she motioned a cracked claw at the welcome mat. “None of that red filth in my room, it sticks to the furniture.” Puffs of bright crimson hovered over the floor when I was finally allowed entrance. A wooden bed gleamed in the corner, a sunflower-yellow quilt beaming hello.
“Grandma, where did you get this bed frame?” I had never seen real wood before, and it was surprisingly silky to my fingers.
“Dear, that was mine on Earth. My father made it from the oak tree in our backyard.” I’ll never understand how she managed to smuggle it to New Earth. “Take a seat by the window, I’ll make tea.”
The worn fabric of the easy chair was rough, but the plush seat swallowed me into a cozy embrace. The metal chairs at home always gave me a backache. “I can see why you never leave this room, this chair rocks.”
Grandmother huffed as she placed tea bags in two chipped mugs. “I never leave this room because they’re coming back. We were never safe coming here.”
Normally I ignored her crazy remarks, but today I wanted answers. “Who are they?” The shrill scream of the kettle masked her whisper. “What’s that?” I shouted, stepping to the kettle and flicking off the glowing button. Steam swirled over our faces as a cold hand seized my wrist and squeezed with its weak strength.
“The creatures!” Her hoarse voice shook. “They will be back. We are not safe.” My back hit the door as I fumbled for the knob. Grandmother pointed a gnarled finger toward me, each shuffle booming in my ears. “They grew twenty feet, fifty, taller than skyscrapers. We didn’t know what they were. They plotted in their ponds, feasting on our scraps. And then they rose and nearly killed us all. They are monsters! Evil! And they will be back. Never give them the scraps!” I was twisting the knob and falling into the hall before she could reach me. Running frantically, I yanked on the helmet and punched the release button. Knots twisted my guts and my legs were jelly when I finally stepped into the dusty light. I was on my knees, panting a vow to never return when a piece of white fluff drifted before me. I grabbed in disbelief, the soft feather weightless in my fingers. I keep that feather now, forever in my pocket. I would never tell my brothers, but I am scared. And my grandmother speaks the truth.