It didn’t take long for his eyes to catch up with his brain and adjust to the very real world he found himself in.
That wasn’t a dream at all… that’s just what I remember before passing out.
Clarity came slowly, and with it, the realization of just how cold he was. His body shivered violently, yet his pain receptors seemed muted—refusing to properly report the cold gnawing at him.
Strangely enough, the ground beneath him still gave off warmth.
It reminded him of being tucked in at home, wrapped tight as his electric blanket worked overtime—anything to keep his gas bill down during winter.
Shouldn’t the ground be cold? Heat-sucking, actually…
The more he questioned it, the more unsettled his new reality became.
The sun hadn’t yet risen. He noticed immediately that the massive, blood-colored moon was gone.
A blanket of grayness covered what he expected to be a bright blue sky with fluffy clouds. Come to think of it, he didn’t believe the grayness to be cloud cover. It seemed to be the sky itself.
How could something of that magnitude simply vanish? Even back home, the moon lingered well into the morning hours.
Now nothing? It didn’t make sense.
He had to push those thoughts aside. It was time to move, time to learn, time to survive.
It took an immense amount of willpower to force his freezing body off the warm ground that promised comfort if he stayed.
“I just fucking came from the dirt. Ain’t stayin’ in it.”
The words came from his mouth without passing through his mind—and they felt wrong. Foreign. Hearing the sound of his own voice sent a shiver down his spine.
Raspy. Deep.
He sounded totally different from back home. There, his friends had even given him the nickname “Hiccup” based off the way his voice inflections and mannerisms matched the old cartoon character’s high-pitched and uneasy nature.
Isaac felt his throat contract. Like he’d swallowed a bucket of tacks for breakfast and washed it down with Jack Daniels.
Wait a minute… did I just say ain’t?
The last time he’d used that word, he’d been eleven. His grandma had cracked him upside the head with her wooden kitchen spoon—one she’d been stirring soup with moments before.
Thwaaaak.
The spoon reentered the pot without missing a beat. The vegetables floating around brought a pleasant aroma with them.
“You will speak proper if you are to carry on the Reed name.”
Thinking back now, he wasn’t really sure what she’d meant by that. Even less now, he thought to himself. The Reed name had never meant anything special to him.
One thing he knew for sure—he would never willingly say the word ain’t.
Pushing memories aside was important. They wouldn’t serve him here. Clinging to the past might only hinder whatever this second chance was supposed to mean.
Whatever it could lead to.
As the sun finally crested the horizon and welcomed the world awake…
Isaac felt like his world shattered all over again.
Tears welled uncontrollably as he rose to his feet, staring at seven stone pillars lined up side by side.
There were other gravestones nearby. That wasn’t what rattled him.
It was the name on the stone he had just crawled out of.
HERE LIES
Jonah Grayson
Loving Husband and Father of Five
Okay… so wherever this is, I’m no longer Isaac Reed.
Even that realization didn’t fully explain the crushing sorrow tearing through him.
Then he read the other six stones.
Eleanor Grayson
Beloved Wife
Margaret “Maggie” Grayson
Daughter
Abigail Grayson
Daughter
Lydia Grayson
Daughter
Thomas Grayson
Son
Samuel Grayson
Son
Something deep inside him remembered where he was.
Yet Isaac himself couldn’t draw upon this memory.
Perhaps that was for the best, considering the extreme pain and sorrow he felt as he read and reread each name.
“Gotta get the fuck out of here.”
The gruff voice whispered through the painful emotions.
Until now Isaac had only really focused on his immediate surroundings.
Now was the time to turn his attention toward himself.
Steadying himself, he urged his legs to lift him.
He felt sore, but it wasn’t like rigor mortis had started setting in yet. To him, this meant that this new body hadn’t been “dead” long.
Like every other dead person, he was buried without any of his belongings. This wasn’t Egypt after all. Wherever he found himself certainly felt westernized to him based off the cemetery he found himself in.
There was a strangeness to the cemetery. A lack of innovation and technology might have been the best way to explain this.
This place felt like a step far back in history, without any sign of modern roads or electricity.
Isaac thought to himself, perhaps that’s just the way this town wanted to be.
His thoughts wandered as he shakily stood to his feet.
He estimated his own height to be somewhere just over six feet tall. Definitely taller than he was back home. Wherever or whatever home was to him now.
His body seemed well balanced, definitely not a gym bro, which was fine by him—he always thought that physique looked goofy. It just wasn’t practical for a day-to-day life.
This body felt more seasoned to him. This person seemed like they worked with their hands as he inspected numerous blisters and callouses covering the rough skin.
His feet, currently barefoot, showed very little sign of use. A few shades whiter than the rest of his sun kissed skin.
Unable to see his own reflection, his hands floated up and inspected his facial features.
Entirely clean shaven.
That was pretty strange to Isaac, but he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it at this moment.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The rest of his body was lightly covered in some sort of linen that he believed used to be white. Now stained a tooth-decaying yellow.
Isaac didn’t just wake up in a dead man’s body. He woke up in the aftermath of a story already in motion.
Now he had to figure out how to navigate this story.
With the initial emotions dying down, Isaac took in his surroundings. The cemetery felt like a relic from the past.
It was small and quiet, well maintained, but he could tell it was most likely built for a town that didn’t expect much growth, or maybe they didn’t have much death.
Either way, it seemed like very little activity happened here. Now standing in the creepy abandoned cemetery led Isaac to consider for the first time his next course of action.
Find this town.
After he gets to the town he’ll finally have some more answers.
The cemetery only had two outbuildings. Some type of utility shed and perhaps an office, Isaac thought.
He made his way to the larger building first, hoping if it was some sort of office he might be able to find some temporary clothes. He certainly didn’t want to wander into town and immediately be arrested for public indecency.
Strangely enough, the door he approached opened with ease. It appeared to have been built before locks were even invented.
He shook that thought aside. That was just silly. The natural world and its weather would have long ago destroyed something of that quality.
Clouds of dust circled around him as the door flung open, and he found the inside of the room just as primitive as the outside.
The room was well organized, with a sturdy oak desk and chair in the corner. Built-in coat racks were nailed to the wall, and he could see a few different jackets that he’d only ever seen people wear at rodeos back home, and probably only wore them when the rodeos were in town.
These were different. They were layered in dusting. But before he went to investigate them closer, he found himself opening a leather bound book on the desk.
Scribbled handwritten letters filled the pages.
Burials & Dispositions — Ashfall Outskirts
Maintained to prevent spread of sickness.
Diseased bodies are to be burned.
Burials permitted only with clear cause.
Name: Old Man Harlan Pike
Disposition: Buried
Cause: Crushed under cart axle
Notes: No signs of rot or sickness.
Date: Early Spring
?
Name: Eliza Moore
Disposition: Burned
Cause: Fever, coughing blood
Notes: Took three days. Whole household isolated.
Date: Late Spring
?
Name: Samuel Kett
Disposition: Buried
Cause: Fall from quarry ledge
Notes: Neck broke on impact.
Date: Early Summer
?
Name: Jonah Grayson
Disposition: Buried
Cause: Trauma
Notes: No visible sickness. Body intact.
Date: ——
———
Name: Eleanor Grayson
Disposition: Buried
Cause: Trauma
Notes: No signs of illness.
Date: ——
?
Name: Margaret “Maggie” Grayson
Disposition: Buried
Cause: Trauma
Notes: ——
?
Name: Abigail Grayson
Disposition: Buried
Cause: Trauma
Notes: ——
?
Name: Lydia Grayson
Disposition: Buried
Cause: Trauma
Notes: ——
?
Name: Thomas Grayson
Disposition: Buried
Cause: Trauma
Notes: ——
?
Name: Samuel Grayson
Disposition: Buried
Cause: Trauma
Notes: ——
He stopped reading after Sammy’s name. The rest of the ledger seemed unimportant. He found himself wondering why he called him Sammy and not Samuel as the name showed.
Something inside of him remembered, but he couldn’t dig it out.
What caused him more concern than he expected was the words next to every member of the Grayson family. “Trauma” as the primary cause of death.
A burning sensation started to weave its way up his stomach into his sternum. A familiar sensation—he had felt it only a day before, when he exploded at work and lost his cool on Derrick.
That rage inside of him had destroyed his life. He wasn’t about to let it destroy his second chance.
He closed the book while simultaneously closing his eyes, spending a few moments to breathe and reflect.
The pain hitting him, he had been coached his whole life about these stress and anxiety management techniques.
Why hadn’t he done it yesterday. Everything would be normal if he had just kept his cool.
Pushing past his regret, he would have time to mourn his own death later. His body began to move subconsciously on its own, and he realized he was flipping through the jackets.
Next to the coat rack on the wall was a large trunk on the floor. Something he expected to see in a museum, something he’d see in the movie Titanic. Something he really didn’t expect to see here.
This thing must be worth thousands, he thought to himself as he opened it. He must be somewhere very isolated for an antique like that to still be in use.
Inside were a few different sizes of linen shirts and linen pants. Very basic, he thought to himself, but much better than the stained rag he was wearing.
He stripped naked, gave himself a silent acknowledgment as he pulled his pants over his manhood.
Seems like this new body was all around an upgrade from his old.
“Bigger, leaner, meaner.” His memory recalled a mantra his father had pounded into his head as a young boy. He had always wanted Isaac to take up professional fighting—a failed goal from his father pressed down onto Isaac.
He simply just had no interest in fighting. That, of course, was the first big divide between him and his old man.
Dressed now, his mind floated back to the present moment. He spent a few minutes confused as he touched the extra pieces of leather hanging from random places on his pants and shirt. Maybe meant to tie the clothes if they didn’t fit? They seemed intentionally sewn into the clothes.
However, they seemed to fit him just fine, so he decided to tie a simple knot and tuck them out of the way. Leaving his clothing plenty of room to move and breathe.
He picked out a jacket from the shelf, one that made him feel like Doc Holiday from Tombstone.
Isaac cursed under his breath as he found his luck had quickly run out. Not a single pair of the boots in this shack came close to fitting his large feet.
He also ignored the pile of strange face masks he found in another trunk. He found this trunk by far the most confusing.
There seemed to be three different layers of face masks. He quickly deduced the silk-like one would go against the skin, followed by some sort of linen material that was different from his other clothes. Less breathable, almost as if it was meant to catch particles. He’d seen construction workers back home wear similar masks to avoid sawdust entering their lungs. The final piece of the mask was an extremely hard durable leather. Stained a dark color and extremely stiff to the touch. This thing would be a nightmare to wear.
So he ignored this altogether. Besides, who needed masks?
Criminals?
He certainly wasn’t a criminal back home, and he had no intention of becoming one here.
Come to think of it, he had absolutely no idea what he would become here.
The only hint he had at the moment of where ‘here’ was came from the name in the ledger.
Ashfall Outskirts.
Isaac utilized his highly intuitive nature to deduct the closest town must be named Ashfall.
Giving himself a slight chuckle as his mind ran through those thoughts.
The rest of this room was rather empty, and it didn’t take long for Isaac to head off to the smaller of the two shacks.
This one clearly was meant more for storage as he could make out, on his walk toward it, the gaping holes in the walls and ceiling.
Giving the door a gentle push, it didn’t budge.
“Ahh, got me again,” he said aloud to no one but himself.
Isaac pulled this time and the door opened.
Shovels, rakes, and a few other tools he wasn’t familiar with lined the walls.
A few bags of soil or fertilizer perhaps?
Some strange bottles of liquid lined a shelf just above head height on the back wall.
“Nothing particularly useful,” he grunted.
As he turned around, he noticed the door had shut behind him and hammered into it was a strange piece of paper.
Unlike anything that would have been written on back home, this parchment reminded him a lot more of flesh than it did textile.
Moving his face a little closer, widening his eyes to adjust for the change in lighting, he started to read a list.
Rules : AshFalls Outskirts
Do not follow lights in the valley at night.
If you wake up somewhere you should not be. Leave something valuable behind.
Do not bleed into the soil.
Never accept food from someone who won’t eat with you.
If you hear your name spoken from behind you, do not turn around, if the voice sounds tired — Run.
Isaac stared for several moments at the strange list of rules. None of these made any sense. They were kind of comical except for the fact someone had gone through great lengths to write this down as if it were important.
Isaac felt a strangeness in the air. An unwelcoming feeling, and for the first time since waking up he felt extremely uneasy.
He turned to leave the shed behind him, subconsciously repeating the strange list in his mind over and over.
As he crossed the cemetery, he made his way toward what he assumed was the entryway. His theory held weight as he approached a well-used game trail.
He noticed it looked well trafficked and instinctively he knew the strange ruts in the dirt to be made from continual decay as the wheels rolled down the path time and time again.
“Only one thing to do now. Just keep walking.” The deep voice rumbled to himself as he started down the dirt road.
Each step more painful than the one before. His feet were as sensitive as a newborn baby.
This made no sense for the strong body he now possessed.
Only one way to fix it, deal with the pain, he thought to himself.
Pressing forward and walking in what he hoped was the direction of Ashfall.
Each pebble felt like a jagged tooth pressing into his soft, pale soles—a stark contrast to the calloused hands that had clearly known a lifetime of labor.
He focused on the horizon. It was different. The sun didn’t appear to light up the sky. Instead, the grey sky seemed to become brighter while simultaneously carrying that level of neutrality.
He started to catch the swirling gray particles dancing in the air.
After a moment, he realized. It wasn’t just a name for the town; it was the atmosphere itself.
Ash was falling from the sky.
As the cemetery shrank behind him, the crushing sorrow didn’t fade; it settled into his bones like lead. He thought back to those seven headstones and the ledger’s repetitive, clinical verdict: Trauma.
One survivor who shouldn’t be breathing, inheriting the name of a man who had lost everything.
He looked down at his calloused hands—Jonah’s hands—and wondered what kind of “trauma” could end an entire household but leave the father intact enough to eventually climb out of the dirt.
Isaac had a feeling Ashfall wouldn’t just give him answers; it would give him a reckoning, and he found a new surge of excitement driving every step toward the town.
Not certain how to keep track of time, he made no attempt. But he could assume he had been walking for over an hour now.
This was a battle against his own exhaustion as his vision blurred, a flickering blue light beginning to pulse at the edge of his periphery, signaling that this new life came with a set of metrics he didn’t yet understand.
[STATUS]
Health: ████▌????
Stamina: ███???
Status: [Ash-Lung (Stage I)]
? Effect: -10% Maximum Stamina.