Just the flu
I put on my running shoes with springs, designed to cushion the impact on the ground. It was my nightly ritual, something I did every single day without fail: running to the neighboring town, keeping my body busy and my mind free of thoughts. It was almost five o’clock, and the sun still stubbornly lingered in the sky, painting everything with a pale golden light. I opened the door and was greeted by a strange smell. A mix of dampness and decay floated in the air, coming from somewhere behind me. The rotting stench made me wrinkle my nose, but I ignored it. I needed to run. I started climbing the hill, the wind against my face. I passed the entrance to the interstate highway, maintaining a steady pace. I was running at about 4 km/h, a moderate speed to warm up. I crossed the rusty sign that read “No Passing” and smirked bitterly.“Who’s going to pass you now?” I murmured to myself, my voice lost in the emptiness of the road. I kept running along the highway, the sound of my shoes hitting the wet asphalt echoing in the silence. When I approached the old brothel, a shiver ran down my spine. The place had been creepy at its best, but now… The sign that once announced the brothel’s name—something vulgar and flashy—lay fallen beside the building, which now resembled a charred carcass. The letters were faded, the wood that had supported the structure blackened and twisted like burned bones, and the windows were nothing but dark, empty holes that seemed to watch me as I passed. The brothel was near a lake that used to reflect the vibrant, colorful lights of the facade on festive nights. Now, the water was dark, with an oily sheen under the faint light remaining from the day. The shore was littered with debris—broken bottles, pieces of wood that seemed to be parts of the building, and something that looked like a piece of red fabric. A horrible smell emanated from the area, thicker than the stench of death I had encountered earlier. It was like a mix of rot and burning, as if decay itself had permeated the air. I looked at the entrance and saw that the old double doors, which used to spin open to welcome customers, were fallen, lying wide open on the ground. Inside, everything was in ruins: overturned tables, broken chairs, and what appeared to be dark stains on the floor and walls. Climbing the next hill, I spotted the reservoir of an abandoned property. The silence there was oppressive, broken only by the distant sound of thunder. The old farmhouse loomed like a ghostly shadow in the landscape. The main house was partially collapsed, with loose planks creaking in the wind, and the windows, which had once reflected life within, were now empty, like soulless eye sockets. As I got closer, the smell of death grew stronger. In the yard, a man lay near the porch, his face covered in dried blood, flies buzzing around him. His glazed-over eyes seemed fixed on a point in the horizon that no longer existed. The ground around him was marked by erratic footprints and dark stains, as if someone had fought to survive there. Some children’s toys were still scattered across the dead lawn, creating a disturbing contrast to the scene of destruction. The trees around swayed in the wind, their branches like thin arms pointing toward the now cloud-covered sky. In the stable, a few dead animals lay sprawled. The cow, still with blood on its muzzle, seemed to have collapsed recently. The horses lay beside it, their swollen bodies exuding that now all-too-familiar stench of decay. However, amidst this scene of horror, one pig was still alive, wandering among the corpses with hesitant steps, as if searching for a reason to be there. A few chickens pecked at the ground indifferently, their feathers stained with mud and blood. I passed through the fallen fence. Over the next hill, I spotted the reservoir of a place that seemed to have been abandoned long ago. The farmhouse appeared in the distance, shrouded in an ominous gloom. The trees around it, twisted by the wind, cast unsettling shadows over the waterlogged ground. As I got closer, the smell of blood mixed with decay hit my nose like a punch, making the air almost unbreathable. In the yard of the house, a man lay sprawled, his face marked with dark patches of dried blood. His lifeless eyes stared up at the sky, as if searching for an answer that never came. The wooden porch creaked in the wind, and the door hung from its last nails, swaying slowly like a clock marking the end of time. I moved forward and passed a truck stuck in the mud. The engine was off, and the vehicle looked as though it had been swallowed by the earth. Inside the cab, a man was slumped over the steering wheel, motionless. The putrid stench emanating from it was suffocating, but I no longer afforded myself the luxury of being bothered. I ran further, my footsteps echoing on the straight road leading me to the next town. As I passed by a motel, it stood empty. The neon sign, which had likely once flickered incessantly, was dark and covered in soot. On the ground, bodies were scattered: prostitutes lying awkwardly, as if felled by an invisible force. The abandoned cars around the area told another story—a desperate escape, cut short before reaching its destination. The vehicles now came from the opposite direction, as if everyone was fleeing the city I had just left behind. The stench of decay permeated the air, a smell I was beginning to accept as part of my new reality. The sky grew darker, illuminated only by distant lightning. The stars, now almost fully visible, shone over the dead city. There were no more electric lights, no signs of life. A flash of lightning revealed the body of a small child, no older than five, lying next to her mother. They were holding each other, as if trying to protect one another until the very last moment. Just one month. A single month, and everything was gone. There weren’t many people left now—perhaps no one but me. I thought about it as memories flooded my mind. I remembered school, before everything shut down for good. I thought of my girlfriend, my friends. All dead. Their families, too. Why am I still alive? That question echoes in my head every day. Why me? Why didn’t I die along with them? Along with everyone else? The Red Plague took everything but left me here, alone, wandering through this open-air cemetery. As I run down this deserted road, my mind keeps revisiting the past, as if to torture me. I remember what the world was like before it all collapsed. Streets full of people, smiles, laughter. I remember going to school, complaining about classes, but secretly enjoying the routine, my friends, the small things that made me feel alive. My girlfriend… I remember her. I remember what it felt like to hold her hand, hear her laugh, feel the warmth of her embrace. Now, all that’s left of her is a memory that cuts like a knife buried deep in my chest. My friends… Matheus, the one I used to joke around with, watch people at the mall, crack dumb jokes. We laughed like the world could never end. My mother. She died in my arms on the 22nd. That day is etched into me like a scar that will never fade. I held her as she drowned in her own blood, swollen, her eyes red and blind, unable to see me one last time. She tried to say something, but the words got stuck. And then she was gone. I can’t shake the feeling of her body growing cold in my arms. I remember how happy we were with so little. I remember afternoons at the mall, eating McDonald’s and people-watching, everyone busy with their normal lives. I remember the conversations, the jokes. The sound of children laughing, the music playing in the stores, the smell of coffee and burgers. Now, all of it feels like a distant dream, something that was never real. I even miss the things I once found annoying. The lines, the traffic jams, the bills. I’d give anything to have a life where those were my biggest concerns again. Now, all I have is silence. A silence broken only by the sound of my own footsteps and the wind carrying the stench of death. It’s as if the whole world is frozen, stuck in a single moment. One month. Just one month, and it was all over. The world, which took centuries to build, collapsed in weeks. And I was left here, to watch it all end. Heavy clouds rolled above me, dense and full of rain, occasionally lit by lightning streaking across the horizon. The smell of wet earth began to mix with the stench of decomposition, creating a suffocating sensation. The wind howled around me, cold and damp, as if trying to push me away from this place. Thunder rumbled in the distance, drawing closer, like the footsteps of an invisible giant. When the first drop fell on my face, it was almost a relief, a reminder that the world still had something alive, something not consumed by the plague. The rain came suddenly, strong and relentless, drenching everything within seconds. The lightning illuminated the field around me, revealing a landscape that seemed ripped straight from a nightmare. Bodies were scattered everywhere, lying in random positions, as if the world had frozen at the moment of its greatest tragedy. Some were still in abandoned cars, others sprawled on the ground where death had caught up to them. Water ran over the corpses, washing away dust and blood, but it couldn’t erase the smell. That smell… No matter how much time passed, I knew I’d never forget it. I kept running, feeling the heavy rain pounding against my clothes and skin, while my thoughts drifted back to things that now seemed impossible. I’d give anything to be home, on a normal day, eating a poorly made burger from some random diner, accompanied by greasy fries. Ice cream… How I miss ice cream. That feeling of cold sweetness melting on your tongue, dripping slowly as you try to savor every second. I’d give anything for ice cream right now. Or even something simpler: a glass of clean, drinkable water straight from the tap. Water that didn’t taste like rust or death. I wondered what it would be like to sit in my room, playing video games, with the soft glow of the screen lighting up the space. And the internet… I remember how annoyed I used to get when it went out for a few seconds. Now, I’d trade my life to hear that annoying sound of a notification ping on my phone, any sign that the world still existed outside my head. Electricity was another thing I’d taken for granted. Just turning on a light when entering a room, opening the fridge to find fresh food, or turning on the TV to watch something stupid. All of that had seemed so small before, but now it was an unattainable luxury. The rain kept falling, heavier and heavier, as I looked up at the sky. Lightning flashed again, and more bodies appeared on the horizon. Children, mothers, men—people who once had dreams and worries just like me. Now they were there, motionless, as if they’d become part of the landscape. Why am I still here?” I asked myself as the water streamed down my face, mixing with the tears I no longer tried to hold back. They called it INF-1, the Beijing Flu, but I like to call it the end of the world. I don’t know exactly how it started. In Germany, it felt like we were safe at first. “The virus is far away,” the newspapers said. “We’re taking all the necessary measures.” Frankfurt Airport. A couple coming from Asia—nothing the government couldn’t control. That’s what they said. Within days, hospitals began to overflow. It was like an invisible storm sweeping through entire cities. Berlin fell first, like a tree rotted from the roots. Suddenly, the streets were empty, except for ambulance sirens and muffled screams from behind windows. No one wanted to leave their homes, but it didn’t matter. INF-1 didn’t need you to be close to others. It found you anyway. Bavaria, where I am now, was no different. The flu came like a shadow, silent at first, then brutal. Stores emptied. Schools closed. Train stations became packed with people trying to escape—to where, no one knew. I saw entire families crammed into train cars, coughing, unaware they were carrying death with them. The virus was relentless. Symptoms started like an ordinary cold: a mild fever, a cough you’d ignore any other time. But within hours, people began drowning in their own blood. I saw my mother die like that. In my arms. Her face swollen, her eyes red, blind, as if her own body had turned against her. Doctors disappeared first. Some died trying to save others, others simply vanished—maybe fleeing. I don’t blame them. Who could stand against this? Germany had disaster plans, of course. We always did. Protocols for everything, from terrorist attacks to pandemics. But INF-1 laughed in the face of all of them. There was no way to track something spreading so quickly. No way to stop something that killed before you even knew you were infected. I remember the last time I watched the news. The anchor was a shadow of her former self, coughing between sentences as she read the numbers. “Seventeen million dead in Europe. The government has declared a national state of emergency.” Then the broadcast cut off. It never came back. Now, Germany is nothing but a corpse. An entire country turned into an open-air graveyard. The cities that once pulsed with life are deserted, filled only with abandoned cars and bodies slumped in the back seats. Houses that once felt like fortresses are now empty, except for signs of struggle—overturned furniture, bloodstains on the walls, locked doors that no one will ever open again. The smell… That’s the worst. You never get used to it. Decomposition has taken over everything. The air is heavy, as if the very environment is dying alongside the people. I wonder if it’ll ever go away. Maybe not. Maybe that’s INF-1’s final legacy. I think about who we were before all this. Wealthy people driving luxury cars, living in expensive apartments, making plans for the future. Now, we’re all the same. It doesn’t matter if you were a banker, a teacher, or someone like me. INF-1 didn’t discriminate. It just took. Frankfurt, Munich, Hamburg, Berlin. All wiped out. Just the flu. It didn’t need a war. It didn’t need bombs or tanks. All it took was a virus. I wonder if anyone else survived somewhere. If there are others like me, trying to make sense of why we’re still here. I used to ask myself every day: why didn’t I die with the others? Why didn’t I catch the Red Flu? Why was I the only one who made it through? But you know what? Screw it. The answer doesn’t change anything. I walked to a dusty shelf in a local market and found a forgotten chocolate bar. It was slightly squished, the wrapper worn, but it was still chocolate. I picked it up, unwrapped it slowly, and took a bite, tasting the sweetness, though strange, as if my sense of taste wasn’t the same anymore. While rummaging through the market, I saw a man lying next to the ATM. He had died there, his card still in hand. Dried blood pooled around him, and the air was thick with the stench of decaying flesh. I continued along the straight road, the soles of my shoes echoing on the cracked asphalt. The city appeared on the horizon, like all the others. Dead. Silent. The same scene I had memorized by now. As I got closer, I saw the city sign at the entrance, charred, the remnants of the name burned and unrecognizable. The metal was twisted, as if it had passed through hell. On the streets, thousands of abandoned cars clogged the roads, blocking any chance of passage. Many drivers were still inside, dead, their bodies strapped in by seatbelts. Some had their heads slumped against the steering wheels; others had their eyes open, frozen. I kept walking, the stench of death hanging in the air around me. I passed over a speed bump and saw an old woman lying next to it. Her white hair was tangled, and her skin, dry and pale, seemed almost fused with the concrete. Further ahead, a man lay on the sidewalk, his fingers still outstretched toward his house’s door. Maybe he had tried to go back for something. Maybe he thought he’d be safe inside. It didn’t matter. The world didn’t end with explosions or anything grand. There wasn’t a meteor tearing across the sky or volcanoes spewing fire. It wasn’t a nuclear war reducing everything to ashes, or electromagnetic pulses wiping out technology. It was just a flu. A flu no one could stop. INF-1, the Red Flu, silent and deadly, erased centuries of civilization in mere weeks. I looked at the city again—its empty streets, silent homes, stores left open with looted shelves. The world collapsed because of something so small we couldn’t even see it. Just the flu. That was enough to destroy everything we had built. Thunder rumbled in the distance, announcing the approaching rain, and the wind turned colder. A flash of lightning illuminated the street ahead, revealing more bodies. I saw a small child lying next to a bicycle, a school backpack spilled open behind them. A few steps farther, there was another body—what looked like the child’s mother, arms outstretched, trying to shield her until the very last moment. Has this happened before? Did another civilization, at some point, fall to something this simple? Thick raindrops began to fall hard, bursting against the asphalt, forming puddles that seemed like distorted mirrors of the sky. The wind howled, sharp and biting, and the thunder punched through the air, making the ground tremble beneath my feet. The city was dead, but it felt like nature itself wanted to remind me there was still power in the world, even if only to destroy what was left. I ran. My steps splashed water in every direction as I searched for any place to take shelter. The cold cut through my skin, and the heavy rain-soaked clothes clung to my body, making every movement harder. I looked around, but everything seemed empty, desolate. Silent buildings, broken windows, abandoned cars forming a useless labyrinth. With each flash of lightning, the scene lit up for a second, revealing details I wished I couldn’t see: corpses scattered in the streets, some half-submerged in puddles, others lying in impossible positions, like ragdolls. Finally, I spotted a small house with open windows and a door slightly ajar. I ran toward it, ignoring the smell coming from inside. I already knew what I’d find, but I had no choice. I stepped in, pushing the creaking door open, and shut it behind me to block out the wind. Inside, the smell was almost suffocating: mold, decay, and something sickly sweet I couldn’t identify. The living room was filled with dusty furniture, papers scattered on the floor, and dark stains on the walls. On the couch, a couple sat—or what was left of them. Both had swollen faces and dark patches around their mouths and noses, their hands still clasped together as if they had faced death united. The sight made my stomach twist, but I looked away. I didn’t have the energy to care anymore. I kept exploring, moving down a narrow hallway. In one of the bedrooms, I found more bodies—children this time. A little girl held a bloodstained teddy bear, and a boy lay beside her, staring blankly at the ceiling. I left quickly. I couldn’t stay in that room another second. But outside, the rain was an impenetrable wall. Lightning illuminated the broken windows, and the thunder was so loud it felt like it shook the house’s walls. I sat on the kitchen floor, leaning against an old refrigerator, trying to ignore the constant dripping sound from the countless leaks in the ceiling. My stomach growled, and hunger felt like a knife lodged in my body. I looked around, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. Then, I saw it: the fridge. I crawled to it, my hands trembling from the cold and anxiety. I yanked the door open, and the smell that poured out was almost as bad as the one in the living room—rotten food, spoiled meat, and liquid remnants pooling at the bottom. Even so, I kept searching. Among the empty packages and moldy containers, I found something that felt like a miracle: a can of soup, still sealed. My fingers gripped the can like it was gold. I checked the expiration date—it was good until next year. I laughed to myself, a dry, strange sound, because who cared about expiration dates now? I took the can and rummaged through the kitchen for something to open it. Finally, I found a rusty can opener. When I managed to open the can, the smell of the soup wasn’t exactly appetizing, but it was still food. The rain kept pounding outside, but in that moment, with the can of soup in my hands, I felt more human than I had in weeks. I ate the soup cold, straight from the can. The salty liquid and mushy bits of vegetables filled my empty stomach, and for a moment, the terrible taste didn’t matter. It was warmth in a cold world. It was life in a world of death. I leaned against the wall, listening as the thunder slowly drifted farther away. Outside, the world was finished, but here, with that empty can by my side, I allowed myself a moment of peace. Credit: L.S Benveniste Amazon Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.