So far about 200 people have killed themself in my hometown this year. – Yuebeo
In January of this year Zachary Sandds killed himself. Zachary was a social outcast so it surprised no one really. He was in my daughter, Abigail’s, class although she said she never really talked to or notice him.
He was found by his mother Patricia a few moments after he pulled the trigger. Our little community banded together to try and help the Sandds family through the struggle since they had just lost their son.
The family planned to be bury Zachary the following Saturday, However, on Friday, Zacharys’ Dad, Eric, found Patricia in the bathtub. She had slit her wrist and bled out.
The community was devastated, we didn’t know what to do. Eric had just lost both his son and wife in the same week to suicide. We all agreed to keep up with him and make sure he was coping after the loss.
Unfortunately we couldn’t keep an eye on him always and that Sunday, after burying his son and wife, Eric hung himself in his living room.
He was found the following Monday by his neighbor Peter. Wednesday Peter drove his car into the river.
Officer Barbrady was the first person on the scene after reports had come in about someone driving their car off the road. Barbrady would be dead by thursday.
Following him was his wife, then their eldest daughter. His 9 year old son was taken in by a neighbor but found OD’ed that night on sleeping pills he stole out of his dads’ night table.
One by one Barbrady’s neighbors, the Breyers offed themself as well. Each one having found the previous one’s body.
Nobody knew what was going on anymore, it seemed like everyone was succumbing to some kind of plague, except there was no physical illness. Just a mental one.
As the days turned to weeks, and the weeks turned to months, we stopped keeping track of who was dead. Originally we started just keeping track of which families had succumbed to whatever disease had afflicted our small village.
The O’Grady’s house went up in flames and all 5 of them were found dead inside. Nobody’s sure who started the fire or who was alive or dead before it. By then the medical officials were worried that if they spent too much time investigating the bodies that they would “catch the plague.” Autopsies stopped being done; reports were incomplete. The cause of death was always self inflicted.
The Fabian’s were found dead a week after the O’Grady’s: gunshot, gunshot, slit throat, gunshot. The first bullet was from Ally Fabian, she had snuck out to cry over Will O’Grady’s corpse.
Next, the Mathers succumbed to carbon monoxide in the garage next to the Bastailles’ house.
The Bastailles followed them into their own family plot.
The Ryan Johnsons on Idaho Road were the next to go while the Bryan Johnsons on Iowa Road were safe away on a full summer sabbatical.
Around the 10th family people stopped trying to look out for each other. We were only looking out for ourselves. Nobody wanted to come across anyone else’s body. There seemed to be some weird connection to the discovery and death.
To keep track of everyone we began to take inventory of who was still alive, rather than who was dead. We would have weekly meetings where the whole family was required to come, if one of your’s had died that week, you would stay out and we’d say a few words for you.
Our town’s population was steadily falling. We started out with around 530 people in total and by all estimates we were down to around 400 by the mid spring.
Whatever the cause, all these deaths were happening more rapidly. What started out as a few deaths a week had increased to one a day.
Less and less families were coming to our weekly meetings. Eventually, we just stopped going to them. We stayed boarded up in our houses; afraid of what we would find if we were to ever leave.
Last week, my daughter, Abigail, awoke to find my wife in the garage with her car running. I didn’t know how to respond. I knew I should be devastated, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t be. There was nothing to do or say. We buried Sarah in the backyard. She always said she wanted to end up underneath the oak tree.
“Daddy my stomach feels weird, like there’s something inside it moving.” Abigail said her hazel eyes tearing up.
I held Abigail close to me as we knew this was the end. I loved her with everything I had but I knew I couldn’t do anything for her. There was nothing any of us could do anymore.
Later that day when I heard a chair hit the floor in her room I knew she was gone and it was only a matter of time for me. I spent the next few days avoiding her room at all cost. I wanted to try and give my community some kind of break. None of us deserved this. None of us even knew what was going on anymore.
Earlier today I finally had enough. I was done waiting, and hiding. Abigail’s body was bloated and her face was deep purple. Her neck looked like it was stretched out due to the weight of her body hanging from the noose. Her once beautiful hazel eyes were now puffy and bloodshot. The sight was horrible, but I wanted to give her the proper burial she deserved.
As I carried her out of the room, I felt it happen. Something shifted inside my stomach and I felt this pit grow inside me. As I laid Abigail’s body down in the grave I had dug previously and said a small prayer for her, I could feel the pit grow deeper.
When all this started Sarah, Abigail, and I agreed if anything happened we would bury each other in the backyard, and whoever was left would lay down in the hole next to the others and wait. I’ve already taken the pills I laid out back when Abigail died. I don’t have the strength to go on any longer. Take this as my final goodbye.
I’m sorry to whoever finds this note. Hopefully you’re a stronger person than me.