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Hungerby Rick McQuiston
a Purgatory's Pet's Contest Honorable Mention
I must eat. My stomach is twisting and bending in spasms, each stronger than the previous one. I thought I had become somewhat used to the hunger but with each passing minute I realize that I was mistaken. Many hours have passed since my last meal and I am reminded of this constantly. What I must do I do not wish to do but I learned many days ago that it is inevitable…because I must eat. I must attain sustenance or perish, and perish is not an option. My condition is not my fault for I was innocent in my mistake. I was merely a curious passerby with no ill intent in my heart.The silver bullets in my belly are of little concern to me for their pain pales in comparison to the hunger. An anthill next to a mountain, a puddle beside an ocean, a planet within a galaxy.
I can feel the blood dripping from the wounds coating my body in a sticky layer but I pay it no heed. My sole purpose is to find food. To sustain my life, although I sometimes wonder why I would want to.
I can hear the men in the woods. They’re after me, trying to kill me, tracking me down with their guns and torches. I can smell their anger, it is mixed with their fear and it stinks like all hatred does. But I am faster than they are. I know these woods well and my senses are keen. Their searching will be futile.
My thoughts swing back to Louisa, my beautiful and greatly missed wife. The longing that I harbor for her is nearly unbearable. I can still see her smile in my mind, radiating all of the warmth and compassion we shared in our life together. How I wish I could see her again.
I sense movement in the shadows. My eyes, although blurred by my wounds, instantly hone in on the source of the movement.
It is a little girl of no more than five years old. Her long curly locks frame her white face like a painting. She steps out from behind a large tree and looks directly at me, unaffected by my appearance. Her bravery confuses me almost to the point of admiration.
And then I feel her thoughts tap into what is left of my human soul.
“I represent all that you are and all that was done to you.”
Is she my salvation? I do not know but I feel compelled to listen to her and not attack.
I open my mouth to reply but only raspy growls escape, which echo through the woods. A werewolf is cursed in many ways. The inability to transfer his thoughts, his human thoughts, to words is but one.
“You need not speak, my poor creature,” she says to my mind. “I can sense your needs without the hindrance of words.”
Relief washes over me, even temporarily overshadowing the hunger and the pain from my wounds. I relay all of my suffering to her in the hopes that she can somehow ease the agony.
She smiles at me, the first such expression I have witnessed in many moons, and tilts her small head to one side. I instantly feel a wave of relief come over me. She senses the emptiness in my heart for Louisa. She realizes the fear I have for all I come into contact with. She feels the hunger that holds me in its grip. And she knows the anger I have towards the one who was responsible for my condition…the witch who cast this malady upon my body and soul.
She resided near the outskirts of the neighboring hills. I stumbled across her shabby abode while hunting one day. Foolishly, I entered the shack unaware of the power and temperament of its owner
A lone figure was seated near a small fireplace with a smooth, black cauldron dangling above the flames. She addressed me ominously.
“Fool by thy one who dares to cross my threshold!”
Her words were marred by age but unaffected in their intent. I struggled for a response.
“I…I apologize for the intrusion. Forgive me my ignorance and I shall be on my way.” I could only hope that she appreciated my words and the sincerity they held.
But I was wrong.
She pushed something off of her lap and it quickly scuttled into the shadows. I caught a brief glimpse of its hairy body and four pair of eyes looking back at me.
Standing up as much as her arched back would allow she fixed her loathsome gaze upon me. It was a face I shall never forget.
“Filthy traveler from afar,” she scowled. “I know not your intent but my wrath shall fall upon you regardless, full in its power and misery.” The large mole on her crooked nose twitched grotesquely with each word.
My stomach curled into knots as my lunch threatened to evacuate my body.
“Again, please accept my apologies for the disruption of your rest,” I pleaded. “I shall leave you to your peace.”
I turned to leave and immediately found myself writhing in the doorway, completely helpless at the feet of the old crone. Even my mouth refused to open.
She stood high above me…too high for any mortal. Her feet hovered at least a foot over my head as she flailed her twisted arms in the air.
“I curse thee to a life of hunger and despair. Oth amaon trunthith ss…”
My head was spinning.
“Nether regions of Thag voorern mossae…”
The words meant nothing to me but I knew their purpose could not be good.
And then my world went black.
The little girl continued smiling at me as if studying the pitiful condition I was in. “I assure you weary traveler that what was done wrong shall be corrected. My promise in this matter is absolute.” And then she raised her arms into the air and began to sway from side to side.
I felt the pain from my wounds increase in intensity. My head was growing light and my vision was blurring. Death was seeping into my body and I was powerless to stop it, although I wondered why I would want to. And then I crashed to the ground gasping for breath.
I looked up into the face of the little girl who was standing high above me…too high for any mortal. Something scurried around behind her on many legs, briefly pausing and then moving yet again, as if hiding behind its owner. Her cryptic words accompany me into the darkness.
“You must forgive me, young fool. For I am old and do forget my incantations occasionally. But fear not young fool for I will right the mistake as I had promised you.” Her voice thickened with hatred. “Immortality shall be cast down upon you as a suffocating veil of despair. You will never know the release of death.”
The small village is within my sight now. A dozen small houses huddle next to each other like children around a fire and I stumble towards them, wary of my surroundings but pushed on by the hunger.
The door is more solid than it looks. Surely there are locks on the other side of it. Nevertheless, I slam into it with all my strength and eventually it gives way. It crashes to the ground, stinging my ears and creating a small dust storm but none of that bothers me for I can smell food. The people who live here are definitely still here…I can sense them.
A stifled whimper from another room catches my ear. I sense movement. There is no door to the room, only a tattered sheet that dangles loosely over the doorway and I easily push it aside and gaze at the occupants.
A thin, pale woman and two small children huddle in the far corner of the room. The moonlight outlines their shapes clearly, showing the fear on their faces. That fear is strong and intensifies when I begin to advance on them.
But then a sharp, burning pain tears into my abdomen. I can feel the blood leaking from the wound as I begin to grow weak and disoriented. I do my best to ignore it but it becomes increasingly difficult to do so. The woman and the children cringe in fear as I crash to the ground in front of them.
Torches enter the room now. They hurt my eyes and singe my body. The men
talk excitingly amongst themselves and I can only make out a few of their words in my agony. I hear, “we got him” and “get the woman and children out.”
The look on their faces when I rise to my feet is a strong mixture of fear and confusion. I dig out the silver bullets and flick them at the men, all the while growling fiercely and gnashing my teeth. Most of them run away but a few charge at me, torches flailing. My hunger directs my actions as I quickly take them down and begin my grisly feast.
© McQuiston, 2007
Rick McQuiston is a 39-year old father of two who loves anything horror related. He offers six 'homemade' books on his website, www.freewebs.com/terror_tales as well as two anthology books on Lulu.com. He is also a member of the International Order of Horror Professionals.