Story 2: Hungry
“Hey, what are you supposed to be? That elf guy from Harry Potter?”
“No,” I said with a bit of a nervous laugh. I hated that I laughed at all. But I was cornered at work and had to play along. “I’m Sam from Lord of the Rings. Ya know, because Sam’s my name…” I smiled and held up my hands in a ta-dah gesture.
“Oh yeah, I see it now. I didn’t know you were into that nerdy shit. That’s cool, though,” he conceded with a nod and raised brows as if to say it most definitely wasn’t cool. I felt my blood pressure rise and a flush come to my face when he said, “nerdy shit.” I hoped he didn’t see it.
Aiden was like that, but I usually didn’t have to see him much. The Halloween Special had everyone stopping in for free pizza and discounts. You’d think he would be sick of eating pizza from working here, but free is free, I guess. I gave him a tight smile and a wave as he slipped out the door with his medium meat lovers. I’d only worked with him a handful of times, but that was enough. We didn’t usually have much to talk about.
We had a steady line of hungry customers, but I was in my last hour, and it wasn’t even dark yet. Busy parents juggling work and trick-or-treating were grabbing an early dinner. I watched a parade of Marvel superheroes, Disney princesses, black cats, witches, horror movie slayers, and gory dead excitedly chatter about their plans for the evening. Every once in a while, someone dressed as an elf or wizard would look at my costume, read my name tag, and then put it together with some appreciation.
It was a costume I’d amended over the years. It had been store-bought and mass-produced once upon a time packaged in a clear plastic bag with a brown coat and trousers, fake hairy hobbit foot coverings, and a horrible plastic frying pan. I tossed the fake pan for the real deal right away, borrowing one of my mom’s cast iron. It was heavy, but manageable slung across my back along with a sturdy worn leather backpack. For a party one year, I made fake lembas bread wrapped in some still pliable sycamore leaves. The fact that I’m rather short for a man, only five foot three with curly brown hair, completed the look nicely.
Employees who came in with costumes got free pizza, so I was sporting a stripped-down version of my Sam Gamgee. The fake hairy hobbit feet covered my work-appropriate non-slip black sneakers. And no, I wasn’t overly fond of pizza at this point, but it kept me full. Overall the day had been pretty fun with everyone largely in a good mood, customers included. As I was nearing the end of my shift, I was surprised to see someone with my exact costume step into the pick-up line.
They weren’t dressed exactly like me, of course. That would have been hard to do, and I was wearing my Pizza Jim’s name badge and apron, but it was the same store-bought hobbit costume. Even stranger, the man’s name was Sam, and he was short like me. We grinned and pointed at each other over the counter.
“Hey, how about that?” he mused. “I don’t see other hobbits very often.”
“Me neither,” I agreed. “It’s a good fit for us short guys, I guess.”
“I’m not short,” he said, a little too seriously.
He was no taller than me, but not everyone was as comfortable with being vertically challenged. Then he seemed to catch himself. His furrowed brows shot up, he guffawed abruptly, and I laughed along. I guess he had been joking. I gave him his pizza, and he thanked me. On the way out the door, he said, “Hey, see you later!” I thought it was probably just a slip, like when I tell customers to enjoy their pizza, and they say, “You too!” It gave me an odd feeling, but I dismissed it. Quitting time was minutes away, and it was Halloween after all. Everything felt a bit spooky.
“Hey, Kiddo, “ Mom greeted me as I walked in the front door. I kind of liked that she still called me “kiddo,” despite being twenty-two. “Mind taking care of candy duty tonight?” I wasn’t super excited to interrupt my night of horror movies and seasonal beer with intermittent trick-or-treaters, but free room and board come with implied agreements. “Sure, Mom.”
“Mikey’s working late, and I’m going to a little get-together with the neighbors down the street. The candy bowl is on the dining room table all set to go.”
Right on cue, there was a knock on the door. It was just starting to get dark, but it seemed like they started earlier than when I was a kid. I stashed the Octoberfest in the refrigerator and hurried to the door.
“Trick or treat!” yelled a very young puppy police officer and an ever timeless Ninja Turtle. “Say thank you,” urged their mother, sporting a prominent belly for what I assumed would be child number three. “Thhhaaaaannkkk yooouuuu,” they chanted as I dropped Snickers and Twizzlers into their little plastic pumpkins. My hobbit costume was quite comfortable without the frying pan and backpack, so I stayed in costume except for swapping slippers for work shoes. I felt like a hobbit in his natural habitat, comfortable at home with a frothy beverage.
The night progressed similarly as I relaxed into a campy slasher flick and finished my first beer when another knock on the door accompanied by a bellowed “Trick or Treat” had me back at the door. It was a big crowd of kids with adults flanking them.
“Oh hey, Sam!” I heard from the crowd of adults when I saw the man in the hobbit costume from earlier today. He looked different than I remembered him, but it was dark. I chalked it up to shadows from our orange blinking string of pumpkin lights around the door.
“Oh, hey!” I responded, trying to hide my surprise at seeing him again.
“What are the odds, huh? We must live in the same neighborhood,” he commented. It made sense that someone living in my neighborhood would go to Pizza Jim’s where I work. The short commute was a definite selling point for this job. I saw lots of my neighbors there.
“Did you just move in?” I asked while dropping mindless handfuls of candy into buckets and pillowcases.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah,” he said with a nod.
“Which of these is yours?” I asked out of politeness more than curiosity, gesturing to the kids.
“Huh?”
“Which of the kids is yours,” I repeated.
“Oh! This little one right here,” he said with a grin. He seemed to be referring to someone in front of him, but there were kids all mixed in everywhere, and I couldn’t figure out which child might have been his while making sure everyone got candy.
“I’m allergic to nuts,” one of the kids declared. I looked down to see a little girl dressed up like a doctor and holding a plush tabby cat. “I can’t have that. I’m allergic to nuts,” she insisted. “Sorry,” her mom interjected. “Honey, it’s okay. I told you we’d swap them out when we get…”
“But I DON’T want those stupid fruit snacks. I want Halloween candy!”
The mom looked at me apologetically and began shushing her daughter. “No, no, it’s okay,” I said. My mother was prepared, as usual. She had another bowl of little stickers and toys for kids with allergies. I put it down in front of the little girl. “How about this?”
She seemed disappointed at first that it wasn’t candy, but a light-up ring caught her eye, and she was immediately assuaged. “Thank you!’ she yelled. Her mom smiled with relief, and after a glance of gratitude, they were off to the next house. I had already forgotten about the other hobbit. Happy to have helped the nut allergy doctor girl, I returned to my well-earned comforts.
-
My second horror film of the night, a paranormal thriller, and three beers in, I opened the door for what seemed like the hundredth time to a group of teens sporting bloodied animal masks. “Trick or Treat,” they all said in unison with unexpected politeness. I invited them to help themselves and they left with soft muttered thank-yous. Just before I closed the door, I heard what sounded like my mother yelling my name from just down the road.
It was in the direction of the neighbor’s house, so maybe she was just a little tipsy and walking back, but I didn’t see her. There were still clumps of older kids walking around and a few younger ones straggling home with their adults. I thought maybe I had heard wrong when Mom’s voice rang out again.
“Sam!”
Nobody else on the road turned their head or seemed to hear. She didn’t sound panicked or like something was wrong. It just sounded like she was trying to get my attention. Maybe she saw me open the door and wanted to show me something.
“Hey, Sam! Can you help me?”
I couldn’t imagine what she would need help with. I hoped it was nothing serious and stepped outside. I still couldn’t see exactly where she was, and it didn’t seem like anyone was stopping to help or investigate, so I tentatively walked in that direction. After walking a few houses down, I paused to look around. She wasn’t calling for me anymore.
“Mom?”
There was nothing. I was definitely closer to where her calls originated, and she should have heard me.
“Mom?” I asked a little louder. A woman I didn’t know very well, except that she was a neighbor, turned to look at me before realizing I wasn’t her kid. She smiled and turned back toward the way she was heading.
Mom could sometimes be a little playful, but she didn’t usually do pranks. In fact, she almost never pranked anyone except Mikey, and those were always pretty tame. Maybe she’d had one too many glasses of wine and got a wild idea to try to scare me on Halloween. It was possible. I hoped that was the case and braced myself for a jump scare.
I continued slowly down the sidewalk toward the neighbor’s house. I was getting worried and decided to check in on my mom. Maybe someone had been calling someone else named Sam, and it had just sounded like my mom. There were many reasonable explanations. I’d just drop in to make sure Mom was okay and head back home. Glancing down the road again, I felt a chill run down my spine and shook it off. It was Halloween. I was supposed to feel a little creeped out.
I jogged up Ms. Ashley and Mr. Bill’s old brick steps past their ten-foot-tall skeleton and gave a spirited knock on the door. I hardly had to wait a second before a rosy-cheeked middle-aged woman wearing a pumpkin hoodie answered the door. “Oh, it’s Sam!” she yelled into the house.
“Hi, Ms. Ashley.”
“Come on in. Would you like a drink?” she offered.
“No thanks.”
“Hi, Sam,” waved Mr. Bill from a plush chair in the living room. I smiled and waved while looking around for my mom. I didn’t see her.
“Is my mom still here?”
“Oh…I think so. She didn’t say goodbye. Bill,” she turned to her husband. “...is Gwen still here?”
An interior door opened, and my mom stepped out. “Huh?” she asked, having heard her name. She turned to Ashley with a smile and then to me. Her smile thinned a bit. “Sam! Is everything alright?”
“Oh yeah. Everything’s fine.” I felt so confused. The voice on the road had really sounded like her. But it couldn’t have been her.
“Did you get bored and want to come hang out with the old folks?” she said with a laugh.
“No… it was the weirdest thing. I thought I heard someone yelling for me. It sounded like you.”
“Oh, Sam. Were you worried about me?” Her smile wavered as her brow creased with concern.
I smiled. “Yeah.”
She touched my arm and stepped closer. “Are you feeling a little scared?” she offered with a whisper. To be honest, I was a little creeped out at having heard what I thought was her voice, but telling my mom that I was scared on Halloween felt a little childish.
“Ha…no. I’m good. I just thought I’d check. Just to make sure you hadn’t stumbled into a ditch.” I grinned at Mom reassuringly, but I still felt a little off.
Ms. Ashley and Mr. Bill heard that and laughed heartily. “She’s not that far gone, yet,” Ms. Ashley said. Mom gave her a look of feigned annoyance. “I’ve only had three glasses in nearly as many hours. Good grief.”
“Honey,” she offered sincerely. If you’d feel better with me at home, I can be ready to come home. Mikey will be here soon anyway.”
I took a breath. There was some comfort in that. It felt so embarrassing to admit, even just to myself, that I wanted my mom. She watched my face and narrowed her eyes slightly, reading my emotions. She was good at that.
“Yeah, I think I’ll turn in. Sam, will you walk me home?”
“Sure, but it’s okay. I’m fine. You don’t have to leave.”
“Oh, I know, but I miss Mikey, and I’m just really ready to turn in. I think the wine made me a little sleepy. Let me just grab my bag.”
After a moment, we were walking arm in arm back toward our house, the phantom voice relegated to weird coincidence and a sense of safety replacing the previous lingering dread. Everything was more creepy on Halloween, anyway. That’s what made it fun.
We commented on an old cherry tree in the overgrown front yard of a house across the street from Ms. Ashley’s. The porch light was off. “What a shame to have no Halloween decorations up with such a cool tree,” Mom commented. “You could hang little ghosts or skull lights. I’ve always really liked this tree.” It was a cool tree. The branches were low enough to be easily climbed upon, and the trunk was so thick someone could stand behind it and be totally hidden.
We knew many of the neighbors nearby, but we didn’t ever really see the people who lived in this house if there were any at all. It didn’t have a “for sale” sign, and it looked abandoned. The shutters on the windows had missing slats, and I don’t recall ever seeing lights on inside. The bushes and grass were so weedy and thick that it was difficult to tell where one started and another began.
“I think I see Mikey’s headlights,” Mom said as we neared our house, but instead of stopping at our driveway, the car crept slowly toward us and stopped. “Hey there, babe,” Mikey said as he rolled down the window. Mom smiled warmly.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Picking up my best gal.”
She laughed again. He loved to flirt with her. I’d become accustomed to their amorous exchanges. “I was planning on eating some leftovers, but I got an idea when I saw you that Chinese might be fun.”
“Oh, YES,” Mom said enthusiastically. “That sounds wonderful, actually.”
“Want to come with me?” he crooned.
She nearly hopped right in before pausing to look at me.
“Want to ride along, Sam?”
I thought about it. I didn’t really feel like third-wheeling with Mom and Mikey, and that creeped-out feeling was gone. “Nah. Can you grab me some General Tso’s? I’ll head home and finish my scary movie.”
“You got it, kiddo.”
“See you soon, Sam,” Mikey said warmly.
“Yes, see you soon,” Mom echoed.
And there I was, standing alone in the dark as they pulled away. By this time, nearly everyone was in their houses. My house wasn’t far, my paranormal thriller awaited, and soon, I’d be shoveling spicy sweet chicken into my face. It was the perfect end to the night.
“Hi, Sam,” I heard someone say softly from the driveway of the overgrown yard. A moment later, a hobbit stepped into the dim light.
“Oh, hey!” I said. I looked at him standing in the shadows of the bushes. “Is this your house?”
He turned to look at the house and then looked back at me. “Yeah.” He paused a moment. I couldn’t see the details of his face very well, but he sounded almost confused. “Yeah, I just bought it.”
“That’s exciting. Well, welcome to the neighborhood,” I offered as a departing salutation before continuing home.
“Hey!” he interjected abruptly, but in a friendly tone. I stopped and turned toward him.
“Ya know. This yard is a mess,” he said looking around the jumble of weeds, grass, and branches.
I laughed politely. “Yeah. I guess the house sat on the market for a bit. I haven’t seen anyone here for…” I paused to think. “For quite a while, I guess.”
“Yeah. Nobody was here for a while.”
I wasn’t sure what he wanted. He seemed to want to chat, but the silences were awkward and a little too long. I tried to see his face more clearly but couldn’t make out his expressions at this distance in the dark. I stepped a little closer.
“My mom and I really like the tree, though,” I offered. “It’s kind of creepy this time of year. In a good way.”
“Why do you think it's creepy?” He stepped just a little closer. I could see the purple light of the other neighbors’ Halloween decorations reflecting off his eyes. It created a weird effect I wasn’t sure I liked, and I couldn’t tell from his tone if he was offended or just curious.
“Uh, “ I looked away from his eyes and toward the tree. “Well, you know how creepy trees in scary movies are all like… big and kind of gnarled and twisty. Like how the branches are low and like they might… like they might…” I gestured searchingly toward the tree.
“Might what, Sam?” he asked taking another step toward me.
I jumped and the words fell from my throat. He was suddenly closer to me than I wanted him to be. He was too close, but I still couldn’t quite make out his face. I felt silly for feeling suddenly so afraid. It was just Halloween jitters. Maybe I needed to lay off watching the rest of that scary movie.
“Uh…” I chuckled nervously. “Might ya know, grab you, like the trees from the Wizard of Oz.”
He laughed then, but it was odd. He sounded like I had just sounded. His laugh sounded like a mocking copy of my own. Or perhaps I was being paranoid. Either way, I wanted to escape this weird interaction, but I also didn’t want to be rude to a new neighbor.
“I remember that film,” he said ponderously. “Apples, right?”
“Yeah, apples!” I agreed a little too quickly. Talking about movies felt like safer territory.
“I like apples,” he said. The words were slow and strange, like someone not from the United States, maybe. Like apples were something special or foreign to him. But he had no accent I could detect. And his eye contact felt a little too forced, too intense. I felt like he was studying me.
“What’s your favorite apple?” I asked, hoping to get him to expound on a special interest or anything to make this conversation feel normal. As soon as the question was out, I wished I hadn’t asked and instead made some quick excuse to hustle down the street.
“My favorite apple?” he wondered, and blessedly, his eyes trailed off, like he was trying to remember something from long ago. I hadn’t realized how still I was standing until he was no longer looking at me. “My favorite apple is in a pie.”
His answer took me off guard. “Oh…uh, I like apple pie. Mom’s favorite is apple pie.” I took a deep breath and readied my excuse to leave. It was on my lips when suddenly, he was in my space, close enough to touch. He had moved so quickly, but I hadn’t heard him take a single step. The purple light still reflected in his eyes which were dark… dark like mine.
I could feel the blood draining from my face and adrenaline dumping into my frozen body as I saw him more clearly. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t move for fear of it. And if he could move so quickly and silently in a breath, how could I run? My heart pounded in my ears, fueling my body for an escape. But my feet were rooted to the spot, and his eyes were on mine.
They were my eyes. It was like I was standing in front of a mirror. He was dressed as a hobbit. And I was dressed as a hobbit. His face and hair were just like mine, but not at all afraid. Where had been a somewhat shy and nervous countenance was a blankly staring version of me. This had to be some kind of trick. My mind raced to rationalize what I was seeing.
At this moment, I should have run. I don’t know why I didn’t. I should have called out. Surely someone would have heard me and come running. I don’t understand why I couldn’t do anything but stare. The silence hung between us for what felt like long minutes. The lights danced in his eyes, and I couldn’t look away even as I told myself to run.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Something shined in his hand, and then I felt as though punched in the stomach. From the ache spilled warmth and dampness that spread into my shirt. My vision blurred. It all happened so quickly.
“What…” I sputtered.
His fist was at my belly, pushing, and his eyes were on mine, cold and pitiless. I stumbled backward. His fist moved away from me with a squelch, and I heard myself gasping. The warm wetness spread over me and through me and under me. My back was against the old cherry tree and I hunched forward in an effort to keep all that was spilling out somehow inside of me. The cold hardness of its trunk was such a contrast to the soft warmth of my body. He was above me. He was me.
“Please…” I begged, pressing my hands into my stomach. But for what? What would this thing give me?
“You will suffer for a long time,” he said in my voice. It sounded almost sad. I couldn’t look up. I looked at the wetness on my hands shining black in the dark. He held a bloodied knife. It wasn’t like a kitchen knife. If I couldn’t attest firsthand to its sharpness, I would have guessed it was a prop.
My blood was spilling from me. I could feel it leaking in gushes. I thought for a moment of my mom finding me here like this. I was crying. The tears spilled down my face as I attempted to grasp what was happening.
“Listen,” it said. “I will tell you the rules. And you must tell the rules to the next one.” The purple light gleamed in its eyes. As it spoke, I foolishly clung to hope. Perhaps this was a game? Maybe this was just a game…
“No game,” it said. It was in my mind. Was it always in my mind? Or perhaps I had asked that out loud. I couldn’t remember one thought to the next. Every moment felt like its own world of despair.
“Listen,” It knelt before me and pressed the knife into my slicked hand. It seemed almost tender.
“I’ll kill you,” I gasped while clutching at the knife. I tried to raise my arm, but it merely flopped as if boneless. Then, the creature before me grinned in a horrifying pantomime of human emotion. The purple light glinted on its teeth. Was it amused? I might have raged if I had it in me. But the edges of my vision were already getting fuzzy.
“I must tell you the rules. If you do not listen, you will die, and you will watch me adorn this tree with your innards before it is over. If you make me go back there, I will paint your house with your blood for your mother to find in the morning.” The intensity and sincerity of the threat hit me like a wall of ice. There was little left in me to wonder what it meant. I didn’t speak. I don’t even know if I breathed. I felt like I was already dying. My hands and feet felt cold, and my head was swimming. I was helpless to do anything but listen, and listening seemed like my only hope for survival.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“You will go to the dark place. And they will eat…” it paused and grimaced as if remembering something horrible. “They will eat parts of you. But only for one year. On Halloween, on this day, you will see the next one, and you must do this thing as I have done.”
I stared into its eyes. Was it like me, once? Was it a person? How could I do this thing? I couldn’t kill anyone. And how would I survive this?
“You will awake where it is dark. And when you see the face, you will find them, like I did. And you will do as I have done, or you will go back to feed them in the dark for one more year.”
I didn’t understand at the time, not really. In the twilight of living as a whole person, there was only fear and confusion. The only thing I could grasp was a chance to survive. I thought I would deal with the rest if it came. I hoped this was a nightmare fueled by too much beer and scary movies. I clung to the thought that my life would go on from this moment somehow unchanged by this event. How could this be real?
I watched it walk away from me. I watched as it walked toward my house. I began to understand that it had taken my life. And I worried for my mother and Mikey. What would it do to them? They wouldn’t know they were living with a monster. I felt hope die inside of me as the ability to move, to breathe, to think departed.
-
I awoke in the dark, just as it said I would. There was no source of light, but somehow, I could see just to the edges of hundreds of feet of blackness in every direction. I thought it had to be a room because only a room could hold so much nothingness. There had to be walls. It had to be a room because it had to end somewhere. It had to be a room because there had to be a door, a way out. There was only a heavy, murky darkness.
My wound was gone. The knife was in my hand. My clothing was dry and felt clean. I walked. I walked for what felt like hours and miles, but there was no end. I laid down on hard, smooth ground. The air was cool and damp, but not unpleasant. I could not sleep. When it felt like a day had gone by, I wasn’t hungry. I screamed, but there was no answer and no echo. I sobbed, but no tears fell. The words of that monster haunted me, and I waited for the things that would eat me.
After many hours, many days, maybe, I tried to throw the knife. I hurled it as far as I could and listened for a clang, but there was no noise. Just as soon as I understood that void of sound, I felt the cool metal knife in my hand again. Perhaps I had never thrown it. So, I tried again and again to the same outcome. I screamed.
After many more hours of staring blankly into nothing, I tried to end my life, but nothing happened. I tried at first to gently press the blade into my wrist. I felt the cold metal, but the flesh did not break. I tried to press the tip of the knife into my finger experimentally, but it was as though the end was blunt. I could not hurt myself with the knife, so I tried to scratch my fingernails over my skin. They left no mark. I bit my arm as hard as I could, and though it hurt, when I looked there was no evidence of my endeavors. I tried to hold my breath just for something to do, but it was as though the air flowed into my lungs via osmosis. I tried to smother myself in my clothes to no avail. I was immune to physical harm in the darkness. My form persisted in nothingness.
I waited for the things that would eat me. At first, I thought they didn’t exist. Perhaps they had passed me over. It took many days… days in so much as I could guess, before I realized what was happening to me.
At first, it was so little that I didn’t miss it, especially in the shock of what had happened. I didn’t understand that little pieces were slipping away. I suspected that I was merely changing as a result of my situation, that I was becoming accustomed somehow to the nothing that surrounded me. It wasn’t until I lay there in the blackness on the cool ground recalling memories, for that is all I had, that I began to understand.
I should have been weeping to think of my mother and how she had loved me and will no longer. I remembered how she saw that I was afraid my last night in my last life and took me into her company. But I felt nothing. There was no feeling in that memory. I remembered back further and was then moved to sadness at mourning for my old life. It was a comfort to feel like myself, even if it was merely to grieve.
I walked and remembered. And I sat and remembered. I would lie down just to feel something different and remember. The longer I was there, the less I felt in my memories. And the less I felt, the less I wished to remember. A new fear gripped me, and that was of enduring in one way while palpably disappearing in another. I held onto that fear as something to feel. Eventually, the apathy became less of a fear and more of a comfort, of acceptance. I knew what that meant. I knew it meant more and more of me was being consumed. But I didn’t care.
I don’t know how long that apathy lasted. It felt like forever. Passing time awake and aware without eating or sleeping or feeling much of anything waxed from apathy into a hunger for something I couldn’t define. I needed something. Perhaps this meant what was eating me had reached an end. In my growing need, I was reacquainted with suffering. Maybe my suffering was what they wanted all along and all that protracted despair and apathy was merely a preparation for the main course.
I did suffer for a long time. I was made of suffering. There was no relief. And yet there was a growing sense of relief arriving. But the ephemeral sense of there being an end isn’t actually an end. I recalled at some point the rules. I remembered what the creature had told me. I latched onto the idea that this would end, and I would be free of this torture. I waited to be shown who I had to kill. I waited to be shown my replacement. The knife in my hand became a promise to myself. My hope was a cursed and twisted covenant.
I wasn’t Sam anymore. I was hope. I was suffering. I was a coiled spring waiting. I was a starving hunter seeking salvation in the death of another. I cared not for the unseen eaters. Soon, I would eat again and they could feed on another.
When the image came, it was something pushed into my mind instead of projected into the space around me. I saw them. I studied them. And yet I still felt nothing but yearning. I watched another person take for granted the comfort of their entire life and told myself that they deserved what I would deliver unto them. And because of my yearning, I deserved what they had. I watched them soothe their parched throat with cool water. I listened to them complain about sleeping too little. I resented them for everything they had and vowed to conquer their life with my own will to survive.
When Halloween dawned, it replaced the darkness around me, and I found myself in the world as I had known it. I looked not like myself. I was not Sam anymore. I did not know the town or the people. But I was camouflaged in a body and a costume. And I easily stalked my quarry. I found myself availed of a predator’s instincts and tricks of influence and control over small thoughts and circumstances. In the cool dark of Halloween night, I plunged my knife into the guts of my sniveling mark and coldly reveled in their pain and confusion.
Now they writhe in the transformative darkness, and I understand what the eaters ate. And although I had thought myself unique for this experience, I can see my fellows out in the world. We walk unknown among you using the lives of those beneath us to give ourselves back what was taken. We see in each other a predator’s gaze and feel a predator’s hunger. We are ravenous and greedy, but we are never full. I think, perhaps, the eaters never truly let us go because the hunger never stops.
I know I am a monster, but I can’t care what this costs me or anyone else.
The hunger never stops.