Jack sat up quickly, banging his head on a walnut table long past its prime. He quizzically touched the large dent on his forehead, stood, and looked around. The dresser he'd placed in front of the door was still there, and his footlocker was untouched. Jack couldn't remember when he had found this cabin, but he did remember fighting with the previous owner. It was a meal he remembered fondly; thinking about it caused hunger to speak through his stomach. Stumbling towards the footlocker, he put a hand on the walnut table to steady himself, and, looking down, he froze.
Jack stared at his left hand. Where bones and dried blood vessels had previously been visible, fresh skin had begun to grow. He scanned up his arm, noting that the flesh appeared halfway to his elbow. He limped over to a window (tripping on the cellar door implanted in the decaying wooden floor boards, which had become something of a habit), and gazed analytically at his reflection. His cheekbones still peeked out from behind grey flaps of skin, but the skin no longer held a leathery texture. The tips had begun to turn a light peach color, and small hairs dotted the surface. Twisting his head this way and that, he was relieved to find the back of his skull to be the expected dark caramel, devoid of a scalp. At least part of him was intact.
Confused, Jack knocked over the small table next to the window, watching as the wooden legs fell apart. Kicking splinters of wood, he shambled over to the footlocker, opened it, and picked up one of the arms he had stashed away. Crouching down, he took a bite and began to thoughtfully chew. He didn't remember seeing anything remotely like the color invading his face, arm, and hand...except on the Food. Despite any intelligence the Food had, it was still nothing but sustenance.
The thought of becoming one of those things terrified him. Besides their physical vulnerability, they moved quickly and without effort. Surely no creature capable of moving so effortlessly should do so. The world was meant to be a slow-moving place, where a long walk would yield little distance traveled. Time had no meaning in this isolated forest, yet the Food acted as though it would perish unless it traversed the landscape at breakneck speed. To be fair, there was the possibility of being eaten by someone such as himself, but still...
Suddenly, he spat out the chunk of arm and started to retch. He stared down at the half-chewed gore, giving it a questioning glance. His withered eyes slid an incredulous look at the footlocker, which solidified a decision for his restless instincts: it was time to hunt. He moved across the creaking floorboards of the cabin, pushed aside the dresser he had placed in front of the decrepit door, and stepped outside onto the porch.
The night was cool, the full moon shining down in shafts of ivory light through the trees. He surveyed the forest that enveloped the cabin, taking auditory note of the nocturnal animals that were out. Although he could hold his own, there were nasty things in these woods…an insatiable hunger such as his was no match for claws and fangs such as theirs.
Stepping down off the porch, he took a light-blue knitted cap that hung on a peg, and fumbled it on his head. He always wore this cap when hunting; it helped confuse the Food, making them easier to take down. Satisfied with the placement of the cap, he began the arduous trek around to the back side of the cabin, the path littered with evidence of seasonal changes.
He knocked into an old shovel, sending it tumbling into the yard, taking a few acorns and sticks along with it. He froze motionless at the sound, and began scanning the edge of the trees, looking for signs of movement. When he was satisfied he wasn’t about to be mauled by some unseen monstrosity, he continued his journey to the back side of the cabin.
As he rounded the corner, something caught his eye. A glimmer of red and yellow, in the opposite direction of where the moss grows. A fire! This could mean only one thing: Food was nearby. He was always surprised to find Food showing up in these woods. They went on for miles, with the river providing the only reliable way to navigate the extensive labyrinth of trees.
It was common for Jack to find Food nesting by the river, but never had a nest been made so close to his cabin. The Food, an aging one and a young one, were sitting next to a fire roasting some kind of animal. The Food’s ingenuity never ceased to amaze Jack. he felt most of their activities were wasted efforts (especially the cooking of their Food prior to consuming it), but he was nevertheless impressed by their varied abilities (including the ability to build “his” cabin, whose previous owner had been especially tasty. Perhaps their flavor was proportional to their intelligence?) He stood in the shadows, watching as they began devouring the roasted meat.
Surveying the ground between himself and them, he noticed the path was covered with dead leaves and sticks. Despite the constant noise generated by the river, the leaves and sticks were more than enough for the Food to hear his scuffling feet. His gait was smooth for his kind, but even he had trouble moving silently. This way was no good, he would have to find an alternate route. He was preparing to move, when the younger one stood up and started walking towards the shadow Jack was hiding in. It made an arching motion to the older Food, which nodded and pointed. The young one turned back towards Jack - still shrouded in darkness - and began walking forward again. Jack shifted his weight, and prepared to pounce.
The young one had given him no trouble (he had snapped its neck effortlessly), but the older Food put up quite a fight. In the end, Jack had to tear into the Food’s throat to put him down. Still, he got at least one of them, and that’s what mattered. The older one would surely be picked off by one of the many screeching creatures that patrolled the woods, so he left it behind.
Dragging the now-lifeless body of the young Food back through the forest, Jack took a moment to look up at the moon peaking through the forest canopy. Its pure light caused the tree trunks to glow with ethereal warmth, reminding him of how much life there was surrounding him. Knowing he was one of the predators in this place of muted vivaciousness brought peace to his shriveled mind, as he completed the rest of his journey in a tranquil state of animalistic contentment.
The sun was nearly up by the time Jack reached the front door of the cabin. His mouth (red, fleshy lips had begun to appear) and stomach (now almost completely covered with the peach-colored skin) trembled in anticipation of the coming meal. Pulling the body of the young Food into the cabin, he grumbled as he pinched the top of the cap on his head and awkwardly flung it on the floor. He set about the laborious task of quartering the body, removing the organs he didn’t like, and processed what would be left over so it would stay fresh. His work finished, he sat down with his back against the refrigerator (which had long since been rendered useless by a shotgun blast from the previous owner), put one of the legs in his mouth, and ripped off a chunk of meat…only to spit it out after chewing a single time. The same rancid feeling came rushing back, stronger this time. He stood, and once more limped over to one of the windows to look at his reflection.
Half of his left cheek was now covered in the peach-colored flesh, as was a portion of his skull. The cheekbones and skull that were still visible no longer bore the comforting dark caramel color. Instead, they shone a ghastly white. All the way up to his shoulder, he found his left arm was now covered in the same peach flesh as his face, and dark hairs had begun to grow. All of the fingers on his right hand were peach, as were his kneecaps.
Uncontrollably, he raised his newly-living left arm upwards to his mouth, and bit down. The taste was exquisite, better than any Food he had ever caught. He bit off his left pinky finger with a satisfying crunch, and chewed. Surveying the rest of the peach-colored flesh spreading across his dead frame, he had to actively stop himself from taking another bite. Lowering his arms, he sat down on the rotting wood floor of the cabin. He would either become Food, or consume himself entirely. Autosarcophagy was not the answer, and he’d never allow himself to become one of those things.
Looking down at his legs, he saw the peach-colored skin growing rapidly. He watched his left ankle go from bony to completely covered in flesh within moments. Both arms were now almost covered in living skin, and the skin had begun to creep up the back of his thighs. As he examined every part of his body closely, he began to feel something he couldn’t remember ever experiencing: pain. It wasn’t only skin that was growing now, but nerve endings as well. Just as quickly as the physical pain started, a different kind of pain exploded into his reality.
His very soul now burned as memories came flooding back. There was a time when he was Food, and he lived here in the forest, right here in this very cabin...but not alone.
Jack stood up, ran as best he could towards one of the aging walls, and began pounding on it with his fist. Getting desperate, he turned towards one of the windows. With the pain now enveloping his entire being, he smashed the window, and crumpled onto the floor.
Not alone.
He glanced sideways, only to see the light-blue knitted cap staring directly at him, taunting him with its frayed ends and forgotten memories. Laughing. Playing. Chopping wood. Eating. Talking.
Not alone.
Surveying the cabin, more memories came back to him, memories that burned deep within his emerging consciousness. Twisting his head towards the window, he spied a sharp piece of glass that remained in the frame. Slowly standing up, Jack agonizingly turned his body to face the window, and sent himself on a collision course with the upright shard.
Peace at last.
Submitted January 08, 2016 at 06:39PM by pojut http://ift.tt/1kS9R9l nosleep
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