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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Horror
- Subject: Creatures & Monsters
- Published: 06/08/2020
Hungry
Born 1976, M, from Whitechapel, Australia![Hungry](/storage/story/4FF82700-E4BE-F5DF-ED0B-D402F17905EA_1591622145-image(190x285-crop).jpeg)
Part the First
I dare not open my eyes. I pretend to sleep but it’s all for show. It’s been watching me, you see. Low and squat and hugging the ground like vermin. You know what it is—you've seen it—watching and waiting in the blackest recess of your private chamber. The thing that watches can look through my lids and into my brain. I think it likes what it sees. It makes wet sounds with its black lips and I can swear that I’ve heard its stomach rumble.
I play my nocturnal games—I count to three and look! The night plays its tricks and the furniture swells and shrinks. The shadows dance and writhe and the darkened room slowly pulls into focus. Nothing. Relief flows through me like the warmth from that first glass of wine. But it’s short-lived. The ants crawl under my skin and my spine tells me I’m not as safe as I’d like to believe. There it is: a thing made of night and shadow and grave-soil. My stomach shudders and my neck-hairs pirouette. I wish I was mist and could disappear through the gap under the door. But I can’t.
The thing advances. I become rigid. Premature rigor-mortis. But I’m not dead yet. I’m not dead yet!
It licks its teeth. It can already taste me. Like a spider, it moves. Not subject to gravity, nor space, nor time. No one else exists—it's just me and my fate and no one hears my prayers. My fears. My tears.
The weight at the bottom of the bed makes it real. This is happening. I’m drawn into the maw of a gaping black hole and I’ll not see the dawn. F**k the dark. F**k the truth. F**k the blackened nails that disappear into bed-covers like dwindling hope. Like my rapidly dwindling hope.
Slick jaws latch on and my foot comes away. My flesh slides down its greasy throat. The bone snaps off and I’m less than I was. A rough tongue rubs the wound and bleeding stops. Terror. Defeat. Resignation. It’s funny how the prey accepts its doom.
Then it’s gone. It melts into the corners of my room. My night. My mind. I nurse my limb and write my tale. A footless ghoul with a story to tell.
Part the Second
I dare not open my eyes—but I do; when I work up the courage. It returns. It looks revived. Renewed. Hungry.
Hungry(Jason James Parker)
Part the First
I dare not open my eyes. I pretend to sleep but it’s all for show. It’s been watching me, you see. Low and squat and hugging the ground like vermin. You know what it is—you've seen it—watching and waiting in the blackest recess of your private chamber. The thing that watches can look through my lids and into my brain. I think it likes what it sees. It makes wet sounds with its black lips and I can swear that I’ve heard its stomach rumble.
I play my nocturnal games—I count to three and look! The night plays its tricks and the furniture swells and shrinks. The shadows dance and writhe and the darkened room slowly pulls into focus. Nothing. Relief flows through me like the warmth from that first glass of wine. But it’s short-lived. The ants crawl under my skin and my spine tells me I’m not as safe as I’d like to believe. There it is: a thing made of night and shadow and grave-soil. My stomach shudders and my neck-hairs pirouette. I wish I was mist and could disappear through the gap under the door. But I can’t.
The thing advances. I become rigid. Premature rigor-mortis. But I’m not dead yet. I’m not dead yet!
It licks its teeth. It can already taste me. Like a spider, it moves. Not subject to gravity, nor space, nor time. No one else exists—it's just me and my fate and no one hears my prayers. My fears. My tears.
The weight at the bottom of the bed makes it real. This is happening. I’m drawn into the maw of a gaping black hole and I’ll not see the dawn. F**k the dark. F**k the truth. F**k the blackened nails that disappear into bed-covers like dwindling hope. Like my rapidly dwindling hope.
Slick jaws latch on and my foot comes away. My flesh slides down its greasy throat. The bone snaps off and I’m less than I was. A rough tongue rubs the wound and bleeding stops. Terror. Defeat. Resignation. It’s funny how the prey accepts its doom.
Then it’s gone. It melts into the corners of my room. My night. My mind. I nurse my limb and write my tale. A footless ghoul with a story to tell.
Part the Second
I dare not open my eyes—but I do; when I work up the courage. It returns. It looks revived. Renewed. Hungry.
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Kevin Hughes
06/09/2020Jason,
Talk about "finger foods". Yikes. Congrats on the Award -richly deserved. I am Autistic, so I take things literally...so the incredible thread of the conversation between you and Darlington was an eye opener. I rarely get allegories - and even metaphors sometimes escape me.
The depth that the story brings in that quick conversation with Darlington and yourself...gave me some hints of understanding.
On the simpler side, I now sleep with hot peppers on my feet, hoping that thing will not like spicy food.
Smiles, Kevin
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Jason James Parker
06/09/2020Thanks for reading, Kevin. I've heard of breakfast in bed, but this? Lol. I enjoy writing in a figurative way where the story also works in a more literal sense--hopefully, that's worked in some small way here.
I've always loved your stories, Kevin--they're always though-provoking and brilliantly written.
Stay with the peppers but avoid the smoked ones; I think the Night-Chewer likes chipotle! : )
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Darlington Chukwunyere
06/09/2020I took a good breathe at the second part, what a relief . I Stopped imagining....
You transported me. I could relate. The dilemma of life's many mirage and dilema of mixed purposes. Self-conflict is indeed hideous to behold from a 4-D point of view.
Please complete the second painting.
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Jason James Parker
06/09/2020Thank you for your insightful comments, Darlington. Inner torment and conflict are elusive things--constantly experienced yet hard to articulate. Looking inward is as rewarding as it is horrifying. : )
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JD
06/08/2020Yipes... I do not want to know what happens in 'part the two'... I assume your character will soon be parted from another of his limbs.... and in part the five his soul shall perish as well....
Or perhaps his soul has already departed....
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Aziz
06/08/2020A great job Jason. I discover a rebellious character that rejects one's illusions, fears, and weaknesses. Moreover, the word hungry implies greed, ambition, and domination.
I hope my modest understanding goes in line with the basic dimensions of the story.
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Jason James Parker
06/08/2020Thank you, Aziz. As usual you see between the lines and look straight into my original intent. You're absolutely right. Thank you for reading and for your incisive appraisal. : )
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