The beginning of hunger

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
latest installment of tales from beyond the shadows

Submitted: July 19, 2017

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Submitted: July 19, 2017

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The darkness was the first thing to register with him, darkness quite unlike anything he had ever experienced before. A terrifying image of being buried alive flashed across his mind, but then his other senses kicked in. His ears registered the howling of the wind, his nose detected the scent of wet vegetation. His mouth tasted the saltiness of the air, once his eyes adjusted to the level of darkness he could make out faint outlines of objects. A blinding flash lit up the darkness; he was given the briefest glimpse of his surroundings. Once the lighting flash had passed, it was as if it had taken the last vestige of his sight with it, he was completely blind now. The thunder clap that followed caused him to cry out in fear and anguish; he curled himself into a foetal position and whimpered like a whipped puppy.

The darkness had passed, when next he opened his eyes he was greeted by the grey light of a new dawn. The wind continued its incessant howling and sheets of rain whipped by him a short distance from where he lay. A gasp of pain escaped him as he gingerly rose to a sitting position, his body felt as if a herd of wild horses had trampled over him. The place where he lay was a small grotto like cavity. The clothes on his back were damp but the shelter of this place had obviously prevented him from dying of exposure, outside the wind and rain were relentless. A sudden surge of panic came from somewhere deep inside, he had no idea where he was or how he had gotten here. However the most frightening thing of all was the fact he was clueless to his own identity. Now added to the rising panic was a soul destroying element of despair, what was to become of a man bereft of history and identity.

The rain had ceased but the wind had lost none of its ferocity as it raged inland from the sea far below him, the cliff top path was sodden and he trudged through ankle deep mud. Pausing on his journey the man in the dark suit turned his gaze outward to the raging sea. The dark leaden sky told him it was deep winter; the howling wind should be bitterly cold. Yet he felt none of it, a strange numbness had settled over him. The pain he had experienced back at the grotto was gone; he felt neither cold nor heat. It was almost as if he were separated totally from his environment, a nameless thing that was not even part of this world. The peculiar thing about this was that it no longer bothered the man in the dark suit. The feelings of panic and despair had vanished, replaced by a nameless and overwhelming urge. Onwards he trudged through the cloying mud, the rain had resumed now with a vengeance driven like needles against his face. Yet the traveller felt nothing only the urge that drove him to an unknown destination.

It was twilight by the time he reached the spot on the path that overlooked the small seaside village; the path meandered steeply downwards to the small community below. A new feeling now settled over him, he could not quite determine what this was. As he struggled to understand this emotion, it was quickly followed by another more urgent feeling. From the deep foggy recesses of his mind, two words came to him, achievement and hunger. Acting now on instinct he moved forward, he increased his pace as much as the robotic movements of his legs allowed him. The faintest feeling of panic attempted to rise from the darkness that was his mind, but something in the darkness quickly snatched it back into the abyss. The hunger now was all that mattered; it was what kept him moving forward.

The small cottage stood on the outskirts of the village; the terrible sounds of carnage were whipped away on the wind before reaching human ears. The faint glow from the oil lamp in the living room, failed to illuminate the full extent of the aftermath, of the savagery that had taken place here. The stranger in the dark suit stood and surveyed the scene; he felt no more emotion than that of a person contemplating the remnants of a meal he could not finish. The feelings of horror and disgust would be left for those who happened on the scene the following day. For now his hunger was satisfied and he had learned something valuable, he was no longer nameless. The widow’s daughter had screamed his name at the top of her voice, she had called him monster. Monster made his way through the darkened streets of the village; somewhere in his mind he knew there were others like him. The urge now drove him to find others of his kind.

 

  • horror
  • Darkfiction


© Copyright 2017 Patrick G Moloney. All rights reserved.