HUN…GRY

HUNGRY

I…NEED…FEED

The creature stirs, its form wavering, tendrils of pitch-black mist lined with simmering streaks of molten red, flickering erratically in the endless void. It feels the gnawing urge to consume—a hollow ache that claws at its very core. Yet this place around it is thick, suffocating, as if woven from silence itself. The creature’s shape shifts and flows, pulsing in the darkness like a beast gnawing at invisible bars, trapped within a suffocating, hollow emptiness.

Where… am I? the creature wonders, a new sensation—something foreign—snaking through it. Frustration. It strains against the darkness, expanding, feeling the emptiness in each crackling, smoky vein. But something else cuts through the stillness—a murmur, barely more than a ripple in the silence. It freezes, tendrils curling inward, listening.

“…the creature…in you… stirring…disastrous.” A feminine voice, young and potent, seeps into the void, faint but distinct. The creature recoils instinctively, sensing a raw, commanding power in the words. Yet a dark thrill creeps through it, a surge of recognition, as the fragmented words take shape.

A young male voice echoes, piercing the quiet. “…insane… cultist…”

This voice stirs something fierce and primal within the creature. It remembers this voice. Yes, it recalls, this one is… prey. Countless nights spent stalking, lurking just beyond, tasting the essence of this young soul that carried a flavor richer than any it had encountered. The hunger flares, a surge of craving so intensely it shudders, tendrils twitching with anticipation.

This soul, it thinks, hunger flaring, this one has… tasted… different.

But then a realization, dark and sudden, descends upon it like a freezing wave: I am trapped inside the prey. The thought is a thorn twisting through its core, forcing it still. The very soul it had intended to consume now ensnares it, binding it within these suffocating confines.

No… not possible, it seethes, a furious whisper curling through its misty form. Rage wells within it, but mingling with this fury is something new—something it had never felt before. Curiosity. The creature recoils from the sensation, confused and wary. It presses deeper into the silence, straining to catch the voices drifting into its prison.

“…can’t risk… too much destruction… it has to die within you,” the powerful female voice intones, carrying a deadly certainty that chills the creature’s misty core.

The creature’s need to survive eclipses all else. Panic pulses through it—a primal instinct pressing it to fight, to escape, to hold onto existence. If the prey dies… I die. The thought ignites fierce urgency, a need to keep this prey alive, no matter what the cost. Black mist thickens, simmering with red heat as it surges forward, pushing deeper into the soul, refusing to fade.

I will not die, it vows, releasing a swell of power, hoping to root itself deeper within this soul it once sought to devour.

Then, a shape emerges in the distance—a dim form, floating in the endless black. The creature drifts closer, shadows peeling back to reveal the figure of a young man, lean and spectral, suspended as if lost in a dream. Dark, disheveled hair falls over his gaunt features, his pallid skin stretched over high cheekbones, reddish-brown eyes wide and haunted. Even in this spectral form, the creature can sense the pulse of life within him, flickering like a fragile flame.

The prey… Alaric.

“A-lar-ic…” The creature savors the name, tasting each syllable with relish, the word rolling out like a hiss. The sound is strange, yet tantalizing, filling it with a dark satisfaction.

It stirs closer, hunger swelling, aching to consume, to pull every ounce of life from this soul. But a strange awareness gnaws at it, a whisper of understanding urging it to pause, to think. The creature feels memories—thoughts it does not own—drifting through it, fragments of emotions, flashes of knowledge it never possessed.

What is this…? it wonders, shivering at the strange sensation.

This awareness, strange and unwelcome, tugs at the creature, questioning its urge to simply devour. Things it never had reason to consider until now, things that fill it with wonder and disquiet. This prey, this Alaric, feels… different. It is like a doorway to something deeper. Yet the realization crashes over it—a searing knowledge that in order to survive, it cannot allow Alaric to die. Not yet.

But another wave of voices interrupts its thoughts, the fragments piercing the void.

“He’s dead,” the familiar female voice declares, each word laced with icy finality. The creature shivers, instinctively recoiling from her certainty.

Another voice follows, older and steeped in authority, a tone thick with dominance. “Good… Burn it all…”

The creature’s form tenses, its shadowed mist twisting with resentment and loathing. Something about this voice stirs a deep hatred—a power it despises and fears. But then, a third voice, uncertain and young, hesitates into the silence, “…mind… still there.”

A revelation slams into the creature, cold and swift. They mean to destroy both the prey… and it. Its prey is slipping away, weakening, and with it, the creature’s lifeline. If the prey dies… I die. The repeating thought hardens into resolve, flooding it with an urgency that pulses through every dark tendril.

Driven by desperation, the creature shapes its mist into claws, sharp and jagged, and lunges forward, gripping Alaric by the throat with a savage, unyielding grip. The prey stirs, his spectral eyes widening in shock, but the creature’s hold tightens. A high-pitched laughter, shrill and manic, echoes through the void, a vicious sound as the creature drags him deeper, pulling him deeper into its prey’s soul.

The creature’s laughter fades as it sinks, descending into the swirling dark, clutching Alaric in its claws, unwilling to release its hold on the one thing anchoring it to existence.

*****

A frigid pulse jerks me awake, dragging me from the abyss. I feel scattered, like I’ve been stitched back together from broken pieces, each one brittle and raw. The cold bites deep, gnawing into my bones, and my skin prickles as if frozen. A stale scent of old parchment and leather fills my nose. Slowly, I open my eyes, disoriented, struggling to make sense of the shadows around me.

Shelves. A table. This room—it’s my father’s study, familiar yet... wrong. Shadows flicker across the shelves, stretching and curling as if disturbed by an invisible hand. My mind snatches at a memory, and with a shudder, I realize it’s the same room from my dream on my first night in England. The place where my family once sewed together, but here, the air is thick, suffocating. The silence presses down, heavy as stone, muffling even my breathing.

I scan the room, the flicker of firelight casting strange patterns along the walls, and then I notice it—a mist, twisting in the corner, pulsing with red embers that glow like molten veins. It thickens, coiling in on itself, breathing, becoming. It twists and billows, like a storm cloud, flashes of crimson streaking through the shadows like trapped lightning.

A chill sweeps through me, and my stomach lurches. My legs won’t move. Fear has rooted them in place as the mist thickens, writhing as if trying to take form. I feel my pulse hammer in my throat as it molds itself into something disturbingly familiar. And then, in the faint light, I see it… I see… me.

The figure stands tall and lean, an almost perfect replica staring back at me, yet twisted. Its skin isn’t skin at all but a misty black fog, hollow, as if drained of warmth and life. Its eyes burn a fiery reddish-yellow, like the molten core of some predator’s gaze. The rest of it remains cloaked in shadow, a dark silhouette, but its face—my face—stares back with a hunger so sharp, so raw, it feels like a blade pressed against my chest.

It tilts its head, its lips curving into a twisted mockery of a grin. Then it speaks, its voice fractured, ripping from its throat like broken glass, “A-lar-ic…” It drags out the syllables, savoring them, as if my name is the only thing keeping it anchored, giving it… form.

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Finally, my legs work, and I stagger back bile rising in my throat as the thing floats closer, black mist trailing behind it like a living shadow. “No, no…stay back!”

The creature continues to move forward until it is only a few steps away from me, it says nothing, just stares at me, its eyes spark like a predator’s stalking its prey. However, there is a hint of hesitation… a hint of… curiosity?

My chest tightens as the room flickers in and out of focus, each blink revealing small distortions within this study room.

“What are you?” I try to sound steady, but my voice cracks.

It doesn’t answer, only continues to morph, red lines flicker beneath its foggy surface its entire form like a thundercloud charged with blood and fire. The thing completes my likeness—two legs, two hands—breathing heavily, holding back some primal urge that radiates from it like heat.

Its mouth contorts, struggling with the next words. “I… am… me…” It nods, like that answer alone explains this horror before me.

My skin prickles, and the room spins. This creature, this twisted reflection, is speaking with my voice, only wrong, distorted, dripping with a hunger I cannot comprehend. Its gaze locks onto mine, an intensity so fierce it seems to reach into my core, twisting every nerve.

“This… can’t be real,” I whisper, barely able to draw breath.

The creature raises one clawed, shadowy hand—long, serrated claws that are nothing human—and its voice comes out in fragments, strained and broken, “You… die.”

My chest tightens. It points its dark, smoky finger at its own chest, almost reverent. “I… seyv…” it rasps, voice a haunting echo of my own.

A chill locks around my spine, and panic needles my skin as the meaning hits me. My breath quickens, coming in shallow bursts. “What do you mean I’m dead? I’m standing right here!” I yell, my voice cracking.

The creature shudders, its misty form pulsing with dark, red-veined anger. In an instant, it stands right in front of me, nose to nose, our breaths mingling. It’s fiery, predator eyes bore into mine, and I freeze, every muscle tensed.

“We… in… soul,” it hisses, a guttural growl rolling from its throat, chilling me to the bone.

It steps back slowly, its gaze never leaves mine, like a wolf studying its prey. I struggle to steady my shaking hands, forcing a slow breath as I meet its gaze, trying to sound calm. “Soul? Whose soul… yours?” I ask, softening my tone, as if not to provoke it.

Its head tilts, a sneer curling on its shadowed mouth. It points a clawed hand toward me, and I feel my stomach twist, the realization dawning cold and sharp.

“My soul? We’re… in my soul?” I murmur, looking around again. The study room becomes sharper, almost solidifying around us, as if my understanding roots this place in reality—my dream, my memory, haunting me.

I whisper aloud, more to myself. “This place… it’s from my memory? My dream?”

The creature’s mouth waters, and it hisses in excitement, a grotesque hunger flaring in its gaze. “Yyyeeesss… I feed… you.”

The words hit me like a dagger, and my blood runs cold. “You… you’re the thing in my nightmares.” My chest tightens as I recall the horrid visions—this creature tearing into me, night after night. I step back instinctively, but it mirrors me, head cocked, savoring my fear.

“Where… go? No…where…go.” It chuckles, a sick, delighted sound, its tone mocking as it moves closer. “No… me… no feed… yet…”

“What?” My voice barely escapes, my throat dry, as it watches me with those blazing, unblinking eyes.

“Me… need… lurn… me… sma… sma… smar!” it snarls, slashing one clawed hand into a chair, splintering the wood to pieces. But in an instant, the chair reforms, whole and unbroken.

“Smart?” I say carefully, steadying myself after the sudden, violent display. The thing’s grasp on language is pitiful, its vocabulary minimal, yet it’s clear it is driven by some dark, insatiable will to learn, to grow.

It nods slowly, its mouth twisting into a grim parody of a smile. “Yyyyeeessss… me… sma…art… now… not… know…why.”

I force myself to take a deep breath, grounding myself. “What do you mean… now? You couldn’t speak, before?

The creature’s nod is jarring, like a marionette finding it no longer has strings. “Be…fore… yyyeeeeessss… before no… no speak… no think… only… feed.”

A strange realization dawns on me as I listen. This thing has changed, become… aware, but how? “Why are you here? How did you end up inside my soul?”

It pauses, twitching and writhing, its form flickering, like it’s struggling with the answer. “Me… not… see… I… trap… by… you.”

I stare at it, disbelief clawing at my mind. “By me? I didn’t trap you here… how would that even be possible? I don’t want you here!” My voice rises, panic edging in.

The creature shudders, misty form pulsing with anger, claws flexing as if restraining a deep, violent urge. I feel the temperature drop, a wave of cold, dark energy radiating from it. Slowly, its form steadies, the tension loosening.

“All right,” I say, barely keeping the tremor from my voice, “I… I’m not threatening you, okay? You want to… learn, right? So, tell me… how can I help you… learn?”

Its gaze sharpens, glinting with something terrifyingly close to understanding.

*****

This feels like some twisted jest of fate. Here I sit in the memory of my father’s study, teaching a monstrous version of myself to read, as if it were a child learning its first words. The creature beside me—a grotesque mimicry with veins of molten red crackling beneath its smoky surface—holds a book in clawed hands, claws that have reshaped to resemble unsettlingly human fingers. My fingers. It’s a sight so absurd I almost laugh, though any humor dies the moment I glance at its face—my face—watching me with a disturbing hunger before going back to look at the book in its shadowy hands.

Its yellow-red eyes bore into the page, each word scraped out slowly, syllable by fractured syllable, its lips stretching to mouth the words with an unnatural, childlike determination. I keep a careful distance, my heart thudding in my chest as I guide it through the sentences, attempting to mask my unease. I have no idea what it might do if provoked, and as I speak, I feel its gaze sliding from the book to me, observing, absorbing…perhaps waiting.

Everything in this room is so uncannily familiar I could almost forget the nightmare at my side. The thick, heavy smell of old parchment and polished wood permeates the air, the same scent I remember from when I was young, perched on my father’s knee as he read aloud. The crackling fire glows with a nostalgic warmth, though I feel no heat. Even the chair beneath me is solid and worn, just like my father’s.

But how? If we’re inside my soul, then these books—could they be filled with memories, fragments of my life? Or is the creature creating them, manifesting my thoughts as it learns? I press the questions down, afraid to dwell too deeply, and I watch it carefully, until it finally breaks the silence with a twisted, jagged version of my own voice.

“Body… dead,” it murmurs, its eyes lifting from the page, still fixed on me with a ferocious intensity. “I was… not full awake… when it… happen.”

My mouth falls open, and I stare at it, my pulse hammering. “What do you mean? My body is dead, but not my soul?” My voice quakes, every word edged with disbelief.

Its voice is a fractured echo of mine, with an unsettling low grumble scrape to it, like a blade dragged across stone. Hearing it speak in my own voice chills me to the core. But the creature’s hostility seems absent, its hunger somehow held at bay, and I can’t help but marvel at how quickly it’s mimicking human behavior.

The creature tilts its head, studying me as if amused by my shock. Its pale cracked lips pull into a mocking smile, and it shrugs, struggling for words. “Voices… outside… said… you dead, but… I know… only body dead.”

I let the words sink in, an icy dread creeping up my spine. My mind reels, and I press on, trying to make sense of the absurdity, “If my body is dead, why am I still here?”

Its fiery eyes narrow, glowing brighter, as if pondering how much to reveal. “I strong… I will not die,” it finally replies, a strange smirk twisting its mouth. “Save you… keep soul alive.”

A terrifying realization dawns, heavy and suffocating. It didn’t save me out of mercy; it’s self-preservation. “You saved me because you need me. If I die, you die.”

It leans closer, hissing through bared teeth, “Yyyyeeeesss…” the low rumble trailing into a menacing growl.

“I want… eat you…” It licks its lips, eyes brightening with malevolent glee, “but need you now… soooooooo, I do not eat… yet.”

A nervous laugh slips from my throat, bitter and hollow. “Well, that’s… reassuring.”

But the joke does nothing to dispel the tension, my skin prickles under its gaze because there’s no mistaking the hunger lurking there. That “yet” hangs heavy between us, and I know this truce will hold only as long as I’m useful.

The creature’s gaze doesn’t waver. It studies me, mirrors… me—eyes fixating on every expression, every shift in my tone, as if dissecting the very essence of who I am. I can almost feel it probing my thoughts, sorting through my memories. The air grows colder, the fire’s light dimming, shadows crowding in closer as it leans forward, claws flexing with restrained aggression.

I force myself to sit still, swallowing hard. “If… if you’re trapped in here with me, what happens next? How do we… escape?” My voice wavers, the thin veneer of calm crumbling.

The creature’s lips curl into a dark smile, the mist around it coiling like smoke. “We… learn. I learn… you.” Its clawed hand, nearly human, extends toward me, and I resist the urge to recoil. “You show me… be smar… smar-ter.”

The realization settles heavily over me: it intends to learn everything. To become everything I am, and perhaps more. It isn’t just seeking escape; it’s searching for a way to survive in a way that leaves me irrelevant—discarded.

But I can’t let it know my fear. I nod, swallowing my dread, pretending to accept this twisted game. “Fine. Then, let’s… start.” My voice cracks, but I force it to steady, “What do you want to know?”

The creature’s fiery gaze never leaves mine, its mouth curving in a pleased, unsettling smile. It knows I’m desperate, trapped. It is thriving on it. And in that instant, a sharp, jagged laughter cuts through the silence, echoing from somewhere deep within the mist—another voice, shrill and mocking, like a hyena laughing from the shadows.

The creature cocks its head, its own smile widening, as if savoring the sound. I try to glance over my shoulder, feeling the walls press in, the shadows creeping closer. But before I can process the sound, the creature points a clawed finger at my chest, its voice low, filled with a dark promise.

“Soon… I am you.”

The room shifts around me, the walls flicker like smoke, blurring into an endless void. And I know, with a sinking, terrifying certainty, that this creature doesn’t just want to escape. It wants to consume me, this me that is my soul. And become something else, something far worse.

But I can’t let it.