Monster

December 22nd, 2012, 3:13 AM

I'm so fucking scared. I have no idea where I am or how I got here. Just that it's dark. Too dark. For the first few hours, I wasn't even sure if I was alive. I spent a long time waving my hand in front of my face, willing my eyes to see it until I remembered my phone, which was somehow still in my pocket. No service, 40% battery. That mix of wonderful and shit luck seemed to be evidence enough that I wasn't drifting through some sort of posthumous void. That's something. I took a quick look around the room with my phone's flashlight before shutting it off to save the battery. There was nothing to see anyway. How the fuck did I get here?

I don't even know why I'm writing this. Maybe it will help me make sense of whatever the hell this is. Or at least help me hang on to my sanity as long as I can. But the light won't last forever. Then I'll lose my sight, my sense of time passing…my mind? I have to stop for now. My hands are starting to shake too much to continue. I'm going to lie down and hope I wake up in my bed. I'll book a therapy appointment to discuss this nightmare and never take my life for granted again. I must have cut my leg on something because I'm noticing just now as exhaustion eats up my fear, it hurts like a bitch. Least of my worries, I guess.

-Kate Reed

December 22nd, 2012 4:00 PM

Didn't wake up in my bed. Still here in the dark. I wish I could deny it or convince myself of anything else but I think I'm in some kind of cave. I sacrificed some battery power to inspect the walls and found nothing but stone and more stone. There appears to be a small hole high up on one of the walls but it's far too small to do me any good. How the fuck did I get here?! I've never once in my life willingly entered a cave. Not once! And for great reason: THEY SCARE THE SHIT OUT OF ME!

My investigation of my surroundings left my phone battery at 20% and dwindling, dying faster still as it depletes. I can't help but think about the moment that the light goes out for good and it makes my stomach turn to stone and drop to the floor every time. Yet somehow, the darkness doesn't seem quite as heavy now. I'd swear I can see the weak silhouette of my hand if I hold it up to my face, so maybe my eyes have adjusted a bit. Is that normal after so long? But anyway, any bit of darkness is too much in a place like this. A situation like this. And add infection to the growing list of potential life threats with my complete lack of food and water. I didn't look at the wound gouged from my calf for long simply because I can't handle anything else right now. But it doesn't look like a cut to me. I'm sure my captivity and the darkness are playing tricks on my mind, molding my surplus of terror into something physical; but even still, it looks like a bite. And the burning ache radiating from the broken skin is getting worse by the hour, spreading up my leg. I'm gonna die down here. Gonna lie down and test that dream theory again.

-Kate R.

December 23rd, 2012 1:05 AM

Still here. 12% battery left until the light dies out for good. But I woke up this time feeling… different; I want to say strange but to me, that implies something negative. And that's not it. Not at all. I could never say I feel good in a place, a situation so terrifying and final. But better. I definitely feel a little better. Another thing that's concerning but convenient: the dark seems to have lightened up even more. I searched and searched for a new light source, thinking there might be a new hole that I could use to get out of here or one I may have somehow missed before. But there was nothing new. My eyes are adjusting. What is going on? I know it feels like I've been down here forever but it certainly hasn't been long enough for evolution to save my eyes with night vision.

And the wound, the bite on my leg, has a thin red line protruding from the site of the injury, creeping up my veins like a row of fire ants marching toward my heart to poison my blood and appropriately finish this nightmare in the truly depressing fashion it deserves. The only downside to being able to see a bit more clearly now is that I don't need the light on my dying phone to see the grotesque progression of the infection destroying the skin around the wound like some sort of necrotic rot. Dwelling on it makes any sort of hope I might possibly3 feel seem like the wish of a child. Naïve. Stupid. And the cherry on top of this psychotic sundae: the thirst. I'm very hungry. But the thirst makes the hunger fade into the back of my mind. For now.

The bite wound is still the top contender in the race to steal my life away. Surprisingly though, it doesn't hurt in any way other than that. The burning has stopped and I have no idea whether to count that as a blessing or a sign that the real darkness will soon be closing in. The darkness that never ends. I know it makes no sense… but the bite, the infection doesn't scare me anymore, despite my logical brain imposing its prior knowledge of infection on my psyche. Since the pain faded, it's almost felt… comforting.

This is the first time I've smiled since I woke up down here and I fear I know why: I've lost my mind.

-Kate

December 23rd(?), 2012, Early Afternoon(?)

Still alive. Though the same can't be said for my trusty phone. She's been laid to rest and honored in her passing. I even spoke a few words out loud, feeling it best to embrace the insanity that has clearly hijacked the cockpit of my mind.

Oh yeah.

There can be no more doubt in that arena. There simply isn't another way to explain it. Since I wrote last, I've been consciously focusing my attention to notice the gradual improvement of my vision in the darkness. The bitter-sweet battle between the relief of being able to see and the fear of losing my mind rages on behind my eyes as the layout of my confining area grows clearer and clearer. I wasn't missing much in my blindness but I definitely seemed to make the proper assessment of my being in a cave. My vision isn't perfect yet. But it hasn't stopped improving yet either. Before long, it will be as if the ceiling of this god-forsaken shit hole were lined with fluorescent lighting.

The creeping death of infection making its way to my heart still spreads. With its advance, a cover of sweat stays moist on my brow and nausea grips my empty stomach like a vice. The hunger is starting to get very uncomfortable and the thirst is well past that point. It can't have been more than 30 hours since I woke up in this hellish place but I've already caught myself in the thralls of dark fantasies in which I envision my own teeth biting and tearing through the soft flesh of my inner forearm. The terrible thought of the blood filling my mouth, moistening the raw meat as my molars tear it to shre - -

What the fuck is wrong with me?

-Kate

December 23? 24? 33? Night?

I definitely heard something. Up there from beyond the hole in the stone wall. First, there was a heavy thunk that sounded like something falling a few feet before landing on the rock. Then muffled cries of pain eventually settled into the nervous breathing of someone having to come to terms with how fucked they are. I yelled out over and over and got only grunts in return; muffled to the point of almost no volume by the time they reached my ears. The poor bastard could have been crying and then laughing, laughing then crying again, trying and failing to scream over and over. His breathing went steady a few minutes ago so he must have passed out. I don't know who it is, but he sounds like a fucking nutcase. Even through all the terror of being so very fucked. I might have a nap myself.

And at least the infection is better. I know that because it's gone.

Bite mark and all.

-K

December? Endless night,

Things have changed. The fear inside of me that I may have lost my mind in the short time I've been trapped down here has become something of hope. I'm changing. Changing fast. That much is undeniable whether it's fiction created by my broken mind or something else. Something new. Something strange. I know they say I wouldn't know it if I were, but I don't think I'm crazy. For one thing, as I said so suspensefully in my last entry, the bite mark that was ground zero for the infection poisoning my blood is gone. No scab. No scar. Just poof! Gonzo. The red root system that spread out through my veins remains as a purple tree branching out from my calf to my heart as if I were struck by lightning during one of my hopeless naps here in the cave. There is no more pain. There is no more nausea. On the contrary, an intense feeling of warmth and color seems to radiate from the bruised root system under my skin filling me with a sense of well-being and strength that dwarfs all the fear, confusion, and anxiety.

All but the hunger.

xxK

?!?!?, Time is bullshit,

My hair has started to fall out in clumps. I've made a game of it, laughing in proud surprise when I am able to pull out chunks full enough to be sure scraps of my scalp will still be dangling at the roots. Even now, I'm almost completely hairless. I can imagine the waxy glimmer of the sun reflecting off the new Q-Ball dew. And so thankful I am for the imagining because leaving this place seems more and more impossible with the passing of each moment. I'm sure it will be the hunger, now. That will be the punch that finally knocks off the old block. Puts an ol' girl to bed. KO and goodnight, Gracie. I've always heard that the thirst is the real bitch in these, here, "slowly dying in a cave" sorts of situations. And I can attest to that. It fucking sucks. It sucks bad. I'm no longer too proud to admit to taking an experimental swig of some piss I was able to angle into my cupped hands towards the start of what was probably my second day down here. Not my cup of tea. (hehe)

But now the longing that consumes me feels like a master craving that melds hunger and thirst together. The visions of biting into the meat of my own arm are almost constant now. They are vivid and complete, never-ending until I'm imagining what the gristly, tough meat would taste like as it rode a current of sticky blood down my throat like some nightmare waterslide. More than once, I came out of those visions with my arm almost all the way to my mouth, seemingly of its own accord. Talk about robbing Peter to pay Paul eh? I think maybe it's time to give it a try.

OH!

And the sound of whoever is wiggling around next door is getting easier and easier to hear. Call me paranoid, but it sounds like the fucker is taunting me over there. Laughing and crying, mocking and teasing.

I've never felt such hatred.

I think about what it would feel like to tear the bottom of his jaw away from his face and see if he could still manage a laugh. I haven't had much hope in surviving this trip to the fucking twilight zone but I've found a new motivator. A strong one to mix with the excruciating hunger and thirst: vengeance. Terrible, starving vengeance.

-K?

???

I see everything. The hunger and thirst have become a wave of agonizing physical pain that rockets through my bloodstream with every beat of my heart. Now that my eyes have adjusted completely, I was able to find a weak section of the wall near the bottom right part of the little hole separating the chambers. That poor bastard next door is gonna hear a real funny fuckin' joke for all his laughter. I surprised myself with the ferocity with which I tore at the stone wall. My fingers are raw and covered in the sticky remnants of my own dried blood as I write this. I find myself staring at the stained ends of my fingertips more and more while gathering the words to put down in this trusty, leather-bound journal that has served me so well since the change began. I so greatly look forward to looking back on these pages once this exciting chapter comes to a close. Yes, I can't explain it, but I think I'm going to be fine. I can still hear the son of bitch next door with his broad range of emotional outbursts. I've peered through the hole and even with my newly evolved eyesight, I can't get a glance at him. He must be right under the hole over there, laying against the wall like a fucking coward. A worm. I feel like a child on Christmas Eve when I think about what I'll find over there. Will he be bound? Actually, wrapped up like a present for yours truly? Soon now. Very soon.

Even widening the hole in the wall by a mere couple of inches I was able to manage sapped me of every bit of my strength. I can't even hold myself up on the wall long enough to continue any longer. I need to rest. But I'm close. And I will do it.

What choice do I have?

-Someone Else

December 48th, FUCKING JUDGEMENT DAY BABY!,

Almost got the fucker now. I can almost fit through and I no longer have any doubt that the person next door is bound up, gagged, and waiting for me like a gift. And I know why. For the hunger. For the thirst. My first meal since the recent… maturing of my pallet. Whoever is over there is stuck, that is for certain; Even more stuck than when I woke up in this crazy fucking circus. At least I was given the freedom to move around my stone cell, to pace aimlessly like any self-respecting lunatic in training. No, no, my new neighbor is fucked, true and proper. But who put him there? The same one that put me here as well, no doubt.

It doesn't fucking matter anymore. Only one thing does matter now and its getting through that fucking hole before my dinner gets cold. I can't wait much longer. I can feel it as clearly as if I'm seeing it on a screen. The agony ripping through my blood, my guts, my brain has become less frequent, but so much more severe. My blood is thickening like cement in the sun, my heart slowing. And as it slows, so do I. Slower and slower until it stops. I'm not gonna rot down here. I'll rot in a mental institution when I escape and tell the story about how I slowly became a monster after waking up in a cave with absolutely no recollection of how I wound up there.

I have an idea.

It's not a new one; but it seems like a much better option now.

xx

I'm alive. So very fucking alive. I fear there's too much irony in that revelation but I can't think of a better way to describe it. Blood still pours from the fresh bite in my forearm even as I write this, (I chose my left arm so the cascading blood wouldn't saturate and ruin the pages beneath my writing hand while the climactic conclusion draws ever closer) flowing down my carefully placed arm and filling my mouth with life and hope and answers. The satisfaction of the horrid act and the relief from the agony of starvation trumped everything else. The veins and sinewy muscle trailing behind the chunk of flesh I excavated from my arm sit wrapped in my teeth even now, reminding me of the sickening sensation of having pet hair in my mouth from a life that no longer seems like my own. Somehow, through the mist of blinding euphoria that emanates from each chew, each swallow, a tainted taste persists. The rotten taste of old chicken wings that stayed raw and warm for too long but got fried up anyway. Even though I had no point of reference or logical reason behind knowing, I was certain that tainted quality was coming from the fact that the flesh and blood now slip n' sliding down my throat came from my own body. A rotting body. A very different body than the one that woke up so scared and confused in this cave. But once more, none of that matters. Not right now.

I've managed to chip away at the rock surrounding my front window (he he) enough that I can get through. I certainly can't fit right now. Like this. But the way swallowing my own flesh was made easier by the slippery, crimson lubrication of my blood has hatched an idea into this new mind; A mind almost totally free of inhibitions as I'm finding out: a hard quality to be upset about.

Blood is still flowing freely from the bite in my forearm and I've flipped my arm over to the opposite side, still free of damage, and buried my teeth in it. This time I kept my mouth sealed around the wound and sucked the blood into my mouth as if siphoning fuel from a gas tank before tearing the flesh away from my arm to maximize blood flow. I let another short spurt fill my mouth (couldn't resist) before lathering both my hands in the crimson flow, now racing from both sides of my arm. I had stripped down to a base layer of a bra and panties and started at my shoulders, covering them completely in blood and working my way down until every inch of my skin was slick and covered. My guest next door has been quiet for a while save some heavy breathing here and there but I still relished the thought of the poor fucker catching on fire with terror as I slide, bright red and ravenous onto the stone floor in front of him like the grotesque birthing of some insectile abomination coming to end his suffering. Slowly.

X

It's beautiful. So much better than I ever could have imagined. I thought it would be difficult to scale up the wall high enough to start squeezing myself through the hole, but it felt almost effortless. I spent more hours than I care to remember tearing at that fucking hole. My fingernails are nothing but a memory at this point but I fear they would have fallen out on their own had I given them the chance. After all the digging and gouging, the hole really only ever got to be about the diameter of the door of a small washing machine. But I made it through.

The smell of the food waiting beyond the stone wall galvanized my predator's body with a new strength I've never known. I scaled the wall with ease, my fingers and forearms gripping the holds and propelling me toward the hole as if I were weightless. The narrow hole still posed a bit of difficulty even with the added assistance of the slick coating of blood helping me through. I writhed and wriggled, insectile as I inched through the hole. New cuts and tears were opened by the jagged rocks as I made my way through, adding to the blood covering my mostly exposed body. As soon as my head was through to the other side, I took a moment to gaze at my prey for the first time. He couldn't see me in the dark that, to him, was still complete but I could tell he heard me because he stirred and I could smell the blood as it started to race through his veins. The fear gave the smell a sweet, airy quality that reminded me of the scent of cotton candy wafting through carnival grounds.

When I finally got myself free of the rocks, I fell to the unforgiving cold of the stone floor with a smile on my face that I swear had to be almost wide enough for him to see, even though the pitch blackness. It felt like I had crossed the finish line of a thousand-mile marathon and the idea to do a little dance popped into my head. I only wish the squirming mass on the floor could have bore witness to the victory jig that I tapped out in the dark.

The poor slug on the ground was bound in barbed wire from his shoulders all the way down to his ankles. His eyes were covered with duct tape that wrapped around and around the back of his head along with one loan strip on his mouth. I started to wonder through the ravenous, violent urges that were playing out in my mind, no doubt intensified by the hunger and thirst if this whole thing was set up just for little old me. Taken, changed, treated to dinner. Not the usual order of things, but not so bad I suppose. A Christmas gift wrapped in fire and pain instead of wrapping paper? I'm not sure the exact date anymore so I've stopped trying, but today sure does feel like Christmas to me.

While taking the time to scope out the differences in our respective dwellings, I had a moment of shock at just how violent and utterly changed I had become since I woke up so scared and lost.

Then, it was gone.

As for the differences in our humble environments, I noticed more than a few. For one, there were pictures lining the wall behind where the sharp metal slug squirmed on the ground, silently pleading for release. I couldn't see them very well, even with my new predator's vision but luckily the second thing I noticed was the string lights lining the ceiling. Whoever set up this little game wanted this to be seen, and experienced in full and I was happy to oblige. Once my eyes readjusted to the new light, understanding flattened me like a cannonball. This was a gift. For me anyways. Certainly not for the sick fuck on the floor. Because each polaroid that hung on the wall was of a different body, each of them small. If there's anything that can ease the consciousness of someone about to consume their first human body, it's knowing that the body belongs to a child-murdering pedophile.

I didn't give him any warning before tearing the tape away from his eyes. I wanted the sudden burst of light to feel like a curse rather than a reprieve from the darkness. Even so, the split second of relief in his gaze disappearing when he saw me covered in blood, sitting crisscross applesauce, and wearing a childlike grin tasted almost as sweet as his fear smelled. He immediately, reflexively tried to scurry away when he saw me, letting out a pained yelp as the barbed wire bit into his naked skin. I couldn't help but let out a bray of laughter before I spoke to him for the first time. My voice sounded different, I realized; Lower with a rasp that hinted at a 20-year menthol cigarette habit that I never had.

"Looks like this little piggie's been too busy to go to the market huh?" I laughed again, "Lucky for you, I just love photography."

He looked around the room at the mention of photography and realization must have dawned on him as well: It was little piggie's turn to get fucked. I was struggling not to start my meal at that point, the hunger and revulsion and sense of justice all coagulating in me and creating a very motivating alchemical mix. Every beat of his heart was pushing terror through his veins, craving through mine. His muffled sounds of protest through the tape on his mouth seemed to pull me out of my daze and I said,

"Oh no, how rude of me. I bet there's a lot you're just dying to get off your chest."

So I lunged at his face, tearing the tape away with my teeth and ripping a thick chunk of his cheek away with it. His hysterical scream of pain came as much from the new hole in his face as it did in his mouth. The scream kept on until it was cut off and turned to a wet, gargling mix as his mouth filled up with gushing blood.

"Whoopsie, I am soooooo sorry about that! Did I knick yuh? I'm a little new at this." I laughed like it were genuinely funny and only stopped when I heard him start to choke. I waited for him to flip himself onto his stomach so he didn't drown in his own blood. When he didn't, I bent down and flipped him over, stepping on his back in a sort of Heimlich maneuver so he let the blood spray out of his mouth. "Not giving up on me yet, are yuh handsome? We only just met. Seems a little rude, if you ask me."

"Just fucking kill me! Please! I can't take anymore - "

I kicked him in the face. Barefoot, I felt his front teeth give way and burst from their sockets. I can only assume they sailed down his throat on the current of blood he had to be swallowing.

"No siree. I think we need to have a little chat about the little ones in your distinguished photography portfolio. Did any of them ever beg for you to stop? To just end it? Or were you more of a one-pump chump kind of murderer, yuh know quick and easy?" He didn't give a shit about what he'd done to those kids. That was very clear. But he was sure as shit scared of me and that was something. "It's a little embarrassing to admit, but I know for sure you can keep a secret so I'll tell you: This is my first time. So you be gentle with me, okay? Promise?" I let out a shrill little giggle and for a moment found myself surprised at my own ruthlessness. How quickly I went from scared and helpless to an apex predator is truly extraordinary. Even so, my old, more human thoughts and feelings started to creep into my head then. Telling me that I've never killed anyone or even dreamt of it, that I never wanted to. And just like that, I decided I wasn't going to kill him, whether that would be a mercy or the exact opposite. I didnt think I could bring myself to do it anymore. Then he said,

"You wanna know if they begged, bitch? Oh yeah, they begged. Crying for their mommies over and over and - "

Before he could continue, I put the index finger of my right hand through the hole in his cheek and pulled it back as hard as I could, tearing his cheek the rest of the way until the side of his lips stopped my hand. His scream of agony was peppered with insults this time: the crass final pouring of obscene words from a man who knows he's been beaten.

"Fuck you, you bitch! You're nothing! You hear m - "

I tore out his windpipe.

As much as I wanted to prolong the event, and play with my food a bit if you will, I simply couldn't resist any longer. The hunger and the rage were too much to keep at bay and I was stung by a moment of worry at this new life I'd be leading. I know now that I'm capable of doing what needs to be done to keep myself alive but find my conscious being called into play. Can I possibly find enough child murderers and rapists to satiate my new hunger? Will the hunger let me choose my victims or will it command me to do its bidding at any cost? I don't know. But I'm going to find out.

I noticed the ladder on the far wall and knew it was over. My invitation to this new life was sent out, received, RSVP'd to, and returned. I'm free to go. But I think I'll stick around a while longer and wait for the night to come, go back to the buffet for seconds, thirds even.

After all, I'm only human.

-Katheryn Reed