The Hungry Heart

I am grateful for the thundering rain. It acts as a barrier against unsolicited thoughts, and guilt no longer inhibits the task at hand. Emptying of most sentiment, my mind instead becomes pervaded by a dull serenity. In my guise, a machine watches a mound of earth rise to the steady movement of the shovel, soil spraying in all directions. A small part of me, buried beneath layers of detachment, is aware that soon I will feel every emotion. My head a minefield. Shame conflicting with hope, jealousy smothering satisfaction. Soon, with fervent purpose, and guided by God’s own hand, self-hatred will rise victorious from the leaden recesses of my sentience.

The thing, swathed in black plastic as it is, holds no discernible form, and the generous weather has washed away its odour. It’s merely an echo. Natural matter with which I shall refill the hole I’ve been digging.

The thing in the sack is no longer a person. Perhaps once it had drawn breath, laughed, conversed with others. Once, a smile had creased the eyes and cheeks of a recognisable face. I had not known the thing when it was possessed by spirit. Alice had delivered the soul into the loving arms of the angels, before life’s hardship had put dirty hands on its glory. At least, in absence of her explanation, my beguiled mind had concocted this shining lie.

After many hours, the torrential weather is replaced by scattered drops, and the calming sound of water sliding from one leaf to another reverberates throughout the forest. A sizeable hole gapes open in the ground before me, I’m almost tempted to climb in myself. My arms ache, and the seeds of regret are beginning to sprout in my mind, but I know that if I leave the job unfinished it is more likely that Alice will be caught and I will never see her again. Summoning the last of my energy I push the shapeless thing into it’s pit, where it lands with a damp thud.

*

“You buried it in the forest? You left no traces?”

Alice turns to me, and a pretty smile breaks through the harmonious symmetry of her face. The soft, blue eyes seem to glow with a celestial light. “You’re a true friend.”

‘Friend’. What must I do to break through the barrier of friendship? My life is hers to command, anything she asked I would do.

Sometimes when we meet, Alice radiates an aura of such sweet innocence that it takes enormous effort not to weep at her beauty. On these days, she will take my hand and kiss my cheek, and I feel as though we walk the precipice of an epic love. The idea that she could commit so heinous a deed is inconceivable.

Tonight feels different. Alice remains lovely as ever, but I feel as though something very old is watching me through her eyes. She doesn’t rush to me, or express sympathy as I shiver in my saturated clothing. I had expected her to be effusive with gratitude. Long have I known of her crimes and, despite their macabre nature, I have felt a certain fulfilment in being her sole confidant. But tonight is the first time I have truly defied my beliefs, and buried her work. Her sins have become mine.

I hoped this would create an irreversible bond between us, but as her smile becomes strained I realise she wants me to leave.

After meandering for an hour I finally reach home, emotionally exhausted and hurt. My small space consists of a simple, brick lodge, identical to all of the others in the area. No garden, they’re unnecessary when your house faces a forest that stretches on for miles. Before I had met Alice, I would stroll the pathways that twisted below the natural canopy, taking joy in the sunlight filtering through the leaves. Now I wonder how many bodies have fertilised the roots of this green haven, and I shun the place.

My fingers are numb with cold, so unlocking my front door becomes a near impossible task. After several frustrating minutes, the door swings open to a draughty hall, illuminated by the grey of dawn shining through misty windows. Repressed emotions begin to take hold of my brain as I’m stooped over the bathroom sink, cleaning the dirt from beneath my fingernails. Penitence sharpens into self-hatred, there seems to be no end to the filth on my hands. I continue to scrub, not daring to meet my own gaze in the mirror, lest I see a demon glaring back.

Eventually fatigue overcomes me and I find myself in bed, hoping to dream away my evils. But sleep doesn’t come. Instead my eyes fixate on the large wooden cross hanging on the wall facing me. Once a relic I found comfort in, it’s now a cruel joke.

*

After a week the paranoia has settled in. I have learned that the faceless thing I disposed of was once someone named Robert North. The police have concluded that my forest is a logical place to begin the search. My house is beginning to reflect my mind, filthy and cluttered.

I haven’t had any contact with Alice since the night I dug Robert’s grave. I’ve called her several times, I’ve visited her secluded house and found it empty.

I crave her touch. The last traces of self-love have abandoned me, along with my faith in heaven and the Lord. It’s my love of Alice that sustains my being. Without her all I have is a guilty conscience and a house that mocks me, but even the hope of her returned affection is rapidly fading.

I decide to try her house one more time, before I completely give myself over to despair. Running the distance, my mind is feverish with desire for her, though it disgusts me. On her veranda I pause and compile all of my hope into the forefront of my mind, as though to manifest the outcome I long for. With bated breath I then reach for the brass knocker, but pull back when I catch hushed voices from inside. Despite straining my ears, the voices remain unintelligible, and my patience is limited, I must see Alice.

Forgetting to knock in my haste, I simply push the door ajar, and the two people inside turn to face me. The closest is a boy I have never met. Around my age, with hair like straw and a milky complexion. The other is Alice, with guilt pulling at her mouth upon viewing me.

“Come in.” She forces a smile. “Mike was just leaving.” As if in a trance, I enter. The boy mutters a quick farewell to Alice and flashes me a confused smile before exiting.

“Who’s that?” I question, as soon as the sound of the door grinding shut has ceased to echo around her empty apartment.

“Mike Samuels, just someone I know.” There is something in her voice that causes my confusion to transcend into jealousy. Even after the sacrifices I have made for her, I am still insignificant.

“Where have you been? Why did you not answer my calls?” I spit the words.

“I’m sorry, it’s nothing personal. I needed space. Please believe me.” What sounds like real regret tinges her apology, and she steps timidly in my direction. But I’m tired of manipulation.

“Only from me, it would seem.”

She surprises me then, and bursts into frantic sobs, tears rolling thickly over her flushed cheeks. I soften instantly, as I had never before seen her cry. With arms hungry to embrace, I reach towards her, but she whispers at me suddenly to get out, in a voice that lacks familiarity. I find myself following her orders out the door.

Later, in my desolate living space, Robert North is on the television again. The reporter’s monotonous drawl bounces around my plaster walls and nestles in the dark corners of the room. But I’m hardly listening. For the first time, no guilt or fear stirs within me. My mind is too preoccupied with images of the Samuels boy and what he could possibly have that I don’t. I take to staring out of the window instead, absent-mindedly wiping the dust from the sill as I do so.

A foreboding sight quickly puts an end to my self-pity.

It’s Alice, leading Mike Samuels by the hand to the edge of the forest opposite me. He is staggering severely, either drunk or drugged, but doesn’t appear to be fighting against her directions. The two of them disappear into the trees, and I know what is about to happen. My strength of character has degraded so much that the sight of this pleases me. I relish the fact that he will soon be dead, my envy unnecessary.

The feeling of being used hasn’t entirely diminished however, and I feel that an explanation is long overdue. Hastily, I collect a small, metal cross from the kitchen shelf and sprint from my house into the woods in pursuit of the pair. Samuels is crashing loudly through the undergrowth, with occasional grunts of confusion that makes him easy to trail, and mask my own commotion.

The movement stops abruptly, and is replaced by murmuring which I imagine to be Alice attempting to subdue the young man. Then, a metallic sound, a small gasp. Brief silence followed by continued whispers.

I creep closer, concealed by an enormous pine, and brave a peek at my beloved.

What I see isn’t a girl. It isn’t even human.

Instead of golden tresses, wiry strands hang limply from the scalp. A great, crimson tongue lolls out of a mouth lined with an abundance of serrated teeth as the creature kneels over the body. Talons are gouging the eyes of the unfortunate youth, who’s throat has been ripped savagely open, and oozes blood. I freeze in terror.

The thing continues to murmur in an unrecognisable language, and tears open the skin of Mike’s chest as though it’s desiccated paper. His ribcage is split by ancient hands, exposing the gleaming heart. I watch transfixed as the creature carves a sigil onto the organ with a single nail, it’s demonic chant rising in a crescendo, before cramming it into gaping jaws. The leathery face takes on an expression of relief, and the wretch smears the excess gore through the sparse strands on its head, where it hangs in clots.

The transformation happens gradually. Skin brightens, razor-edged teeth become blunt and framed by soft lips. A comely young woman crouches by the body, steeped in carnage. I step back too quickly, and Alice turns to me, fear written plainly on her features.

“You shouldn’t have seen it!” She seems to be struggling with her words as she faces me. I am still speechless. “Now I can be beautiful for you. Do you understand?”

I don’t. As I look at her, I remember how I had defied my faith for a taste of her affection. I was a demon’s slave. Dread is rapidly replaced by rage in my mind, and I heft a large stone from beside me. I can win back God’s favour.

Grasping the cross tightly in one hand, and my weapon in the other, I lunge at the beast. She dodges with cat-like grace, and instinctively swipes through my neck, with claws still retracting. My sight dims instantly, mossy ground cushions my fall. The demon’s cry of anguish echos around my skull, and she cradles my head. I want to crawl away but my muscles won’t coordinate with my brain. The thing wearing Alice’s face begs me to stay. “It was all for you” she weeps. But I can’t see her anymore.