The Unfed

There was only one rule: don’t open the door. That’s what they told me when they hired me for the strange security job.

The pay was great. Maybe that’s why I endured the creepy desolate lab, but the lab wasn’t the worst part. Getting paid to watch a frail girl just felt wrong. If my girlfriend wasn’t pregnant I doubt I’d have returned after seeing her in the monitor.

At first she just looked like a girl with an eating disorder, but with each day she changed, growing paler and closer to depravity. It seemed they were purposely starving her. The bags under her eyes grew darker, and her body withered. “Was this some kind of sick joke, maybe a psy-op?”

After a week she noticed the camera. She walked up and whispered “help me,” in a broken voice that I imagined was once beautiful. Her sunken solemn eyes captivated me, filling my heart with guilt and pity.

Each day she repeated, “help me,” but it’s what she did next that truly gave me chills. She began rocking an invisible baby, her lips curling into an eerie somber smile.

The next day I could see tears streaming down her gaunt ghostly cheeks. Overcome with compassion and guilt, I raced down the hall. Doubt gnawed at me as I froze before her door. “Help me,” she whispered, spurring me into action. Heart pounding I swiped my key, and the door swooshed open.

Slowly she turned, her body snapping and stretching into a lanky mangled form. “Thank you,” she hissed with rotting breath. “I’ve been so very hungry. They’ve starved me here,” her voice cracked as saliva dripped from her unhinged jaw, revealing rows of shark-like teeth. “You’ll make a fine snack, until I find that delicious unborn I smell on you.”