Hunger

The fascinating thing about dreams? You never realize you’re in one—until you wake up.

Kevin woke up to a chill. “What the hell happened?” he muttered, his voice hoarse. He placed his hand on the frosty ground, struggling to push himself up. It was a slow, painful process. He groaned and grabbed his pounding head. A wet, sticky substance greased his hair and stuck to his fingers. Inspecting his hand, his fear became a reality. “Blood.” Without thinking, he wiped his hand on his shirt.

The last thing he remembered was speed walking along the trail path, enjoying the mix of warm rays from the sunset and cool October breeze.

A sharp pain shot through his body as he rolled onto his knees, trying to stand. Once upright, he reached for his back pocket to check for his wallet. Confusion settled in when he found his single twenty-dollar bill still in it. So, it wasn’t a robbery, he thought.

Looking for his phone he patted his front pockets, but came up empty. Scanning the silvery grass around him, he spotted something shiny about ten meters away. Walking gingerly toward it, he prayed it still worked. When he picked up the cracked phone, his hopes were crushed. It was unresponsive.

Kevin glanced around, searching for a sign. He remembered walking past these woods before but had never ventured inside. Now, it felt like he was trapped in an escape room, desperate for any clue to reveal just how far from civilization he was. Kevin took a step forward. If I don’t find a way out soon, the cold will kill me—if nothing else does, he thought to himself.

With each step, the pounding in his head from his injury worsened. His bones felt colder, but the gnawing hunger was the worst of all. Light-headed and weak, Kevin collapsed.

The next time Kevin opened his eyes, he was in the ER.

“Oh, good! You’re awake,” said a young woman in light blue scrubs. “I’ll go see if the doctor is available.” She set the clipboard down on the desk and walked out of the room. 

How long have I been here? No, wait—how did I get here? Kevin wondered.

“So, it says here that you were found unconscious by some hikers coming off a trail,” the ER doctor said, almost as if he were reading Kevin’s mind.

Lying in the hospital bed, Kevin realized he was wearing nothing but a disposable hospital robe.

“Most of your clothes and belongings are on the chair next to you,” the doctor continued, noticing Kevin’s confusion. His name tag read ‘Robert Booth | MD.’ Kevin was surprised he could make it out from across the room, given that his vision was far from perfect.

“Kevin, we are still trying to piece together what happened to you. We checked you for injuries, and—” Dr. Booth stopped mid-sentence as the door swung open. Two men in black suits walked in. One sat next to Kevin, while the other leaned against the door.

“Can we have a word with Kevin?” one of the men asked.

“Uh, sure thing. Kevin, these are detectives. They have a few questions for you,” the doctor said, walking out of the room.

Kevin overheard whispers outside his door. “No broken bones, no injuries, no scratches, yet he was covered in blood,” a woman’s voice said softly.

The detective closest to Kevin was middle-aged, with deep wrinkles and thick, round glasses. “How can I help you?” Kevin asked, trying to sound confident.

“Hi Kevin, I’m Special Agent Dobbs, and this is my partner, Randy. How are you feeling?” Dobbs asked.

“I feel a lot better, actually. I don’t know what the doc gave me, but it worked,” Kevin replied.

Dobbs shuffled some papers on his clipboard. “That’s interesting because it says here you weren’t given any treatment—no meds, no painkillers, nothing. So, let me ask you—what’s the last thing you remember before you woke up?”

Kevin swallowed hard. He just realized he wasn’t being treated as a victim but a suspect. His stomach growled painfully. “I remember taking a walk to get some dinner. And, speaking of which, I’m starving. Do they have food here?”

“The cafeteria’s closed for the night,” Dobbs said. He nodded at his partner, who left the room, presumably to find something for Kevin to eat. Dobbs turned back to Kevin. “So, do you want to tell me how you got that blood on your shirt?”

Kevin glanced down at the chair beside him, eyeing the pile of clothes. Figures—my shirt is missing. His uncle’s words about cops and their questions echoed in his mind. “Am I under arrest?” Kevin asked, his tone turning defensive.

“No. But you are under investigation,” Dobbs replied, half-sarcastic. “Your shirt is with forensics. We need to confirm that the blood on it is yours.” Dobbs paused, studying Kevin’s posture. “There have been some strange things going on around here. As long as your shirt comes back clean, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Reluctantly, Kevin handed over his driver’s license and contact number. “I need to file an insurance claim for my phone, so you won’t be able to reach me for a while,” he said.

Dobbs stood, a smirk crossing his face. “Good luck filing a claim with no useful information.” His voice dripped with sarcasm as he walked out of the room.

Dr. Booth stepped back in shortly after the detective left. “Don’t mind them,” Booth said. “This is the third time this has happened this month—and it’s always the same pat—”

Booth was interrupted as the nurse entered the room. “So, what’s the word, Doc? Is he staying?” she asked.

“No,” Booth replied. “Go ahead and prepare his paperwork. I’m sure he’s ready to get out of here and find something to eat,” he added, his tone almost ominous.

Once outside, he called an Uber and stopped by his usual sub shop on the way home. He was so hungry he felt like he could hardly breathe. As soon as he walked into his house, he finished the sub in a few bites. “Why am I still hungry?” he muttered to himself, grabbing a soda from the fridge. He took a sip, then headed to the bathroom to shower and crash for the night.

The next morning, sunlight streamed into Kevin’s face. Groggy, he stumbled out of bed and headed to the kitchen. The sight of the empty sub wrapper brought everything flooding back—the accident, the hospital, and the insatiable hunger that gnawed at him, stronger than ever.

He threw on his workout gear and left for the gym, but not before stopping at Kay’s Donuts.

“Two jalapeño kolaches, please,” he said, pulling out his cash to pay. There was an intoxicating aroma in the air, something far more tempting than the donuts and sausages the shop was selling. His mouth watered.

“That’ll be $8.65,” the cashier said.

Kevin devoured both kolaches without even tasting them. What is wrong with me? he thought. The hunger worsened, despite his full stomach.

At the gym, Kevin loaded up the squat machine with his usual weights. He squatted down and lifted with ease, barely feeling the resistance. He racked the weights and called over a staff member. “Are these real?”

“Yes, sir. Same weights as yesterday,” the staff member replied, confused.

Kevin thanked him, then started loading more weights onto the bar—far more than usual. He didn’t care to count. He squatted again, going down and up effortlessly. “It’s like I’m lifting air,” he whispered to himself.

Next, he moved to the treadmill. “This should work,” he muttered. After running for about a minute, he stopped to check his progress. The display read 24.8 miles. The treadmill must be broken, Kevin thought, shaking his head as he walked out of the gym. 

When Kevin was about a mile from his house, he spotted the note immediately—a piece of paper taped to his door, the words written in red:

Are you still hungry? 3434 Maplebrook Lane, Willow Creek.

Kevin’s pulse quickened. He jogged the rest of the way, his mind racing. Snatching the note off the door, he muttered, “Am I being followed? Who left this? And how do they know I’m starving?”

Kevin’s heart pounded as he typed the address into his phone and called for an Uber. He couldn’t shake the unease that settled in his stomach, a pit that seemed to grow with every step.

The car pulled up in front of a beautiful, sprawling estate. The house was large, modern, with gleaming windows that reflected the dying sunlight. The lawn was perfectly manicured, and a high iron gate stood tall, separating the driveway from the outside world. For a moment, Kevin hesitated, taking in the quiet elegance of the place. Then, gathering his nerves, he pressed the green button on the gate’s intercom.

“Good afternoon, Kevin. Please come inside. We have a lot to go over, and not a lot of time.”

The voice was smooth, familiar, and unsettling. As the gate creaked open, Kevin’s unease deepened. He made his way down the long driveway, the silence amplifying his every step. When he reached the front door, he hesitated once more, then pushed it open and stepped inside.

The house was immaculate, quiet except for a voice calling from deeper within. “In the kitchen, to your right.”

Kevin’s breath caught in his throat as he recognized the voice. He followed it, his heart thudding in his chest. When he entered the kitchen, he froze. Dr. Booth—the same doctor who had treated him at the ER—stood at the counter, calmly chopping carrots.

“Doctor?” Kevin gasped, shocked to see him here.

“Yes,” Dr. Booth replied, without looking up. “We didn’t get much of a chance to talk the other night, and there were some things I couldn’t say in front of the detectives.”

Kevin’s mind raced, trying to piece it all together. “What kind of drugs did you give me, Doc? Things have been really weird lately.”

Dr. Booth paused, setting the knife down. He looked at Kevin with a seriousness that sent chills down his spine. “Let me guess—you’re stronger than ever, your vision has sharpened, but the worst part… you’re hungrier than ever, aren’t you?”

Kevin’s stomach growled on cue. “How did you know?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “And what did you give me? What’s happening to me?”

Dr. Booth sighed deeply. “Kevin, I didn’t give you anything. I’ve seen this before—three times, in fact—and every time, the symptoms are the same. But the truth is, I don’t know what causes it.”

Kevin stepped closer, desperation rising. “How do I fix this? I just want to go back to normal.”

The doctor stopped chopping and turned to face Kevin directly, his eyes grave. “I wish I had an answer for you. But in every case I’ve seen like yours, all three people died within 72 hours of showing up in the ER. That is why the detectives were interviewing you at the hospital today.”

Kevin’s blood ran cold. “Died? From what?”

“The only thing they all complained about was hunger,” Dr. Booth replied quietly. “So my best guess is starvation.”

A heavy silence settled over the room. The weight of the doctor’s words pressed on Kevin, making it hard to breathe. “I wanted you to know,” Dr. Booth said softly, “because I couldn’t tell you the other night. I’m sorry, Kevin.”

Kevin couldn’t speak. He turned on his heel and walked out of the house, the door clicking shut behind him. As he made his way down the driveway, the hunger gnawed at him again, sharper than ever. Deep down, he realized that despite how impossible it sounded, there was truth in the doctor’s words.

And time was running out.

When Kevin got back to his house, he collapsed onto his sofa, sinking into it as if it could somehow swallow his despair. What am I going to do? 

The question gnawed at him, relentless. Should he get his affairs in order? Call his mom and dad for one last conversation before the inevitable? Should he write a will, make it clear who would inherit his belongings and estate? These thoughts swirled in his mind, haunting him with their grim finality.

His stomach twisted again, the ache gnawing deep inside him. He considered ordering a pizza but dismissed the idea just as quickly. He knew it wouldn’t help. Food hadn’t helped in days.

He needed air, space to think. Deciding to take a walk, Kevin stepped outside into the dusky evening, hoping the cool breeze might clear his head.

As he strolled down the street, he passed a teenage girl walking her dog. The moment she walked by, the familiar scent hit him—faint at first, then fading just as quickly. Kevin frowned. Was it her perfume? The dog? But moments later, as a young man jogged past, the same smell flooded his senses, stronger this time, unmistakable. The man had no dog that could explain it.

Why does everyone smell like food to me? Kevin thought, his confusion mounting. He muttered the question under his breath as the scent slowly dissipated.

He soon found himself walking by the woods—the same woods he had woken up in that fateful night. His stomach growled loudly, and there it was again—that familiar smell, stronger than ever. It beckoned him, tugging at something primal inside him. His head pounded, his vision blurred, but none of it mattered anymore. He was running now, following the scent like a moth to flame, his body operating on instinct.

The smell grew stronger. He was running even faster. Then—SMACK. He collided with a young man, hitting him so hard the man flew at least a hundred meters. The man landed on the ground with a loud thump, unconscious.

Kevin was on top of him in seconds. Kevin shook his head, trying to clear his foggy vision, but nothing worked. His mind was no longer his own—hunger had taken over. It was all-consuming, an overpowering force that drowned out everything else. Without thinking, Kevin bent down, drawing closer to the source of the intoxicating scent.

His mouth opened, tongue brushing against the warmth of the man’s skin. And then he bit down, his body trembling as he drank, sucking in the sweet, savory liquid until every ache in his body vanished.

Finally, when his hunger was sated, clarity returned. Kevin staggered back, horrified. “What am I doing? Blood… blood is what I was smelling this whole time?”

He wiped his mouth, disgusted, swallowing the last remnants of the taste still lingering on his lips. “What have I become?” Kevin whispered, his voice trembling. But that was the moment that Kevin realized he had become a vampire.

He knelt down, checking the young man’s pulse. It was faint, but there—he was still alive. Kevin exhaled in relief, though it did little to calm the horror churning inside him. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving the unconscious man behind to wake from his dream or what some would surely call a nightmare.

But for Kevin, there was no waking up. This was his reality now.