Insatiable Part 2

Trigger Warning: Contains graphic depictions of violence, gore, loss of agency, and themes of death and family tragedy.

Before you dive in, check out Insatiable: Part 1 on my profile for the full story experience.

******

Her voice, trembling, cut through the silence.

“Daddy?”

The word scraped against something deep inside me, something buried under the roar of the hunger. My body moved before I could think, lurching forward, one decayed hand reaching. Her face twisted in horror as she stumbled back, pressing herself against the wall.

“No, Daddy, stop!”

Stop. Please, God, stop.

But I couldn’t. The hunger tore through me, relentless, demanding. Her heartbeat echoed in my ears, a steady drum calling me forward. I reached for her, my jagged breath wheezing like rusted hinges.

Her tears glistened in the dim light, her small hands trembling as she held them up, useless shields against what I was about to do.

I was almost on her when the memory hit, sharp and blinding.

Her tiny hand in mine, sticky with melted ice cream. Her laughter bubbling up as she looked at me, wide-eyed with trust. “I love you Daddy.”

The memory burned, more painful than the hunger. I stopped mid-lunge, my clawed hand hanging inches from her face.

“Get away from her!”

Emily’s voice rang out, fierce and trembling. She barreled into me with all her strength, the impact jarring but barely enough to move me. A flash of silver caught the weak light—she had a knife.

“E-e-emmmmmiiily.” My voice was a wet croak, unrecognizable.

She slashed at me, the blade tearing into the rotted flesh of my shoulder. I didn’t feel it. She planted herself between Grace and me, her chest heaving, her eyes locked on mine.

“You won't touch her!” she spat, the fear in her voice barely hidden under the force of her words.

Emily shouted without turning, her voice ragged. “Go, Grace! Don’t look back!”

Grace hesitated, her tiny figure trembling, then bolted down the stairs.

Run, Grace. Run far away from me baby.

The sound of Grace’s retreating footsteps faded, leaving only Emily and me in the suffocating silence. She squared her shoulders, her trembling hand gripping the knife like it could keep the darkness at bay.

The hallway narrowed as Emily stepped forward, knife trembling in her hand. The dim light from the shattered bulb above flickered across her face, her jaw tight, her eyes locked on mine.

“Stay back,” she said, her voice steady even as the blade shook.

Stop! STOP! Please God stop me! This is my love! This is my life!

It wouldn’t let me stop. 

The hunger surged like a wave, driving me forward. My rotting legs dragged against the floor, my fingers twitching as they reached for her. I screamed at my body to stop but it kept going. 

Stop. Please, for God’s sake, stop.

But the hunger roared—it was a force, pulling my body like strings on a marionette. Emily lunged forward, slashing the knife, the blade slicing into my forearm. A wet sound, something that used to be flesh tearing open, oozing dark, thick rot.

I didn’t feel it.

Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second. She’d been expecting pain, a reaction. But there was nothing.

“David, listen to me!” Emily’s voice broke as she stabbed again, tears streaking her face. “You’re in there—I know you are! You love us. You love Grace!”

But her words barely reached through the roaring hunger, and my hands moved without me, reaching for her.

Her expression faltered, the resolve cracking just slightly, but she gripped the knife tighter. She stepped back, placing herself fully between me and stairs. 

I lunged.

The knife slashed again, this time catching my ribs. I felt the wet scrape of the blade against bone, the sound sharper than the pain I couldn’t feel. She screamed for Grace again, her voice raw and desperate. “Run, baby, run!”

Grace’s sobs echoed from the bottom of the staircase, her small figure darting out of sight. 

I lunged, my decayed fingers closing around Emily, seizing her in a moment when her eyes flicked toward Grace—a heartbeat of distraction was all the hunger needed to strike.

Emily screamed, her voice cracking into something raw and animalistic. Her fists pounded against my chest, each blow weaker than the last. Her nails raked my skin, peeling away rotted flesh, exposing yellowed bone. She twisted, fought, but I held her like a vice.

Her body was warm. So warm, it burned against the rot of my hands.

Her eyes locked on mine, wide and terrified.

For half a heartbeat, I thought I could stop.

Then the hunger surged again, tearing through me. My body moved before I could think.

My teeth sank into her neck, tearing through skin and muscle with a sickening wet snap. Hot blood surged into my mouth, metallic and thick, spilling down my throat in waves. The taste was fire and ecstasy, searing through what little humanity was left in me, and I hated how good it felt.

Emily’s scream turned into a gurgle, her hands clawing at my face, pushing weakly as I tore deeper..

Stop. Stop. STOP.

But I couldn’t. 

The hunger was everything.

Her body jerked once, then stilled. Her blood ran warm and steady over my hands, pooling at my feet. Her lips moved, forming words I couldn’t hear, couldn’t understand.

Her eyes found mine, wide and glassy, but there was something else there—a flicker of recognition. A memory. Love, maybe. Or disgust.

Then it was gone. The light in her eyes snuffed out, leaving only the dull, empty stare of the dead.

I let her fall, her body crumpling to the floor like something broken, discarded. My hands shook, slick with her blood, her warmth already fading.

I wanted to scream, to claw at myself, to rip this hunger out of me with my bare hands. But there was nothing left. Nothing but the hunger and her lifeless body at my feet.

Emily, I tried to whisper, the word choking in my throat. Black ooze dripped from my mouth, pooling with her blood on the cold, unforgiving floor, the hunger inside me roaring in triumph.

No! What have I done?

Then I heard it—a small, sharp gasp.

Grace.

I turned, my body sluggish. She stood at the base of the stairs, her small hand clutching the railing. Her eyes were wide, red from crying, her face pale.

“Daddy?” she whispered.

Her voice cracked something inside me that should have died with Emily.

I tried to speak, to tell her I was sorry. But when I opened my mouth, all that came out was a moan, wet and broken. Black ooze dripped from my chin, pooling at my feet.

Grace screamed, her voice breaking into choking sobs. “Mommy! No, Mommy, please!” She stumbled back, gripping the railing as if it could hold her world together.

My chest—if I still had one—felt like it was caving in, but the hunger didn’t care. It surged again, pulling me toward her.

“Grrrraaaaacccce,” I croaked, the word barely intelligible, but she heard it. And she turned and ran, her small figure disappearing into the dark.

I stumbled forward, my body following her scent, even as my mind begged for the darkness to take me.

The hunger stirred again, twisting inside me, demanding I follow.

I looked down at Emily. Her blood was still warm on my hands, her lifeless body crumpled and broken at my feet.

I am losing everything!

The hunger didn’t care. It roared, pulling me to my feet, dragging me after Grace.

No. Please. Let her go.

But the hunger will never let go.

******

The street stretched out before me, empty and cold. My feet drag against the pavement, leaving wet, dark smears behind. The hunger had quieted, but it wasn’t gone. It never was. It coiled beneath my skin, waiting for the next surge.

I stumbled past darkened houses, their windows like hollow eyes. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, sharp and frantic. I froze, listening, but the sound faded into the hum of distant traffic.

What am I doing?

Emily’s face swam before me, frozen in that final, lifeless stare. Her blood still clung to my hands, thick and sticky. My body ached, not from the fight but from something deeper—a guilt so heavy it made every step feel like wading through tar.

Then a flash.

Sterile white walls. A row of test tubes, their labels blurred and meaningless. A shattered vial, the liquid spreading across my face and hands like blood.

I stumbled, my shoulder hitting a streetlamp. The cold metal bit into my decayed skin, snapping me back to the present. The hunger stirred, hissing in my ears, but the memory clawed its way back, stronger now.

“We shouldn’t push this far!” My own voice, frantic, echoed in my head. I could almost feel the heat of a lab, the hum of machinery.

But the memory didn’t stay. It bled, twisting into something else. Emily laughing, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand, her hair falling loose around her face. Grace on the living room floor, cradling her teddy bear, her smile lighting up the room.

Stop. Don’t think about them.

The hunger seized those memories, warping them. Emily’s laughter turned into her scream. Grace’s smile faded, replaced by wide, terrified eyes.

I doubled over, gripping my knees. The hunger whispered. Keep moving. She’s still out there.

I obeyed.

The woods were silent except for the sound of my feet dragging through the underbrush. The world was muffled here, the thick canopy of trees blotting out the moonlight, the air heavy with damp earth and rot. My breath—or what passed for it—came in short, ragged bursts. The hunger had returned, gnawing at my insides like a rabid animal.

Then I saw her.

At first, it was just a shadow, something flickering between the trees. But as I stepped closer, the shape took form.

Emily.

No. It can’t be.

She stood with her back to me, her head tilted at an odd angle. Her clothes hung in tatters where I had shredded them, dark stains splattered across her blouse. Her arms hung stiffly at her sides, and her posture was too rigid, too... dead.

Emily?  But voice cracked, low and growling.

She turned.

Her eyes were clouded, a milky gray that seemed to pierce straight through me. Her skin, once smooth and warm, sagged in loose patches, exposing butchered flesh. Her mouth hung open slightly, lips cracked and blackened.

For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating. My mind had been slipping since the hunger took hold, twisting memories into cruel replicas of reality. But this wasn’t a memory. She was here, standing in front of me, She wasn’t human anymore.

My hands trembled as I stepped closer.

Her head tilted further, her movements jerky, like a puppet with tangled strings. Her gaze locked on mine, and something flickered in her expression—a shadow of recognition.

The hunger in me stirred, hissing and coiling like a living thing. I could feel it inside her too, like a heat radiating from her decayed form. It linked us, bound us in a way that no words could.

She took a step forward, her movements uneven but deliberate. I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

Her mouth opened, and a low, gurgling sound emerged—half a growl, half a moan. She took another step, then stopped. We stood there, facing each other.

Then the sound of footsteps broke the silence.

A man appeared on the path, his flashlight cutting through the darkness. He was walking a dog, a large, lumbering thing that barked at the sight of us. The man froze, his eyes darting between me and Emily.

The hunger surged, roaring in my ears. My body moved before I could think, lurching toward him. Emily moved too, a grotesque mirror of my movements.

The man screamed as we collided with him, our hands tearing at his clothes, his flesh. His flashlight clattered to the ground, the beam illuminating the scene in harsh, stuttering flashes.

I felt my teeth sink into his shoulder, the hot rush of blood filling my mouth. Beside me, Emily clawed at his chest, her fingers digging deep into his skin. The dog barked frantically, pulling at its leash, but the man’s screams drowned out everything else.

His warmth seeped into me, dulling the hunger for a brief, fleeting moment. I turned to Emily. Her face was smeared with blood, her eyes still clouded but alive with something primal.

We fed together, tearing him apart piece by piece. His screams faded, replaced by the wet, sickening sounds of flesh being ripped from bone.

When it was over, we stood there, our bodies slick with blood, the man’s lifeless form crumpled between us. The dog had fled, its leash trailing behind it.

Emily looked at me, her head tilting again. The recognition was still there, faint but undeniable.

This wasn’t love. It was something else, something twisted and monstrous. But in that moment, it felt like we were connected, bound by the hunger and the carnage we’d wrought together.

I wanted to scream, to claw my way out of this nightmare. But all I could do was stare at her and wonder how much further I could fall.

The first one appeared the next night.

Emily and I had just finished. A man in a suit, stumbling from a bar, his tie loose around his neck. His screams were already fading, his body crumpled on the ground, when the hunger in me finally dulled. I was wiping the blood from my face when I felt it—a shift in the air, subtle but undeniable.

I turned, and there he was.

He shouldn’t have been moving. His chest was ripped open, his throat little more than a mangled, red mess. But his head twitched, then turned toward us. His eyes were empty, the sockets ringed with blood, but something stared out of them.

Emily tilted her head, mirroring his movement. A low sound came from her throat. The man stood, jerking upright as if pulled by invisible strings.

My legs felt weak, shaking beneath the weight of what I was seeing.

But then another appeared. And another. The woman from the gas station. The jogger by the park. Faces I hadn’t let myself remember, all shuffling forward, their limbs twisted.

The sound they made—a low, gravely moan, layered and deep—wasn’t noise. It was communication.

And I realized the truth: they weren’t individuals. They were connected. Not to each other, but to the hunger. To me. To us.

I looked at Emily, her blood-streaked face impassive, and I knew. We were leading them. Guiding them.

Grace.

The hunger stirred, roaring with purpose. I turned toward the dark horizon, where she was still running, still hiding. The horde moved with me, their jerking steps falling into rhythm.

We stand at the edge of the hill, the town sprawled out below us like a patchwork of light and shadow. Street lamps flicker, faint and distant, their glow seeping through the trees. The hunger twists inside me, relentless, pulling me forward. Beside me, Emily twitches, her bloodied hand jerking at her side, her head tilting toward the lights. She growls low, her broken body still and yet coiled, ready.

For a fleeting moment, something stirs—a memory, faint but sharp. Grace’s laughter as she spun in the backyard, her hands outstretched to the sky. Emily leaning against the doorframe, smiling, her hair catching the sunlight.

My family.

But the hunger shreds it, devours it. I glance at Emily, her clouded eyes fixed on the town, her mouth twisted into something between a snarl and a grin. The bond between us is no longer love; it’s need.

Endless, insatiable.

The horde gathers behind us, their collective presence amplifying the pull. I feel their hunger like it’s my own. Emily tilts her head toward them, growling in unison. There’s no division between us now—just a single, relentless instinct binding us together.

The lights of the town seem closer, brighter. The scent of life hangs in the air, thick and intoxicating. The hunger whispers, louder now, surging with the weight of the others. The mantra swells in my mind, stronger than before.

Grace. Grace. Grace.

Then, music.

It drifts up the hill cutting through the cool night air.The horde behind me stills, their jerking movements halting as the sound reaches them too.

I shuffle closer to the edge of the hill.

The source of the sound becomes clear—a parade, winding through the heart of the town. A line of floats glinting in the glow of street lamps. The faint murmur of a crowd rises and falls, a tide of laughter and cheers.

A girl, perched high on a float, her silhouette framed by an arch of shimmering lights. She wears a crown, its rhinestones catching the light in sharp, brilliant flashes. 

Homecoming. The word slides into my thoughts like an echo from another life, a memory scraped raw by the hunger.

The horde stirs, their murmurs rising into a single, unified sound—a deep groan that ripples through the trees like a storm wind. The parade below doesn’t hear it, their cheers drowning out the first whispers of doom.

Emily lunges forward, and the horde follows, their shuffling steps gaining momentum. The trees shake with their movements, the ground trembling as the mass of us begins to descend.

The hunger in me surges, unrelenting, unstoppable. The distance between us and the town closes, the fragile tether of memory slipping from my grasp.

Grace.

The name whispers through my mind one last time before the hunger consumes it. The horde moves as one, and we descend the hill.