Trapped

I slammed the door hard enough to rattle the pictures on the wall. One lost its hold and crashed to the floor. The framed glass exploded from the force of the fall, throwing shards across the floor. I hardly noticed as I made my way to the bathroom.

“Jack is that you? What are you doing home from the shop so early and what was that crash? If you broke my…”

Not sure what else was said. It was my wife trying to talk to me from the top of the stairs. Why does she do that? She knows you can’t hear people talking between floors. Of course, I find myself doing the same thing.

“Don’t worry about it. Go lock all the doors and windows.”

“What?”

“Damn it woman, lock the fucking doors and windows NOW!”

I paused for a second to wait for her to yell back at me. It didn’t come. I could hear run down the stairs and head to the back of the house to the back door. I guess she could tell something was wrong and boy was it wrong.

I tried concentrating on the sound of her moving around the house and managed to dump the bottle of rubbing alcohol on my arm without thinking about it. That got me thinking about it. I closed my fists and clenched my teeth, trying not to scream out. I could barely see my eyes were watering so much.

“Jack what the hell are you… Oh my God, what happened? What did you do this time and what’s with the blood? You are ruining my tile.”

Luckily I was still facing the sink and had my back to her, but what blood. Then I looked down at the floor and realized just how bad I was bleeding. The blood didn’t bother me as much as the wound did. The alcohol did a pretty good job of washing away the blood and I finally got a good look at it.

It didn’t make any sense. I was attacked just a few minutes ago, but it was already infected, beyond infected. The flesh around the bite mark resembled ashy, rotting meat and I could see the infection working its way through my blood.

“Jack, don’t ignore me. I am talking to you.”

“No, you’re yelling and I don’t have the time. Where do we keep the wraps?”

“They’re under the sink. What’s going on?”

“I was bitten by some crazy person outside.”

“Knowing you, you probably deserved it.”

“Just shut up. I’m not in the mood or feeling well enough to deal with your shit. Please, no more. Can you just go make me a pot of coffee? I’ll be out in a bit and I’ll fill you in then.”

She stormed off to the kitchen and I went about the task of wrapping my wound. I swear it was even worse than it was minutes before. At this rate I would need to go the ER, but first some coffee to warm me up as I was feeling cold and a little stiff.

I stopped dead in my tracks when I went to flip off the bathroom light and caught my reflection in the mirror. I barely recognized myself. Dark circles around blood shot eyes stood out against my now pale, graying flesh, but that’s not what got to me. I could visibly see my blood pumping through the veins in my neck.

Bump, bump… Bump, bump… Bump… Bump… then nothing.

I frantically tried to find my pulse, to feel my heart beat, but it wasn’t beating. My heart wasn’t beating. Why wasn’t it beating? I wanted to cry out for help. I tried to cry out for help. My lungs wouldn’t take in any air. Now I wasn’t breathing either. What was happening to me? There was nothing I could do. The room started to spin and I was having trouble seeing. I could feel myself falling. I was dying. No, I was dead.

I came back to consciousness in a haze and had no idea how long I was out. It couldn’t have been that long though. All I did know was that I wasn’t dead, but there was something wrong with me. I felt disconnected in a sense from my body almost like I was looking in on someone else’s world or dreaming.

It took some time and effort to get myself up off the floor. I was sluggish and had to really concentrate on what I wanted to too. When I managed to finally stand up completely, I was facing the bathroom mirror.

No, it couldn’t have been the mirror because what I saw didn’t look anything like I me. I stared at the reflected image more, but I just couldn’t grasp what I was looking at. Yes, it was me. It had to be me. Maybe this is what I have always looked like. Did I always look like this? Did I always look like I was already dead?

“Jack, your coffee is getting cold. Don’t get pissed at me if it is. I am not the one that’s spending all day in the bathroom?”

I turned away from the mirror and paused to listen. It didn’t hear anything else and didn’t take notice of anyone outside the doorway.

What was I doing again? Was there something beyond this little room for me? This place looked so familiar. Had I been here before?

“Damn it, Jack. You are listening to me.”

There was that voice again. I tried to call out to it, but only managed a moan. I left in search of the noise in the hope that it would lead me to food.

I was getting hungry, really hungry. It seemed the hungrier I was getting, the harder it was to concentrate, but that was only part of it. I was starting to hurt. At first it was just a dull pain all over that grew more and more intense as the hunger grew.

I could now hear someone in the next room and I swear I was starting to salivate. My muscles tightened with anticipation as I turned the corner to face what my body craved.

Her ear piercing scream was quickly silenced.

My brain switched off and my body reacted on its own. I cleared the distance between us in the blink of an eye. Grabbing her and biting with strength I did not know I had, I ripped out a chuck of fresh from her throat and starting to devour her.

All I heard was the gurgling of air trying to move in and out of her lungs as they filled with blood, but that was short lived.

I was no longer in control of my actions. My body hungered and I could do nothing about it. I didn’t want to do anything about it. The more flesh I consumed, the better I felt. It felt so good.

It was when I go my fill that things fell apart.

Like coming out of a fog, things cleared up. I was once again in control of myself and able to concentrate. There was not more physical pain, but I still hurt with the realization of what I had done.

The corpse was stripped of much of its flesh and barely resembled that of a person, let alone my wife. What I couldn’t understand was what happened to me and why I had done what I had. Even though her and I were on a downward spiral and could barely stand to be in the same room as each other, I would have never wished anything like this on her.

I now knew I was not longer human and would never be the same.

I stumbled out of the room and briefly turned back to look into the kitchen. I no longer felt anything. No regret or sorrow. I hardly even registered that I once had a tie to the dead flesh on the floor. But why would I? It was no longer warm with life and I knew it wouldn’t taste as good anymore.

I worked my way out of the house and started down the street as he pains of hunger were coming back, not as badly this time, but they were there.

Over time, I killed and ate more people than I know. Men, women, and child; it didn’t matter. Food was food. And each time I ate, like now, I got a brief moment of clarity of who I was and what I had done.

During these moments I knew I was trapped in my body and couldn’t do anything about it. I was trapped, but cared less and less each time. The pain of guilty was there, but the pleasure of feeding felt so much better.

I now feed to live and live to feed.