Her orgasm was exploding through her body when he wrenched her arm back at a 90 degree angle, causing her to shriek out in pain and ecstasy. The same hand that had guided her to the dark bedroom of this warehouse apartment, somewhere on the far side of the city, now splintered her humerus. It was like breaking a matchstick with your thumb. Tossed from the bed, she realized that while her body flew across the room, her arm had been left behind in the claw of her lover. She screamed.
She tasted cheap, he thought, her pussy wasn’t even washed, it smacked of sweat and feminine odor. He hadn’t had something tasty in so long, upper class, delightful, clean. He supposed that was just because of the money, they always wanted money, he never had enough. There were some habits that seemed to be using it all up, he glared down at the brown paper bag disgustedly, and made a sour face. The things one needs to stay alive. She was pretty though. Her ass was nicer than he’d had in a couple of weeks, very juicy, very tender. But he wanted something that didn’t taste like garbage. Fuck women, they needed to take better care of themselves if they were going to whore around like that.
“How long has she been dead?”
“You’re late, asshole.”
“I had to pick something up on my way over, took longer than I thought it would, you want to answer me?”
“Fuck you, Fitz, and your fucking filthy Irish twat.”
“Oh I love it when you talk dirty, Rich! Some crack head found her or something, scared the bitch out of her fucking mind. I’d say she’s been dead a little over a day, the bugs have already started to get at her, or what’s left of her.”
They looked down at the half devoured body of sweet Jane Doe, right arm ripped off, leg looked gnawed off, her breast had been torn through like a package of hamburger and her face was about as relevant as steak tenderloin. The elephant in the room was clearly the gaping hole in her midsection that extended to her pelvis, just jagged teeth marks, deep wounds like claw marks and chewed organs. She was a goddamn entree.
“So, is it just me, or does it look like she’s been fuckin’ eaten, Fitz?”
“Any animals in the area do that?”
“Am I dealing with something seriously fucked?”
“Yep. This little treat was not just mutilated on a massive level, she was definitely eaten. Forensics found some stuff to indicate there was another person with her when this happened. I don’t know what to tell you, man. I mean it gives a whole new meaning to being eaten out, ha!”
“Shut up, Fitz.”
Rich went over the report a few times before he began feeling nauseous. The pictures were enough to make a normal man queasy, but reading the description over and over again, ‘torn out liver, partial uterus, severe facial lacerations, missing limbs, 8 feet of missing small intestine . . .” he ran to the toilet. Puking chunks of a Reuben sandwich from earlier and some unidentifiable stomach contents, Rich leaned back against his beige tiled bathroom wall that reflected sick in the fluorescent light. The bathroom had always reminded him of motels that charged by the hour, and have so much cum on the walls and floor, in the illumination of a black light one would instantly go blind. He wobbled to the scratchy olive sofa and pulled out the contents of the brown bag. Soon he felt better, he felt the color returning to his face, and his stomach settled. You do what you can to live, he thought, leaning back into the couch and letting sleep overtake him. Dreams are monsters, ripping through his skin, tearing pieces of flesh from his face, shredding through his torso and scooping out organs like a melon baller. The monster smiles with big canines oozing blood. They have teeth, big teeth, big bad teeth that smell awful, they smell like, they smell like . . . like a toasted Reuben sandwich? Rich jumped awake at the ringing phone by his head and damn near yanked the receiver out of the jack.
“What the fuck?”
“Well it’s good to hear your voice too, dick.”
“Fitz, what the hell time is it?”
“Almost four, doesn’t matter, I found something on that chick. Meet me at the office.”
Shaken by his dream and still not feeling well, Rich wasn’t in the mood for Fitz’s bullshit. He was surviving on little to no sleep and the brown paper bags were the only thing keeping him sane. He arrived at the office finding it hard to swallow. Fitz was in the lab looking pleased with himself; he was standing over a couple of slides and some computer printouts.
“You’ll never guess what the fuck we’re dealing with, because I sure as hell don’t know, but there is a human being involved in this mess. I don’t know if he’s a fucked up cannibal or what the hell, but it’s a man, and I know exactly how to find him.”
“Alright, let’s hear it.”
“Ok get this, our girl was a regular at the club she was reportedly seen leaving, and the bartender got a good look at the guy who picked her up that night, even talked to him a bit.”
“So what, you saw that body, she could’ve easily hooked up with some asshole and then gotten mauled by whatever after the fact.”
“Oh I know, which is where these babies come in.”
Fitz pointed to some blood slides and smiled knowingly.
“They were found at the crime scene, apparently our man heaved a little after chowing down. Most of the mess was the girl, but some of the blood and tissue didn’t match her. Turns out it’s fucking baboon’s heart! This guy is eating raw baboon’s heart! There’s only one butcher shop in the city that sells something that fucked up! And my guess is whatever description we get from the bartender will match that of the butc—”
Smash! The computer keyboard collided with Fitz’s face just as his theory was reaching its climax. He had been talking so adamantly he didn’t notice Rich unhook the hardware. Rich gathered the slides and samples, along with the printouts of the information Fitz had uncovered. It made Rich cringe slightly that Fitz had figured out the baboon hearts, his little brown bag secret. They staved off the urge to hunt and kill as his kind was supposed to. Well, Fitz will just have to be the main course tonight.
Fitz regained consciousness when the meat hook was placed between his shoulder blades, paralyzing him. He dangled there for several moments screaming before Rich came into view, moving between large sides of hanging beef ribs.
“Rich . . . I . . aaaahh . . .FUCK!”
Fitz whimpered in pain, but the hook in his back made it too difficult to speak. Rich began sniffing the air, becoming excited at the scent of fear and blood. The image of his friend, a live slab of helpless slaughter, speeded the transformation. Standing naked beneath the speechless Fitz, Rich’s fingers lengthened first, extending into claws, followed by the morphing jaws that became fuller and protruded out while the skin stretched for transformation. His back legs adjusted and rapid hair began sprouting over his body until finally, Fitz stared down at a monstrous wolf-like creature. Rich sat back on his hind legs and then lunged viciously at Fitz, ripping the hook straight through his back. He ate hungrily, devouring his manhood and lower half in the first moments. By the time Rich was done, there was nothing remotely definable about his friend, he crunched the bones and made himself eat every piece of evidence that could identify Fitz as a human being.
Rich counted out the hundred dollar bills he’d taken from Fitz’s apartment and withdrawn from his bank account – he had always been so trusting with him. He licked his lips at the thought of consuming his friend’s kidneys. He could still taste Fitz’s distinct flavor of whiskey and Irish Spring bar soap lingering on the tip of his taste buds. He held a toothpick between his teeth, offhandedly picking bits of gristle from some of the more difficult molar areas. Rich needed something to wash Fitz down with and he knew just the thing.
Her name was May and she was a soft-skinned society girl who had been dancing provocatively at one of the high end clubs on the west side. Her breasts were round and only a little small, but everything was forgiven when Rich had slid off her panties and taken his first lick of delicate top shelf pussy. Wet and fragrant, May was a spring day of sensual eroticism. She was refined and her elegant flesh needed only minor pressure to break the surface. Once Rich smelled the spilled blue blood, his frenzied beast burst forth and he began eating her out for real. Her moans turned quickly to screams which he ceased with a sharp snap of his jaws around her slender neck. Fitz had been dinner; now May was dessert, no more baboon hearts for Rich, not when the blood tasted so good. He let out a blissful howl and disappeared like his victim’s ingested corpses.
By Emily Smith-Miller