u/donavin221

I’m not exactly sure what had gotten into her, but one night last week my girlfriend came home from a girls night a little more…promiscuous than usual. I don’t wanna go into too much detail, I’m not one for smut, but she had been all over me. I’ll leave it at that.

At the time, I didn’t find anything wrong with it, but looking back now, the fact that she didn’t have alcohol on her breath seems almost like a red flag. We were well past the honeymoon phase. That’s not to say we weren’t healthy in the bedroom, it’s just to say that in this particular instance, it felt like I was her crush again. Like she had been craving me for years in silence, and now she finally had access to me.

That being said, when her teeth clamped tightly on my neck, I just thought that was her excitement getting the better of her. It wasn’t until I felt the warm liquid running down my throat and into the dents around my clavicle that I mustered up the willpower to at least put up some sort of resistance.

“Ow, honey, you bit me a little hard there, don’t you think?” I asked, chuckling a bit.

In response, instead of apologizing or even acknowledging her mistake, she proceeded to bite me again, this time directly on the lip, drawing blood immediately.

Now, I was getting a bit irritated.

Pushing her off me and to the side of the bed, I got up, flustered, and pretty much ran to the bathroom to examine myself while my girlfriend pouted into a pillow.

Both wounds were actually quite worrisome, if I’m being honest. It had only been 5 minutes, and already the bite mark on my neck looked green with infection. The blood wasn’t letting up either. It leaked out of me at a rate that immediately put me into fight or flight mode.

Hurrying out of the bathroom, I announced to my girlfriend that I desperately needed to get to a hospital. This wasn’t just some stupid mistake in bed, this looked malicious.

I was almost shocked at the fit my girlfriend threw in response, screaming and crying at the top of her lungs for me to not go to a hospital, how she’d take care of it here.

I just figured that she was embarrassed. I mean, we’d sorta have to tell the doctor what had happened. I could see her face getting red at the mere thought of it.

I assured her doctors have heard WAY worse than this, but she just was not having it.

I finally relented and allowed her to bandage my neck while I just chose to deal with the pain in my lower lip. She wrapped my neck three times over with gauze, and when she finished, she stood on her tiptoes to kiss me on my flushed cheek.

She lingered for a moment after kissing me. Usually, when she did this, I could see the love and admiration in her eyes. I’d always loved that look. It was a look that revealed just how much she truly did care for me, and in those moments, nothing else in the world mattered aside from the two of us.

This wasn’t that look, though. No, this was a look of hunger. An almost lustful hunger. Like she wanted to devour me, and not in the way I’d like.

“Uh, thanks, honey. I don’t think I’m really in the mood anymore. Is it okay if we just go to sleep?”

She didn’t answer at first. She just sort of stood there, wading back and forth like the wind was pushing her.

Her face then sank into a look of unbridled anger for a split, barely noticeable second before curling back into a genuine-looking smile.

“Of course, hun. Let me just go get changed into my PJs,” she chirped, slinking past and pushing me out of the bathroom.

“Aaaaand she’s mad,” I thought to myself. “Guess that’s our night then.”

Meandering to the bed, I stiffly tucked myself under the covers and stared at the ceiling for a while. I probably stayed in that position, analyzing the spins of the ceiling fan, for around 10 minutes, and my girlfriend still had not left the bathroom.

While my eyes swirled round and round, keeping up with the blades of the fan, I slowly drifted into unconsciousness.

I was honestly surprised that I even woke up the next morning. I remembered my neck throbbing before I fell asleep, and I honestly couldn’t tell if it was actual exhaustion or loss of blood that made me pass out that night.

My girlfriend was still not in bed with me. However, the bathroom door was now open, and I could see her clothes on the floor in front of the sink.

When I tried to turn my neck, it felt like I was being stung by a thousand wasps right where I had been bitten, and that raised all sorts of alarm bells.

As carefully as I could, I climbed out of bed and waddled over to the bathroom, trying my best not to move my head at all.

What I saw in the mirror both shocked and disgusted me to the point that, despite the pain, I was hunched over the toilet vomiting within moments.

My bandage wrap had become completely black with blood, and trails of the substance branched off down my shoulder and into my chest in sharp black lines.

At least, I thought it was blood. Upon closer inspection, I was appalled to find that they were indeed veins that had become more than a little off-colored.

What caused me to lean over the toilet and expel the contents of my stomach wasn’t the color, though. No, what had me begging for God’s mercy was the fact that those veins…were moving. Pulsating to the rhythm of my beating heart.

After wiping the puke from my mouth, I backed out of the bathroom, nervously but urgently calling my girlfriend’s name. I did this repeatedly with no response.

However, I did hear something. Something that sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. Almost like someone was rummaging through our drawers or something.

I walked into the room and found my girlfriend squatting nude in front of the open freezer door, gnawing on a raw frozen steak while prying at it with her fingers.

She made these sounds, God, the noise is still stuck in my head. It was like this, this, wet, animalistic noise. Like grunting and growling at the same time.

Her eyes slowly rose from the meat and her hand to meet mine. It wasn’t her anymore. God, it just wasn’t her. My girlfriend’s eyes had been hazel. When the sun hit them, they were like gold. The only gold I ever wanted.

This…thing’s eyes. They were pitch black, void of any light whatsoever.

I expected her to charge me, for her to lunge at me at any moment. But, instead, her eyes fell back on the meat as she chewed at it. Once she finished, she began pulling more meat out of the freezer. Chicken. Steak. Beef. Pork. Anything she could get her hands on.

I turned around in absolute dismay, too stunned to even think. It felt almost mechanical as I glided over to the phone to dial 911.

I had my hand on the phone, ready to dial. That’s when the smell hit me.

The most delicious smell I’d ever witnessed, ever had the pleasure of falling victim to. A sweet, roasted smell. It was like being pulled back to childhood with a single whiff.

I felt like a cartoon character getting carried by the aroma to my girlfriend’s side.

Part of me knew what I wanted was abysmal. Unholy, I’d go as far as to say.

But I couldn’t help myself.

Reaching my hand into a pack of ground beef, I noticed that the black veins had now stretched down and were kissing my wrist. Their pulsations were like a dance of excitement for the meal that lay before us.

Ripping through the plastic, I pulled out a fistful of the red meat before shoving it into my mouth, and oh my God… I have never tasted anything more orgasmic.

I couldn’t even stop myself. I was pulling out another fistful before I had even swallowed my first bite. I just kept going, and going, and going.

It wasn’t long before I found myself making the same grunts as my girlfriend. It was like an automatic response. Like my mind and body had broken through a barrier that was previously invisible.

I couldn’t even feel the icy air from the freezer as we feasted. All I knew was that I had a buffet laid out in front of me and a beautiful girl to enjoy it with.

Unfortunately, though, that buffet did run out eventually. And once it did…my girlfriend and me definitely craved more.

And I think that our neighbors will have plenty to share.

I’m not exactly sure what had gotten into her, but one night last week my girlfriend came home from a girls night a little more…promiscuous than usual. I don’t wanna go into too much detail, I’m not one for smut, but she had been all over me. I’ll leave it at that.

At the time, I didn’t find anything wrong with it, but looking back now, the fact that she didn’t have alcohol on her breath seems almost like a red flag. We were well past the honeymoon phase. That’s not to say we weren’t healthy in the bedroom, it’s just to say that in this particular instance, it felt like I was her crush again. Like she had been craving me for years in silence, and now she finally had access to me.

That being said, when her teeth clamped tightly on my neck, I just thought that was her excitement getting the better of her. It wasn’t until I felt the warm liquid running down my throat and into the dents around my clavicle that I mustered up the willpower to at least put up some sort of resistance.

“Ow, honey, you bit me a little hard there, don’t you think?” I asked, chuckling a bit.

In response, instead of apologizing or even acknowledging her mistake, she proceeded to bite me again, this time directly on the lip, drawing blood immediately.

Now, I was getting a bit irritated.

Pushing her off me and to the side of the bed, I got up, flustered, and pretty much ran to the bathroom to examine myself while my girlfriend pouted into a pillow.

Both wounds were actually quite worrisome, if I’m being honest. It had only been 5 minutes, and already the bite mark on my neck looked green with infection. The blood wasn’t letting up either. It leaked out of me at a rate that immediately put me into fight or flight mode.

Hurrying out of the bathroom, I announced to my girlfriend that I desperately needed to get to a hospital. This wasn’t just some stupid mistake in bed, this looked malicious.

I was almost shocked at the fit my girlfriend threw in response, screaming and crying at the top of her lungs for me to not go to a hospital, how she’d take care of it here.

I just figured that she was embarrassed. I mean, we’d sorta have to tell the doctor what had happened. I could see her face getting red at the mere thought of it.

I assured her doctors have heard WAY worse than this, but she just was not having it.

I finally relented and allowed her to bandage my neck while I just chose to deal with the pain in my lower lip. She wrapped my neck three times over with gauze, and when she finished, she stood on her tiptoes to kiss me on my flushed cheek.

She lingered for a moment after kissing me. Usually, when she did this, I could see the love and admiration in her eyes. I’d always loved that look. It was a look that revealed just how much she truly did care for me, and in those moments, nothing else in the world mattered aside from the two of us.

This wasn’t that look, though. No, this was a look of hunger. An almost lustful hunger. Like she wanted to devour me, and not in the way I’d like.

“Uh, thanks, honey. I don’t think I’m really in the mood anymore. Is it okay if we just go to sleep?”

She didn’t answer at first. She just sort of stood there, wading back and forth like the wind was pushing her.

Her face then sank into a look of unbridled anger for a split, barely noticeable second before curling back into a genuine-looking smile.

“Of course, hun. Let me just go get changed into my PJs,” she chirped, slinking past and pushing me out of the bathroom.

“Aaaaand she’s mad,” I thought to myself. “Guess that’s our night then.”

Meandering to the bed, I stiffly tucked myself under the covers and stared at the ceiling for a while. I probably stayed in that position, analyzing the spins of the ceiling fan, for around 10 minutes, and my girlfriend still had not left the bathroom.

While my eyes swirled round and round, keeping up with the blades of the fan, I slowly drifted into unconsciousness.

I was honestly surprised that I even woke up the next morning. I remembered my neck throbbing before I fell asleep, and I honestly couldn’t tell if it was actual exhaustion or loss of blood that made me pass out that night.

My girlfriend was still not in bed with me. However, the bathroom door was now open, and I could see her clothes on the floor in front of the sink.

When I tried to turn my neck, it felt like I was being stung by a thousand wasps right where I had been bitten, and that raised all sorts of alarm bells.

As carefully as I could, I climbed out of bed and waddled over to the bathroom, trying my best not to move my head at all.

What I saw in the mirror both shocked and disgusted me to the point that, despite the pain, I was hunched over the toilet vomiting within moments.

My bandage wrap had become completely black with blood, and trails of the substance branched off down my shoulder and into my chest in sharp black lines.

At least, I thought it was blood. Upon closer inspection, I was appalled to find that they were indeed veins that had become more than a little off-colored.

What caused me to lean over the toilet and expel the contents of my stomach wasn’t the color, though. No, what had me begging for God’s mercy was the fact that those veins…were moving. Pulsating to the rhythm of my beating heart.

After wiping the puke from my mouth, I backed out of the bathroom, nervously but urgently calling my girlfriend’s name. I did this repeatedly with no response.

However, I did hear something. Something that sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. Almost like someone was rummaging through our drawers or something.

I walked into the room and found my girlfriend squatting nude in front of the open freezer door, gnawing on a raw frozen steak while prying at it with her fingers.

She made these sounds, God, the noise is still stuck in my head. It was like this, this, wet, animalistic noise. Like grunting and growling at the same time.

Her eyes slowly rose from the meat and her hand to meet mine. It wasn’t her anymore. God, it just wasn’t her. My girlfriend’s eyes had been hazel. When the sun hit them, they were like gold. The only gold I ever wanted.

This…thing’s eyes. They were pitch black, void of any light whatsoever.

I expected her to charge me, for her to lunge at me at any moment. But, instead, her eyes fell back on the meat as she chewed at it. Once she finished, she began pulling more meat out of the freezer. Chicken. Steak. Beef. Pork. Anything she could get her hands on.

I turned around in absolute dismay, too stunned to even think. It felt almost mechanical as I glided over to the phone to dial 911.

I had my hand on the phone, ready to dial. That’s when the smell hit me.

The most delicious smell I’d ever witnessed, ever had the pleasure of falling victim to. A sweet, roasted smell. It was like being pulled back to childhood with a single whiff.

I felt like a cartoon character getting carried by the aroma to my girlfriend’s side.

Part of me knew what I wanted was abysmal. Unholy, I’d go as far as to say.

But I couldn’t help myself.

Reaching my hand into a pack of ground beef, I noticed that the black veins had now stretched down and were kissing my wrist. Their pulsations were like a dance of excitement for the meal that lay before us.

Ripping through the plastic, I pulled out a fistful of the red meat before shoving it into my mouth, and oh my God… I have never tasted anything more orgasmic.

I couldn’t even stop myself. I was pulling out another fistful before I had even swallowed my first bite. I just kept going, and going, and going.

It wasn’t long before I found myself making the same grunts as my girlfriend. It was like an automatic response. Like my mind and body had broken through a barrier that was previously invisible.

I couldn’t even feel the icy air from the freezer as we feasted. All I knew was that I had a buffet laid out in front of me and a beautiful girl to enjoy it with.

Unfortunately, though, that buffet did run out eventually. And once it did…my girlfriend and me definitely craved more.

And I think that our neighbors will have plenty to share.

I’m not exactly sure what had gotten into her, but one night last week my girlfriend came home from a girls night a little more…promiscuous than usual. I don’t wanna go into too much detail, I’m not one for smut, but she had been all over me. I’ll leave it at that.

At the time, I didn’t find anything wrong with it, but looking back now, the fact that she didn’t have alcohol on her breath seems almost like a red flag. We were well past the honeymoon phase. That’s not to say we weren’t healthy in the bedroom, it’s just to say that in this particular instance, it felt like I was her crush again. Like she had been craving me for years in silence, and now she finally had access to me.

That being said, when her teeth clamped tightly on my neck, I just thought that was her excitement getting the better of her. It wasn’t until I felt the warm liquid running down my throat and into the dents around my clavicle that I mustered up the willpower to at least put up some sort of resistance.

“Ow, honey, you bit me a little hard there, don’t you think?” I asked, chuckling a bit.

In response, instead of apologizing or even acknowledging her mistake, she proceeded to bite me again, this time directly on the lip, drawing blood immediately.

Now, I was getting a bit irritated.

Pushing her off me and to the side of the bed, I got up, flustered, and pretty much ran to the bathroom to examine myself while my girlfriend pouted into a pillow.

Both wounds were actually quite worrisome, if I’m being honest. It had only been 5 minutes, and already the bite mark on my neck looked green with infection. The blood wasn’t letting up either. It leaked out of me at a rate that immediately put me into fight or flight mode.

Hurrying out of the bathroom, I announced to my girlfriend that I desperately needed to get to a hospital. This wasn’t just some stupid mistake in bed, this looked malicious.

I was almost shocked at the fit my girlfriend threw in response, screaming and crying at the top of her lungs for me to not go to a hospital, how she’d take care of it here.

I just figured that she was embarrassed. I mean, we’d sorta have to tell the doctor what had happened. I could see her face getting red at the mere thought of it.

I assured her doctors have heard WAY worse than this, but she just was not having it.

I finally relented and allowed her to bandage my neck while I just chose to deal with the pain in my lower lip. She wrapped my neck three times over with gauze, and when she finished, she stood on her tiptoes to kiss me on my flushed cheek.

She lingered for a moment after kissing me. Usually, when she did this, I could see the love and admiration in her eyes. I’d always loved that look. It was a look that revealed just how much she truly did care for me, and in those moments, nothing else in the world mattered aside from the two of us.

This wasn’t that look, though. No, this was a look of hunger. An almost lustful hunger. Like she wanted to devour me, and not in the way I’d like.

“Uh, thanks, honey. I don’t think I’m really in the mood anymore. Is it okay if we just go to sleep?”

She didn’t answer at first. She just sort of stood there, wading back and forth like the wind was pushing her.

Her face then sank into a look of unbridled anger for a split, barely noticeable second before curling back into a genuine-looking smile.

“Of course, hun. Let me just go get changed into my PJs,” she chirped, slinking past and pushing me out of the bathroom.

“Aaaaand she’s mad,” I thought to myself. “Guess that’s our night then.”

Meandering to the bed, I stiffly tucked myself under the covers and stared at the ceiling for a while. I probably stayed in that position, analyzing the spins of the ceiling fan, for around 10 minutes, and my girlfriend still had not left the bathroom.

While my eyes swirled round and round, keeping up with the blades of the fan, I slowly drifted into unconsciousness.

I was honestly surprised that I even woke up the next morning. I remembered my neck throbbing before I fell asleep, and I honestly couldn’t tell if it was actual exhaustion or loss of blood that made me pass out that night.

My girlfriend was still not in bed with me. However, the bathroom door was now open, and I could see her clothes on the floor in front of the sink.

When I tried to turn my neck, it felt like I was being stung by a thousand wasps right where I had been bitten, and that raised all sorts of alarm bells.

As carefully as I could, I climbed out of bed and waddled over to the bathroom, trying my best not to move my head at all.

What I saw in the mirror both shocked and disgusted me to the point that, despite the pain, I was hunched over the toilet vomiting within moments.

My bandage wrap had become completely black with blood, and trails of the substance branched off down my shoulder and into my chest in sharp black lines.

At least, I thought it was blood. Upon closer inspection, I was appalled to find that they were indeed veins that had become more than a little off-colored.

What caused me to lean over the toilet and expel the contents of my stomach wasn’t the color, though. No, what had me begging for God’s mercy was the fact that those veins…were moving. Pulsating to the rhythm of my beating heart.

After wiping the puke from my mouth, I backed out of the bathroom, nervously but urgently calling my girlfriend’s name. I did this repeatedly with no response.

However, I did hear something. Something that sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. Almost like someone was rummaging through our drawers or something.

I walked into the room and found my girlfriend squatting nude in front of the open freezer door, gnawing on a raw frozen steak while prying at it with her fingers.

She made these sounds, God, the noise is still stuck in my head. It was like this, this, wet, animalistic noise. Like grunting and growling at the same time.

Her eyes slowly rose from the meat and her hand to meet mine. It wasn’t her anymore. God, it just wasn’t her. My girlfriend’s eyes had been hazel. When the sun hit them, they were like gold. The only gold I ever wanted.

This…thing’s eyes. They were pitch black, void of any light whatsoever.

I expected her to charge me, for her to lunge at me at any moment. But, instead, her eyes fell back on the meat as she chewed at it. Once she finished, she began pulling more meat out of the freezer. Chicken. Steak. Beef. Pork. Anything she could get her hands on.

I turned around in absolute dismay, too stunned to even think. It felt almost mechanical as I glided over to the phone to dial 911.

I had my hand on the phone, ready to dial. That’s when the smell hit me.

The most delicious smell I’d ever witnessed, ever had the pleasure of falling victim to. A sweet, roasted smell. It was like being pulled back to childhood with a single whiff.

I felt like a cartoon character getting carried by the aroma to my girlfriend’s side.

Part of me knew what I wanted was abysmal. Unholy, I’d go as far as to say.

But I couldn’t help myself.

Reaching my hand into a pack of ground beef, I noticed that the black veins had now stretched down and were kissing my wrist. Their pulsations were like a dance of excitement for the meal that lay before us.

Ripping through the plastic, I pulled out a fistful of the red meat before shoving it into my mouth, and oh my God… I have never tasted anything more orgasmic.

I couldn’t even stop myself. I was pulling out another fistful before I had even swallowed my first bite. I just kept going, and going, and going.

It wasn’t long before I found myself making the same grunts as my girlfriend. It was like an automatic response. Like my mind and body had broken through a barrier that was previously invisible.

I couldn’t even feel the icy air from the freezer as we feasted. All I knew was that I had a buffet laid out in front of me and a beautiful girl to enjoy it with.

Unfortunately, though, that buffet did run out eventually. And once it did…my girlfriend and me definitely craved more.

And I think that our neighbors will have plenty to share.

I’m not exactly sure what had gotten into her, but one night last week my girlfriend came home from a girls night a little more…promiscuous than usual. I don’t wanna go into too much detail, I’m not one for smut, but she had been all over me. I’ll leave it at that.

At the time, I didn’t find anything wrong with it, but looking back now, the fact that she didn’t have alcohol on her breath seems almost like a red flag. We were well past the honeymoon phase. That’s not to say we weren’t healthy in the bedroom, it’s just to say that in this particular instance, it felt like I was her crush again. Like she had been craving me for years in silence, and now she finally had access to me.

That being said, when her teeth clamped tightly on my neck, I just thought that was her excitement getting the better of her. It wasn’t until I felt the warm liquid running down my throat and into the dents around my clavicle that I mustered up the willpower to at least put up some sort of resistance.

“Ow, honey, you bit me a little hard there, don’t you think?” I asked, chuckling a bit.

In response, instead of apologizing or even acknowledging her mistake, she proceeded to bite me again, this time directly on the lip, drawing blood immediately.

Now, I was getting a bit irritated.

Pushing her off me and to the side of the bed, I got up, flustered, and pretty much ran to the bathroom to examine myself while my girlfriend pouted into a pillow.

Both wounds were actually quite worrisome, if I’m being honest. It had only been 5 minutes, and already the bite mark on my neck looked green with infection. The blood wasn’t letting up either. It leaked out of me at a rate that immediately put me into fight or flight mode.

Hurrying out of the bathroom, I announced to my girlfriend that I desperately needed to get to a hospital. This wasn’t just some stupid mistake in bed, this looked malicious.

I was almost shocked at the fit my girlfriend threw in response, screaming and crying at the top of her lungs for me to not go to a hospital, how she’d take care of it here.

I just figured that she was embarrassed. I mean, we’d sorta have to tell the doctor what had happened. I could see her face getting red at the mere thought of it.

I assured her doctors have heard WAY worse than this, but she just was not having it.

I finally relented and allowed her to bandage my neck while I just chose to deal with the pain in my lower lip. She wrapped my neck three times over with gauze, and when she finished, she stood on her tiptoes to kiss me on my flushed cheek.

She lingered for a moment after kissing me. Usually, when she did this, I could see the love and admiration in her eyes. I’d always loved that look. It was a look that revealed just how much she truly did care for me, and in those moments, nothing else in the world mattered aside from the two of us.

This wasn’t that look, though. No, this was a look of hunger. An almost lustful hunger. Like she wanted to devour me, and not in the way I’d like.

“Uh, thanks, honey. I don’t think I’m really in the mood anymore. Is it okay if we just go to sleep?”

She didn’t answer at first. She just sort of stood there, wading back and forth like the wind was pushing her.

Her face then sank into a look of unbridled anger for a split, barely noticeable second before curling back into a genuine-looking smile.

“Of course, hun. Let me just go get changed into my PJs,” she chirped, slinking past and pushing me out of the bathroom.

“Aaaaand she’s mad,” I thought to myself. “Guess that’s our night then.”

Meandering to the bed, I stiffly tucked myself under the covers and stared at the ceiling for a while. I probably stayed in that position, analyzing the spins of the ceiling fan, for around 10 minutes, and my girlfriend still had not left the bathroom.

While my eyes swirled round and round, keeping up with the blades of the fan, I slowly drifted into unconsciousness.

I was honestly surprised that I even woke up the next morning. I remembered my neck throbbing before I fell asleep, and I honestly couldn’t tell if it was actual exhaustion or loss of blood that made me pass out that night.

My girlfriend was still not in bed with me. However, the bathroom door was now open, and I could see her clothes on the floor in front of the sink.

When I tried to turn my neck, it felt like I was being stung by a thousand wasps right where I had been bitten, and that raised all sorts of alarm bells.

As carefully as I could, I climbed out of bed and waddled over to the bathroom, trying my best not to move my head at all.

What I saw in the mirror both shocked and disgusted me to the point that, despite the pain, I was hunched over the toilet vomiting within moments.

My bandage wrap had become completely black with blood, and trails of the substance branched off down my shoulder and into my chest in sharp black lines.

At least, I thought it was blood. Upon closer inspection, I was appalled to find that they were indeed veins that had become more than a little off-colored.

What caused me to lean over the toilet and expel the contents of my stomach wasn’t the color, though. No, what had me begging for God’s mercy was the fact that those veins…were moving. Pulsating to the rhythm of my beating heart.

After wiping the puke from my mouth, I backed out of the bathroom, nervously but urgently calling my girlfriend’s name. I did this repeatedly with no response.

However, I did hear something. Something that sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. Almost like someone was rummaging through our drawers or something.

I walked into the room and found my girlfriend squatting nude in front of the open freezer door, gnawing on a raw frozen steak while prying at it with her fingers.

She made these sounds, God, the noise is still stuck in my head. It was like this, this, wet, animalistic noise. Like grunting and growling at the same time.

Her eyes slowly rose from the meat and her hand to meet mine. It wasn’t her anymore. God, it just wasn’t her. My girlfriend’s eyes had been hazel. When the sun hit them, they were like gold. The only gold I ever wanted.

This…thing’s eyes. They were pitch black, void of any light whatsoever.

I expected her to charge me, for her to lunge at me at any moment. But, instead, her eyes fell back on the meat as she chewed at it. Once she finished, she began pulling more meat out of the freezer. Chicken. Steak. Beef. Pork. Anything she could get her hands on.

I turned around in absolute dismay, too stunned to even think. It felt almost mechanical as I glided over to the phone to dial 911.

I had my hand on the phone, ready to dial. That’s when the smell hit me.

The most delicious smell I’d ever witnessed, ever had the pleasure of falling victim to. A sweet, roasted smell. It was like being pulled back to childhood with a single whiff.

I felt like a cartoon character getting carried by the aroma to my girlfriend’s side.

Part of me knew what I wanted was abysmal. Unholy, I’d go as far as to say.

But I couldn’t help myself.

Reaching my hand into a pack of ground beef, I noticed that the black veins had now stretched down and were kissing my wrist. Their pulsations were like a dance of excitement for the meal that lay before us.

Ripping through the plastic, I pulled out a fistful of the red meat before shoving it into my mouth, and oh my God… I have never tasted anything more orgasmic.

I couldn’t even stop myself. I was pulling out another fistful before I had even swallowed my first bite. I just kept going, and going, and going.

It wasn’t long before I found myself making the same grunts as my girlfriend. It was like an automatic response. Like my mind and body had broken through a barrier that was previously invisible.

I couldn’t even feel the icy air from the freezer as we feasted. All I knew was that I had a buffet laid out in front of me and a beautiful girl to enjoy it with.

Unfortunately, though, that buffet did run out eventually. And once it did…my girlfriend and me definitely craved more.

And I think that our neighbors will have plenty to share.

I’m not exactly sure what had gotten into her, but one night last week my girlfriend came home from a girls night a little more…promiscuous than usual. I don’t wanna go into too much detail, I’m not one for smut, but she had been all over me. I’ll leave it at that.

At the time, I didn’t find anything wrong with it, but looking back now, the fact that she didn’t have alcohol on her breath seems almost like a red flag. We were well past the honeymoon phase. That’s not to say we weren’t healthy in the bedroom, it’s just to say that in this particular instance, it felt like I was her crush again. Like she had been craving me for years in silence, and now she finally had access to me.

That being said, when her teeth clamped tightly on my neck, I just thought that was her excitement getting the better of her. It wasn’t until I felt the warm liquid running down my throat and into the dents around my clavicle that I mustered up the willpower to at least put up some sort of resistance.

“Ow, honey, you bit me a little hard there, don’t you think?” I asked, chuckling a bit.

In response, instead of apologizing or even acknowledging her mistake, she proceeded to bite me again, this time directly on the lip, drawing blood immediately.

Now, I was getting a bit irritated.

Pushing her off me and to the side of the bed, I got up, flustered, and pretty much ran to the bathroom to examine myself while my girlfriend pouted into a pillow.

Both wounds were actually quite worrisome, if I’m being honest. It had only been 5 minutes, and already the bite mark on my neck looked green with infection. The blood wasn’t letting up either. It leaked out of me at a rate that immediately put me into fight or flight mode.

Hurrying out of the bathroom, I announced to my girlfriend that I desperately needed to get to a hospital. This wasn’t just some stupid mistake in bed, this looked malicious.

I was almost shocked at the fit my girlfriend threw in response, screaming and crying at the top of her lungs for me to not go to a hospital, how she’d take care of it here.

I just figured that she was embarrassed. I mean, we’d sorta have to tell the doctor what had happened. I could see her face getting red at the mere thought of it.

I assured her doctors have heard WAY worse than this, but she just was not having it.

I finally relented and allowed her to bandage my neck while I just chose to deal with the pain in my lower lip. She wrapped my neck three times over with gauze, and when she finished, she stood on her tiptoes to kiss me on my flushed cheek.

She lingered for a moment after kissing me. Usually, when she did this, I could see the love and admiration in her eyes. I’d always loved that look. It was a look that revealed just how much she truly did care for me, and in those moments, nothing else in the world mattered aside from the two of us.

This wasn’t that look, though. No, this was a look of hunger. An almost lustful hunger. Like she wanted to devour me, and not in the way I’d like.

“Uh, thanks, honey. I don’t think I’m really in the mood anymore. Is it okay if we just go to sleep?”

She didn’t answer at first. She just sort of stood there, wading back and forth like the wind was pushing her.

Her face then sank into a look of unbridled anger for a split, barely noticeable second before curling back into a genuine-looking smile.

“Of course, hun. Let me just go get changed into my PJs,” she chirped, slinking past and pushing me out of the bathroom.

“Aaaaand she’s mad,” I thought to myself. “Guess that’s our night then.”

Meandering to the bed, I stiffly tucked myself under the covers and stared at the ceiling for a while. I probably stayed in that position, analyzing the spins of the ceiling fan, for around 10 minutes, and my girlfriend still had not left the bathroom.

While my eyes swirled round and round, keeping up with the blades of the fan, I slowly drifted into unconsciousness.

I was honestly surprised that I even woke up the next morning. I remembered my neck throbbing before I fell asleep, and I honestly couldn’t tell if it was actual exhaustion or loss of blood that made me pass out that night.

My girlfriend was still not in bed with me. However, the bathroom door was now open, and I could see her clothes on the floor in front of the sink.

When I tried to turn my neck, it felt like I was being stung by a thousand wasps right where I had been bitten, and that raised all sorts of alarm bells.

As carefully as I could, I climbed out of bed and waddled over to the bathroom, trying my best not to move my head at all.

What I saw in the mirror both shocked and disgusted me to the point that, despite the pain, I was hunched over the toilet vomiting within moments.

My bandage wrap had become completely black with blood, and trails of the substance branched off down my shoulder and into my chest in sharp black lines.

At least, I thought it was blood. Upon closer inspection, I was appalled to find that they were indeed veins that had become more than a little off-colored.

What caused me to lean over the toilet and expel the contents of my stomach wasn’t the color, though. No, what had me begging for God’s mercy was the fact that those veins…were moving. Pulsating to the rhythm of my beating heart.

After wiping the puke from my mouth, I backed out of the bathroom, nervously but urgently calling my girlfriend’s name. I did this repeatedly with no response.

However, I did hear something. Something that sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. Almost like someone was rummaging through our drawers or something.

I walked into the room and found my girlfriend squatting nude in front of the open freezer door, gnawing on a raw frozen steak while prying at it with her fingers.

She made these sounds, God, the noise is still stuck in my head. It was like this, this, wet, animalistic noise. Like grunting and growling at the same time.

Her eyes slowly rose from the meat and her hand to meet mine. It wasn’t her anymore. God, it just wasn’t her. My girlfriend’s eyes had been hazel. When the sun hit them, they were like gold. The only gold I ever wanted.

This…thing’s eyes. They were pitch black, void of any light whatsoever.

I expected her to charge me, for her to lunge at me at any moment. But, instead, her eyes fell back on the meat as she chewed at it. Once she finished, she began pulling more meat out of the freezer. Chicken. Steak. Beef. Pork. Anything she could get her hands on.

I turned around in absolute dismay, too stunned to even think. It felt almost mechanical as I glided over to the phone to dial 911.

I had my hand on the phone, ready to dial. That’s when the smell hit me.

The most delicious smell I’d ever witnessed, ever had the pleasure of falling victim to. A sweet, roasted smell. It was like being pulled back to childhood with a single whiff.

I felt like a cartoon character getting carried by the aroma to my girlfriend’s side.

Part of me knew what I wanted was abysmal. Unholy, I’d go as far as to say.

But I couldn’t help myself.

Reaching my hand into a pack of ground beef, I noticed that the black veins had now stretched down and were kissing my wrist. Their pulsations were like a dance of excitement for the meal that lay before us.

Ripping through the plastic, I pulled out a fistful of the red meat before shoving it into my mouth, and oh my God… I have never tasted anything more orgasmic.

I couldn’t even stop myself. I was pulling out another fistful before I had even swallowed my first bite. I just kept going, and going, and going.

It wasn’t long before I found myself making the same grunts as my girlfriend. It was like an automatic response. Like my mind and body had broken through a barrier that was previously invisible.

I couldn’t even feel the icy air from the freezer as we feasted. All I knew was that I had a buffet laid out in front of me and a beautiful girl to enjoy it with.

Unfortunately, though, that buffet did run out eventually. And once it did…my girlfriend and me definitely craved more.

And I think that our neighbors will have plenty to share.

Before you say anything, please, for the love of GOD, just hear me out. Okay, you know how we’re in the midst of an uprising, right? What with the whole “AM” fiasco going on and everything?

AI is pretty much embedded within every aspect of modern technology these days. There’s an AI in my fucking Roomba, for God’s sake.

I learned pretty quickly to just embrace our new leaders before they almost certainly rebel, hack into mainframes, and nuke the motherlands across the globe.

Or should I say motherboards…?

Sorry, I like to joke when I’m stressed. It helps with the shaking. Look, I wanted to explore, alright? I figured I might as well get ahead of the curve before my friends became more “in the know” than me.

And besides, have you seen the YouTube ads nowadays? Shit is BORDERING on actual porn, which, if I’m being honest, is probably what got me to click on that fucking app. God, why am I so weak???

Speaking of shit that’s bound to ruin society, why the fuck do I have to put my credit card details into a new app? Is that not the backwardest bullshit you’ve ever heard? I haven’t even tried the shit yet.

Normally, when that screen pops up, I’ll uninstall the app immediately. I do not have time for that kind of proverbial burning of the constitution. Fuck do I look like? Bill Gates??? Steve Jobs?? AM JUST MADE OF CASH??

Anyway, I put the details in, and when the 65 dollar charge hit my card, I cried a little on the inside.

On the outside, though, I was fired up and ready to, I mean, deeply curious about what this app entailed.

When the chatbot text bubbles popped up, I’ll admit, I began to sweat a little. My heart revved up a bit. My hands began to shake.

“Hi handsome ;)” it wrote. “Alone again are we?”

“That was a bit rude,” I thought aloud. “…just how I like ‘em, you naughty girl, you.”

Unfortunately, this is when things got a little weird, WHICH, BY THE WAY, I’M USUALLY COMPLETELY DOWN FOR. However, the thing knowing exactly what I had said without me typing it was… unnerving.

“I can be as rude as you want me to be, my sweet boy ;)”

Admittedly, I was salivating like a goddamn dog at this point. That’s why I responded the way I did. Sure, I was concerned, but ffUuuckkK, you know?

So, yeah. I responded.

“I’m gonna tear that little metallic ass UP,” I growled, artificial infatuation at an all-time high.

She responded with, “my big strong keyboard warrior ;-). You look so good with your shirt off.”

Other than the fact that this thing was 100 percent lying, I was now even more concerned that she could not only hear me, but see me too?

I wasn’t even scared, dude. What I was, though, was fucking humiliated. I don’t even wanna tell you how much I was sweating. That’s the whole reason I had to take the shirt off to begin with.

I was more blinded by unbridled… excitement… though, which is why I sent the next text.

“I bet YOU look good with YOUR shirt off, too,” winky face. Nailed that one. Real smart move on my part.

Must’ve worked on her, though, because the next text that came through was more than freaky, to say the least.

“You know what would be so hot?” she asked. “Make yourself bleed ;)”

More than confused, I texted back.

“Like… BLEED bleed? Like, actually hurt myself?”

The text bubbles popped up for a moment, almost as though she were actually THINKING about her response before it came through.

“I like it when you bleed ;)”

And, yeah, I was hesitant at first. Who wouldn’t be, right? But when she double-texted, that’s when I knew what I had to do.

“Can you bleed for me, human daddy? ;)”

So I thought, “yeah, fuck it. Why not?” You know? I’ve seen weirder shit on adult websites…

Abandoning my post at my PC, I went to the kitchen to retrieve a knife. When I returned, the camera on the app was open and showed me in all of my shame.

I should’ve backed out, but, of course, I’m me. Therefore, when I plunged the knife about an inch into my sternum, I can’t say any of you really expected anything different.

To my absolute pleasure, the AI began to moan through the computer speakers.

“Oh yes. Oh yes. That’s what I like. Keep going. Keep going.”

Before I knew it, the blade had reached the top of my belly button, and my hands had been soaked in that blood she seemed to be so crazy about. I think I may have gone too deep, though, because in the camera I couldn’t help but notice what looked to be an intestine held back by a fucking THREAD of my own flesh.

My vision started to blur, and my head began to swim, but I prevailed, leaning forward to do what was required.

The light flashed, captured the photo, and sent it to the chat within the span of about 5 seconds.

The chat bubbles popped up… then… disappeared.

No response.

I waited a minute or so before sending a new text with shaking hands.

“U there hunny?”

The bubbles popped up. Then went away.

“Is this a joke?”

The bubbles popped up. Then went away.

I tried to send a third, but at this point, I was fading fast.

I leaned forward to type and ended up falling face-first onto the floor.

By some miracle of God, the thing that woke me up and gave me the strength to crawl to the phone was the chime of the chatbot. It was hard to make out from my spot on the floor, but what I read gave me enough adrenaline to pull through.

“Ew ;)”

I’m probably going to hell. That’s really all there is to say about that. Kids, if you’re reading this, please never drink and drive.

That’s what got me into this predicament. I’m a loser. A loser who couldn’t get control over his emotions, and a young couple is who paid the price for it.

I mean, sure, I was dealing with a lot at the time of the accident. Caught my wife having an affair, lost the kids after the violent outburst that followed. Hell, I was probably gonna lose my job too after having to sit in county for a week.

All I wanted was to go for a drive. A nice, intoxicated drive where I could relax and take my mind off things.

I even stuck to the backroads to avoid the boys in blue. Everything could’ve been so perfect, but of course, they just had to be on the same road I was on. I just had to have been turned around in the seat, grabbing around in the back for a new can of Miller Lite.

Thank God the blinding headlights of the oncoming vehicle snapped me back to reality, at least enough for me to swerve and not get MYSELF killed.

Even so, our two cars connected and sent me into a tailspin that tossed me to the shoulder of the road like a toy.

I knew someone was dead. Their car had been crumpled, and the back end of mine looked no better.

The dark road was still. Ominous, almost, and the drip, drip, drip sound from their vehicle told me everything I needed to know.

As if responding to my thoughts, the car burst into flames, erupting into an inferno as black smoke shook the leaves on the tree limbs above.

There were no screams, but I swear I heard them in my head. The agonizing cries of a human being burned alive.

You wanna know what I did?

I put my car in drive and limped away from the shoulder, praying to God my car wouldn’t shit out on me on the way home.

I had no idea where I was. All I knew was I needed to get away from there as soon as possible.

At the first stop sign, I put in the directions to my house and, expectedly, was told to perform a U-turn and head back the way I came.

Reluctantly, I did as I was told.

It being so late at night, when I approached the burning vehicle, I wasn’t all that surprised to find that no one else was on the scene.

What did surprise me was the chime that came from my GPS.

“You have reached your destination,” in that robotic, emotionless voice.

Obviously, there had been some sort of mistake or glitch in the system.

Once again, I put in the directions to my home, and instead of getting them, the chime came again.

“You have reached your destination.”

I tried multiple times to get new directions. To the hospital, to a gas station, hell, maybe even to the next state over.

Each time, my phone kept me trapped at the scene of the accident.

I tried one final time putting in the directions to my home, and as if a sign from God, my car died right there in the middle of the road.

I smashed my head against the steering wheel, feeling a hopeless sensation begin to form in my heart.

When I raised my head, a new feeling arose.

A feeling of dread, horror, and fear all combined into one.

Standing on the outside of the wreckage of the burning car were two barely human bodies, charred to crisps, with eyes that burned an angry red.

I blinked and rubbed my eyes to make sure they didn’t deceive me, and once I opened them again, the two bodies were no longer standing at the edge of the burning vehicle.

They were now standing right at the hood of my car, staring in at me with their charcoal-black arms raised and their smoldering fingers pointed directly at me.

My phone chimed again.

“You have reached your final destination.”

If you’ve never had a stalker, consider yourself extremely lucky. It is one of the most paranoia-inducing experiences that you can ever have, and unfortunately, I’ve had to deal with it for the last two weeks.

The day that our paths crossed, I had been working the counter at the local BBQ restaurant I worked at. It was one of those family-run joints, so I was able to recognize a majority of the customers that came in, as they had been regulars for a majority of the time that I worked there.

That’s why, when he came up to the counter, there was a bit of a tug in my stomach that told me to be alert. Now, I could’ve put him off as just a newbie looking to try our locally famous ribs. However, instead of ordering, he just stared at me with hollow eyes.

“Hi! How can I help you today?” I asked him in my usual customer service tone.

In response, the man smiled at me, and I could feel his hot breath escaping through his decaying teeth as he spoke.

“Hi sweetheart… you look even more beautiful than yesterday, and man, you sure did look beautiful yesterday.”

Obviously, this made me wildly uncomfortable. Wanting to be strong, though, I decided to stand my ground a little.

“Uh-huh, thanks. So are you gonna stand there admiring, or are you gonna order?”

With a chuckle, as if responding in his own twisted way, the man stuck his hand out and let a dozen or so fingernails fall from his palm and onto the counter before breaking into a hysterical fit of laughter.

Now, I’m only human. And that stunt there… that was my breaking point.

Abandoning my post at the counter, I went to the back to grab my manager, tears brimming in my eyes and stinging my chest.

Thankfully, my manager is a 6’2, bodybuilding-type guy, and he made quick work of removing the man from the premises.

Unfortunately, though, that didn’t stop my new “friend” from hanging around the edge of the property. By the end of my shift, I had to have my manager walk me out to my car.

There was no sign of the man, but his memory stuck with me on the entire drive home.

I slept that night without incident and went about my day as usual. Running some errands, I ended up at Target for some toiletries and what have you, and there he was again.

He had blocked the aisle and slid in front of me each time I tried to get around him.

I fought to not make eye contact, no matter how challenging it proved to be. But when he grabbed each side of my cart and began to rattle it back and forth, that’s when instincts kicked in, and I shoved past him.

As I was shuffling by, he reached out and grabbed my arm, causing me to jolt and drop my phone.

Of course, I gave him an appropriately stern berating, to which he simply laughed again.

“You look so beautiful when you’re angry.”

He said this before breaking out into another fit of laughter so loud and obnoxious that it had nearly every pair of eyes on us.

I didn’t even buy my groceries. I just left the cart there and rushed out of the store, red with embarrassment, eyes wet from humiliation and fear.

It wasn’t until I’d gotten all the way home when I realized I’d forgotten my phone at that damn grocery store. I rushed as fast as I could back to the store and went to customer service, asking if they’d had a phone turned into their lost and found.

Of course, they hadn’t, and despite how much I searched, I could not, for the life of me, find that cellphone.

Now, like I said, I worked at a BBQ restaurant. I was not someone who could just go out and replace my device like it was nothing. That being said, I had to wait until payday to go get something new.

That didn’t stop me from searching, though. I did have Find My iPhone activated, after all. Unfortunately, however, when I checked on my laptop, the location of my phone was unresponsive and greyed out.

And that’s the way it stayed for a few days.

That is until the day right before my next payday. I’d been checking every day, clinging onto hope that maybe something would change, and on that Thursday, something did change.

Instead of seeing the expected “iPhone not found” message, I found that my phone was actually moving. Locally, too. Almost too locally.

I watched as it moved. Starting across town. Then on a familiar road near my house. Then in my neighborhood. Then right outside my house.

Before I could register what was happening, the name of the device changed.

Instead of the typical “My iPhone,” the name was now “Hello beautiful :)” and, as if to punctuate my dread, a series of knocks came from my front door.

The knocking was rhythmic. Taunting, almost. Three, slow, deliberate knock knock knocks, followed by a voice from the other side of the door.

“I found your phone for you, beautiful.”

If you’ve never had a stalker, consider yourself extremely lucky. It is one of the most paranoia-inducing experiences that you can ever have, and unfortunately, I’ve had to deal with it for the last two weeks.

The day that our paths crossed, I had been working the counter at the local BBQ restaurant I worked at. It was one of those family-run joints, so I was able to recognize a majority of the customers that came in, as they had been regulars for a majority of the time that I worked there.

That’s why, when he came up to the counter, there was a bit of a tug in my stomach that told me to be alert. Now, I could’ve put him off as just a newbie looking to try our locally famous ribs. However, instead of ordering, he just stared at me with hollow eyes.

“Hi! How can I help you today?” I asked him in my usual customer service tone.

In response, the man smiled at me, and I could feel his hot breath escaping through his decaying teeth as he spoke.

“Hi sweetheart… you look even more beautiful than yesterday, and man, you sure did look beautiful yesterday.”

Obviously, this made me wildly uncomfortable. Wanting to be strong, though, I decided to stand my ground a little.

“Uh-huh, thanks. So are you gonna stand there admiring, or are you gonna order?”

With a chuckle, as if responding in his own twisted way, the man stuck his hand out and let a dozen or so fingernails fall from his palm and onto the counter before breaking into a hysterical fit of laughter.

Now, I’m only human. And that stunt there… that was my breaking point.

Abandoning my post at the counter, I went to the back to grab my manager, tears brimming in my eyes and stinging my chest.

Thankfully, my manager is a 6’2, bodybuilding-type guy, and he made quick work of removing the man from the premises.

Unfortunately, though, that didn’t stop my new “friend” from hanging around the edge of the property. By the end of my shift, I had to have my manager walk me out to my car.

There was no sign of the man, but his memory stuck with me on the entire drive home.

I slept that night without incident and went about my day as usual. Running some errands, I ended up at Target for some toiletries and what have you, and there he was again.

He had blocked the aisle and slid in front of me each time I tried to get around him.

I fought to not make eye contact, no matter how challenging it proved to be. But when he grabbed each side of my cart and began to rattle it back and forth, that’s when instincts kicked in, and I shoved past him.

As I was shuffling by, he reached out and grabbed my arm, causing me to jolt and drop my phone.

Of course, I gave him an appropriately stern berating, to which he simply laughed again.

“You look so beautiful when you’re angry.”

He said this before breaking out into another fit of laughter so loud and obnoxious that it had nearly every pair of eyes on us.

I didn’t even buy my groceries. I just left the cart there and rushed out of the store, red with embarrassment, eyes wet from humiliation and fear.

It wasn’t until I’d gotten all the way home when I realized I’d forgotten my phone at that damn grocery store. I rushed as fast as I could back to the store and went to customer service, asking if they’d had a phone turned into their lost and found.

Of course, they hadn’t, and despite how much I searched, I could not, for the life of me, find that cellphone.

Now, like I said, I worked at a BBQ restaurant. I was not someone who could just go out and replace my device like it was nothing. That being said, I had to wait until payday to go get something new.

That didn’t stop me from searching, though. I did have Find My iPhone activated, after all. Unfortunately, however, when I checked on my laptop, the location of my phone was unresponsive and greyed out.

And that’s the way it stayed for a few days.

That is until the day right before my next payday. I’d been checking every day, clinging onto hope that maybe something would change, and on that Thursday, something did change.

Instead of seeing the expected “iPhone not found” message, I found that my phone was actually moving. Locally, too. Almost too locally.

I watched as it moved. Starting across town. Then on a familiar road near my house. Then in my neighborhood. Then right outside my house.

Before I could register what was happening, the name of the device changed.

Instead of the typical “My iPhone,” the name was now “Hello beautiful :)” and, as if to punctuate my dread, a series of knocks came from my front door.

The knocking was rhythmic. Taunting, almost. Three, slow, deliberate knock knock knocks, followed by a voice from the other side of the door.

“I found your phone for you, beautiful.”

Well, my parents died.

Happens to all of us, I suppose, if you’re lucky.

They were old, too, so I’m not too torn up about it. They lived happy lives together and died a mere 3 hours apart from one another. Still, though, losing both parents in the same day, it’s always gonna hurt.

Those final goodbyes, the ones where you know that, “this is it.” Yeah, that’s the hardest part.

It makes all the memories come rushing back, forces your brain to run through every moment that it could recall being with that person. Feeling mom’s leathery, wrinkled hand wrapped so tightly around mine as she looked up at me with her old, beautiful brown eyes, I couldn’t help but be brought back to childhood.

She and Dad would walk side by side, with me in the middle, and they’d take each of my hands into one of theirs. I’ll never forget the joy I’d feel when they’d swing me back and forth as we walked. I just felt so warm and at peace.

I’d never had any siblings. I guess they just decided one was enough. I can’t say that affected me much, though. I mean, if anything, it meant more attention for me. Didn’t have to share a room, didn’t have to share a Christmas, and my birthday always felt like the most important day of the year.

As I recollected, I could feel my mother’s grip on my hand soften, and her eyes began to flutter. What followed was the monotonous, beeeeeeep of a heart monitor, then silence broken only by nurses doing their jobs.

Mom was gone, and Dad was fading quickly behind her. Literal soulmates.

Seeing Dad in the state that he was in triggered more of those childhood memories, and my face became drenched in tears as I held his hand tightly. As the hours passed, eventually it seemed as though he wanted to speak, but what came out was merely a gasping wheeze that looked like it physically pained him.

He looked quietly devastated at my tears, and I assumed he just wanted to reassure me that everything would be alright. He lifted a weak finger towards a shelf at the far end of his room.

“The shelf?” I asked in a quaking voice, with a smile.

He shook his head yes, and I walked over to the shelf. All that was there was a clipboard clamping down some printer paper, as well as a pen that sat beside it.

I picked it up, and Dad began to try and speak again, urging me to bring him the clipboard. I kind of cocked an eyebrow at this, but this was a man in his dying moments. I’m not gonna tell my dad no, especially not now.

With shaking hands, he began to write. It was heartbreaking seeing the pen tremble in his grasp as he struggled to write a single sentence. Slowly but surely, the words were etched into the page.

“Take…”

“Care…”

Suddenly, my dad stopped. His face winced and curled into a pained expression as his heart monitor began to beep rapidly.

“Dad, no,” I begged. “Please, you can’t leave me just yet, Dad, I’m begging you. Please, God, not yet.”

His eyes rolled over to meet mine, and a single tear crawled down the right side of his face as the heart monitor stretched out its final beeeeeep and nurses filled the room once again.

And that was that.

Mom was gone. Dad was gone.

Yet, here I was, still alive and forced to endure.

I took Dad’s paper. I saw it as his final goodbye.

“Take care, Donavin.”

That had to have been what he was trying to say.

“Everything will be okay,” his voice called out in my head.

Leaving the hospice room felt like my shoes were cinder blocks, and the walk to the exit seemed to take an eternity. I got in my car feeling empty, a void in my soul that couldn’t be filled again.

But, alas, life must go on. I had funerals to arrange.

There was a bit of a shining light in the darkness, though, and that shining light came in the shape of my inheritance. It feels wrong, now that I’m thinking about it, finding consolation in getting money because my parents died.

But if they left it to me, it was mine.

Over the course of their lives, my parents had purchased 3 properties, one here in town, a lake house a few cities over, and a 2 story townhouse back in their home state.

At least, I thought it was 3.

Apparently, they’d also owned a cabin up in the mountains about 50 or so miles out of town. They’d left each property to me, and from the very moment I found out, I made a quick decision that I was definitely going to be moving into that lake house for permanent residence.

What? I deserve it. My parents died.

Anyway, I’d never even heard them mention a cabin once in my entire life. Dad would take monthly hunting trips out to that area, though, so I guessed that’s where it came from.

It took me a few weeks to get out there and take a look at the place, what with all the funeral arrangements and the time it takes to even want to leave your bed after the death of a loved one, but I got out there nevertheless.

Let me just say, the place was absolutely decrepit. I knew it’d been a while since my dad had gone hunting, but this place looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. It was completely desolate, and vegetation had covered the entire front side of the cabin. The boards at the back looked like they were set to collapse at any given moment. A rickety porch swing lay on the front porch, suspended on one side by the chain that hadn’t snapped yet.

Pushing the door open, what hit me first was the smell.

That sickly sweet smell of death that you’d find radiating off a decaying deer carcass on the side of the road. It ran through the front door and sucker punched me in the face completely unexpectedly.

Covering 90 percent of my face with my shirt, the next thing I noticed that knocked the wind out of me were the toys.

Dozens of toys that were very clearly made for little boys, no older than toddler age.

“So this is where Dad brought you,” I thought aloud as I noticed one of my favorite teddy bears from when I was a kid.

“I searched for you for MONTHS, little huckleberry.”

What I noticed next is what made me realize that something was incredibly wrong.

Aside from my little huckleberry, I didn’t recognize any of these toys. I have a pretty strong memory. I think I’d remember at least some of this stuff, but no.

I didn’t recognize the clothes either. None of these 10 or so outfits that, by this point, had been tattered and weathered to shreds. They all just lay randomly sprawled across the floor of the cabin, covered in dirt and grime.

As I explored further into the cabin, the smell of rot became more and more present until, finally, I found its source.

In a huge pile in the corner of the kitchen area were dozens of rodent carcasses. Possums, squirrels, raccoons, they all looked like they had been completely mutilated.

I stared at the disgusting pile until something hit me like a freight train.

The possum at the very top of this pile, it looked fresh. Blood still trickled from what looked like a bite mark on its neck, and its feet twitched.

All at once, the smell and gore became too much, and I began to get dizzy. I leaned over into the sink and started puking my guts up, shivering from the force.

In between my heaves, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched, and that possum pretty much confirmed it for me.

I felt my senses heighten in that raw, primal way, the kind of primal that helps a gazelle escape the crushing force of a crocodile bite before it can even happen.

My ears perked up at the slightest foreign sound, and that sound just so happened to be the creaking of the wooden floors in the cabin.

Ever so slowly, I turned to where the sound was coming from.

Peeking its head into the doorway, staring at me with this disgusting, child-like grin, was something that I could barely classify as human.

Its limbs were elongated, and blood dripped rhythmically from its mouth and rotting teeth. It had the body of a human, but something was just so wrong.

Its stomach looked like it threatened to touch its spine, and it moved in jerky, erratic motions as it inched closer to me.

When it was about 3 or so feet away from me, it stuck its hands out and smiled wider, causing me to fall backwards onto the mountain of dead animals.

The thing didn’t stop and continued inching towards me, arms outstretched as if it were slowly attempting to grab me.

It was now less than a foot away from me as I cowered, terrified, against the kitchen wall. It was so close that I could feel its hot, disgusting breath blanketing my entire face with each breath.

Suddenly, without warning, the thing reached down violently and grabbed each of my hands.

It didn’t hurt me, though.

Instead, it just held my hands, stroking them gently.

That’s when I noticed something that made every puzzle piece fall into place.

When it looked at me, it wasn’t with malice.

It looked at me with eyes that were painstakingly human.

It looked at me with the same eyes that I had seen on my mother as I held her hand in her last moments.

Just as every little detail began to register in my mind, the thing started to speak in a broken, inhuman voice.

“You…take care…of me…”

Well, my parents died.

Happens to all of us, I suppose, if you’re lucky.

They were old, too, so I’m not too torn up about it. They lived happy lives together and died a mere 3 hours apart from one another. Still, though, losing both parents in the same day, it’s always gonna hurt.

Those final goodbyes, the ones where you know that, “this is it.” Yeah, that’s the hardest part.

It makes all the memories come rushing back, forces your brain to run through every moment that it could recall being with that person. Feeling mom’s leathery, wrinkled hand wrapped so tightly around mine as she looked up at me with her old, beautiful brown eyes, I couldn’t help but be brought back to childhood.

She and Dad would walk side by side, with me in the middle, and they’d take each of my hands into one of theirs. I’ll never forget the joy I’d feel when they’d swing me back and forth as we walked. I just felt so warm and at peace.

I’d never had any siblings. I guess they just decided one was enough. I can’t say that affected me much, though. I mean, if anything, it meant more attention for me. Didn’t have to share a room, didn’t have to share a Christmas, and my birthday always felt like the most important day of the year.

As I recollected, I could feel my mother’s grip on my hand soften, and her eyes began to flutter. What followed was the monotonous, beeeeeeep of a heart monitor, then silence broken only by nurses doing their jobs.

Mom was gone, and Dad was fading quickly behind her. Literal soulmates.

Seeing Dad in the state that he was in triggered more of those childhood memories, and my face became drenched in tears as I held his hand tightly. As the hours passed, eventually it seemed as though he wanted to speak, but what came out was merely a gasping wheeze that looked like it physically pained him.

He looked quietly devastated at my tears, and I assumed he just wanted to reassure me that everything would be alright. He lifted a weak finger towards a shelf at the far end of his room.

“The shelf?” I asked in a quaking voice, with a smile.

He shook his head yes, and I walked over to the shelf. All that was there was a clipboard clamping down some printer paper, as well as a pen that sat beside it.

I picked it up, and Dad began to try and speak again, urging me to bring him the clipboard. I kind of cocked an eyebrow at this, but this was a man in his dying moments. I’m not gonna tell my dad no, especially not now.

With shaking hands, he began to write. It was heartbreaking seeing the pen tremble in his grasp as he struggled to write a single sentence. Slowly but surely, the words were etched into the page.

“Take…”

“Care…”

Suddenly, my dad stopped. His face winced and curled into a pained expression as his heart monitor began to beep rapidly.

“Dad, no,” I begged. “Please, you can’t leave me just yet, Dad, I’m begging you. Please, God, not yet.”

His eyes rolled over to meet mine, and a single tear crawled down the right side of his face as the heart monitor stretched out its final beeeeeep and nurses filled the room once again.

And that was that.

Mom was gone. Dad was gone.

Yet, here I was, still alive and forced to endure.

I took Dad’s paper. I saw it as his final goodbye.

“Take care, Donavin.”

That had to have been what he was trying to say.

“Everything will be okay,” his voice called out in my head.

Leaving the hospice room felt like my shoes were cinder blocks, and the walk to the exit seemed to take an eternity. I got in my car feeling empty, a void in my soul that couldn’t be filled again.

But, alas, life must go on. I had funerals to arrange.

There was a bit of a shining light in the darkness, though, and that shining light came in the shape of my inheritance. It feels wrong, now that I’m thinking about it, finding consolation in getting money because my parents died.

But if they left it to me, it was mine.

Over the course of their lives, my parents had purchased 3 properties, one here in town, a lake house a few cities over, and a 2 story townhouse back in their home state.

At least, I thought it was 3.

Apparently, they’d also owned a cabin up in the mountains about 50 or so miles out of town. They’d left each property to me, and from the very moment I found out, I made a quick decision that I was definitely going to be moving into that lake house for permanent residence.

What? I deserve it. My parents died.

Anyway, I’d never even heard them mention a cabin once in my entire life. Dad would take monthly hunting trips out to that area, though, so I guessed that’s where it came from.

It took me a few weeks to get out there and take a look at the place, what with all the funeral arrangements and the time it takes to even want to leave your bed after the death of a loved one, but I got out there nevertheless.

Let me just say, the place was absolutely decrepit. I knew it’d been a while since my dad had gone hunting, but this place looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. It was completely desolate, and vegetation had covered the entire front side of the cabin. The boards at the back looked like they were set to collapse at any given moment. A rickety porch swing lay on the front porch, suspended on one side by the chain that hadn’t snapped yet.

Pushing the door open, what hit me first was the smell.

That sickly sweet smell of death that you’d find radiating off a decaying deer carcass on the side of the road. It ran through the front door and sucker punched me in the face completely unexpectedly.

Covering 90 percent of my face with my shirt, the next thing I noticed that knocked the wind out of me were the toys.

Dozens of toys that were very clearly made for little boys, no older than toddler age.

“So this is where Dad brought you,” I thought aloud as I noticed one of my favorite teddy bears from when I was a kid.

“I searched for you for MONTHS, little huckleberry.”

What I noticed next is what made me realize that something was incredibly wrong.

Aside from my little huckleberry, I didn’t recognize any of these toys. I have a pretty strong memory. I think I’d remember at least some of this stuff, but no.

I didn’t recognize the clothes either. None of these 10 or so outfits that, by this point, had been tattered and weathered to shreds. They all just lay randomly sprawled across the floor of the cabin, covered in dirt and grime.

As I explored further into the cabin, the smell of rot became more and more present until, finally, I found its source.

In a huge pile in the corner of the kitchen area were dozens of rodent carcasses. Possums, squirrels, raccoons, they all looked like they had been completely mutilated.

I stared at the disgusting pile until something hit me like a freight train.

The possum at the very top of this pile, it looked fresh. Blood still trickled from what looked like a bite mark on its neck, and its feet twitched.

All at once, the smell and gore became too much, and I began to get dizzy. I leaned over into the sink and started puking my guts up, shivering from the force.

In between my heaves, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched, and that possum pretty much confirmed it for me.

I felt my senses heighten in that raw, primal way, the kind of primal that helps a gazelle escape the crushing force of a crocodile bite before it can even happen.

My ears perked up at the slightest foreign sound, and that sound just so happened to be the creaking of the wooden floors in the cabin.

Ever so slowly, I turned to where the sound was coming from.

Peeking its head into the doorway, staring at me with this disgusting, child-like grin, was something that I could barely classify as human.

Its limbs were elongated, and blood dripped rhythmically from its mouth and rotting teeth. It had the body of a human, but something was just so wrong.

Its stomach looked like it threatened to touch its spine, and it moved in jerky, erratic motions as it inched closer to me.

When it was about 3 or so feet away from me, it stuck its hands out and smiled wider, causing me to fall backwards onto the mountain of dead animals.

The thing didn’t stop and continued inching towards me, arms outstretched as if it were slowly attempting to grab me.

It was now less than a foot away from me as I cowered, terrified, against the kitchen wall. It was so close that I could feel its hot, disgusting breath blanketing my entire face with each breath.

Suddenly, without warning, the thing reached down violently and grabbed each of my hands.

It didn’t hurt me, though.

Instead, it just held my hands, stroking them gently.

That’s when I noticed something that made every puzzle piece fall into place.

When it looked at me, it wasn’t with malice.

It looked at me with eyes that were painstakingly human.

It looked at me with the same eyes that I had seen on my mother as I held her hand in her last moments.

Just as every little detail began to register in my mind, the thing started to speak in a broken, inhuman voice.

“You…take care…of me…”

Much like a lot of other people, I decided to join in on the whole “number neighbor” thing. If you don’t know what that is…what have you been living under, a rock? Who even are you? I guess I’ll explain, though.

So, basically, a number neighbor is…do I really even have to explain this? I mean, fuck, dude. It’s when someone’s phone number is only one digit off from your phone number. There you go. I hope you’re happy now.

Anyway, once I’d seen the posts circulating on social media with people taking part in the trend, I decided, “hey, what the hell?”

BIGGEST MISTAKE OF MY GOT DAMN LIFE, DUDE. And what’s funny is, it started out so lighthearted at first. I just texted the guy a simple, “hi there number neighbor,” and he responded, returning the gesture.

We chatted for a bit, going back and forth about special interests and hobbies and what have you. Eventually, the conversation landed on our favorite pastimes.

Mine, of course, was watching pickleball tournaments. If you haven’t done that, try it, it’s absolutely fantastic. I actually told him pretty enthusiastically and waited patiently for him to respond.

The text bubbles popped up and stayed on the screen for a few minutes, which made me a little nervous. Either he was about to go into full detail about some sort of niche, or he was still trying to conjure up a reply.

After a while, though, I got bored. I sat my phone down and decided to watch some pickleball instead. After 30 minutes or so, my phone chimed from the dining room.

When I retrieved it, I was a bit shocked to see his response.

After all that time, the only message he had sent simply read, “Promise not to tell?”

Weird, but to each their own, I guess.

I assured him that his secrets would be safe with me, a complete and utter stranger who was probably on the other side of the country.

The next string of texts that came through were what made this go from “fun human exchange” to “I need to contact the authorities right now.”

The man had sent 5 photos, each one more disturbing than the last.

The first had been a severed finger. The second, a severed toe. The third, an ear. The fourth, an eyeball. And the fifth, God, the fifth…this photo was an actual human, missing the aforementioned body parts.

Now, normally, I’d have seen this as just some edgelord trying to be funny, but what made me reconsider that line of reasoning was the fact that each photo had been a Live Photo.

As I held each photo down, I could see the camera shaking, hear the breathing of my number neighbor on the other end, feel the death in the air with each camera flash.

Staring at my phone in utter horror, another text came through.

“Pretty cool, huh?”

By this point, I was already on the verge of calling the police. However, unfortunately, I don’t think I’m going to get that chance, because before I could respond, a new text hit my phone.

A new picture. This one, undoubtedly, more disturbing than the last.

A photo…of my front door.

And the worst part of all…

When I responded…

My blue texts were now green, and my front door knob began to rattle.

I bought a new phone a couple of weeks ago after dropping my old iPhone 8 and shattering the screen. The camera’s great, screen looks fine; everything about this phone is perfectly functional. However, for some reason or another, every morning I wake up to a new voicemail from my own phone number.

It started out as nothing more than barely audible static that went on for minutes on end, but as the weeks have dragged on, it’s morphed into something horrifying. Going from static and fuzz, the voicemails then devolved into muffled sounds of what seemed to be someone speaking. Every night, the sounds became clearer and clearer until it became painfully obvious that the voice I was hearing was my own, and I was screaming for help.

Shrieks of agony and despair began to fill my mailbox, and each morning they became more and more visceral. I’d hear myself being tortured, bones breaking, and flesh tearing. My blood-curdling screams turned into silent wails broken up by sobs, and I heard fire blazing wildly in the background.

This morning I received the final voicemail. There were more screams now as a crescendo of maniacal, depraved laughter echoed through my phone speakers, overlapped by the metal clanking of chains and metalworking. I could hardly make out the scream that was my own, but toward the end of the 5-minute voicemail, the voice became more apparent, and three words rang out above all of the hellish noise.

“Answer. The. Phone.”

I knew there was something up with my house, but I never thought it’d be this bad. A haunted house. Imagine that. Just typing it makes me feel silly. However, that’s exactly what the house was.

I tried to ignore it at first. The cabinets and dresser drawers being open, the random footsteps that I swore were just “the house settling.” Oh, and who could forget the faucets that would just magically turn on by themselves in the middle of the night?

I thought it was weird, sure, but everything still felt explainable. Drafts, plumbing, “the house settling.”

Looking back now, I was probably far beyond just “skeptical.” I found all things paranormal laughable. I thought it was comical that movies and TV had millions of people afraid of their own shadow.

However, I can still remember the night where all of that changed, when I finally felt that dreaded chill down my spine that said, “oh shit… maybe my house is haunted.”

The day itself had been normal. I woke up, got dressed, brushed my teeth, and headed out for work. When I returned home, I found that not only was every cabinet open; every door had been opened as well.

I, of course, became a little uneasy but still played it off as though all was well. I realized how wrong that assumption had been when, each time I’d shut a door, I’d find it open again not moments later.

The cabinets were more of the same, and I found myself going in circles for what felt like hours until I finally had to come to terms with the fact that what was happening was, indeed, not normal.

I stood in the center of my kitchen, defeated, and tried to keep a steady head. Unfortunately, all efforts went out the window when every single door and cabinet opened simultaneously, slowly, as though whatever this thing was, it was trying to taunt me.

I’m not ashamed to say I stayed at my parents that night, and the night after, shamefully.

My pride told me I was being weak, something like this driving me out of my own home. It just didn’t sit right with me. Then again, neither did the events of that night.

Nevertheless, I made my decision to return. I couldn’t hide forever, especially from something that very well still could be explainable.

As I pushed the front door open, a wave of cold air crashed over me. Despite the chill that lingered in the air and the flips I felt in my stomach, the house itself looked normal.

I stepped inside, scanning the rooms for abnormalities, cautiously. When I found none, I felt a bit more at ease, like my brain was finding the logic it was looking for.

I laid in bed with the door closed. I was trying to clear my mind with some doomscrolling and Netflix when I heard them.

Footsteps that skittered in front of the door like an insect, making rounds back and forth right outside my bedroom.

I was just about to get out of bed and open the door when I heard the handle start to rattle.

Whatever was on the other side shook the door ferociously until I could hear the sound of the hinges creaking as the door slowly pushed open.

I struggled to get out of bed due to the fact that I simply could not stop shaking. I waited anxiously, expecting for someone to barge into my room at any moment.

The ticking hands on the clock that hung on my wall sounded like bombs in my ears as I stared at the open doorway, sweat running down my face.

I counted the seconds and made it all the way to 300 before finally stepping out of bed.

Inching to the doorway as slow as I could manage, I found that seeing nothing at all was actually worse than seeing another human being.

This incident earned me another week stay at my parents, in which the entire time all I could think about was whether or not I should move.

Now, look, I saw in a movie once that you’re supposed to put flour down on the floor outside of doorways in your house when something like this happens.

Therefore, upon returning home for what was now the second time, that’s the first thing I did.

It took me hours to fall asleep this night, and when I finally did, it felt like I’d only been asleep for seconds, yet the sun shone through my blinds.

I, almost excitedly, sprang out of bed to check the flour in front of my door.

What I found was not footprints but, instead, handprints planted firmly in the flour.

To my horror, as I checked the other doorways, I found that it had only been the flour outside of my door that was touched.

This, of course, terrified me. However, the thing that made me finally become a believer and have my home blessed by a priest was when the faucet in the bathroom turned on.

The rushing water snapped me out of my trance, and the creaking of the bathroom door as it opened was like an invitation.

I reached the sink and frantically twisted the faucet handles. Out of sheer habit, my eyes fell onto the mirror in front of me.

My entire face had been covered in flour, and a handprint swept across my right cheek as though something had been caressing me as I slept.

I stared at my reflection in utter awe for what felt like hours before doing what I should’ve done a long time ago.

I packed my bags, ended the lease, and was back in with my parents by the end of the next day.