Page 33 of Fed By Fear

Githany won’t get the chance to date Hunt’s handsome vessel even after his body has been freed up. She belongs to us, now.

Hunt doesn’t give us the striptease we want. He lets his form consume him, clothes and all. First his main body shreds through his jeans. Twisted, pointy, and velvety grey. A serpentine lower half of shining silver and midnight blue. Sharp legs shoot outwards around it. The bend of his first knee is at face-height for Githany. A second leg slashes out, followed by a third, and fourth. The snake body solidifies down the center, acting as a fifth leg. That one is our favorite. It’s bigger than the others. Hunt uses it to stand on, raising the rest of his body up into the canopy. That single leg left behind appears to be nothing more than a tree itself.

He only keeps them separated for a moment before wrapping the legs around themselves, transforming his lower half into a thick, woven singular body.

His hips ruin what’s left of the jeans. They’re sharper than human hips, with two layers of metallic skin that are so smooth to touch. Wide, angular, currently concealing the part of Hunt between them that makes us bounce with need. We can’t wait for her to see the flat, hookedhead. It turns up at an angle. We bet it’s going to wreak havoc inside Githany. The best part is a few inches further. The thick knot in the middle of his shaft rubs such delicious spots inside us. Githany stares at his new body, oblivious to the hidden piece.

Will she be able to take it without tearing? Maybe we will lick it first, get it wet and ready. We have two tongues after all. One to make Githany drip and another to lubricate Hunt’s knot and tip. Yes, yes, this will work nicely.

His decadently muscular torso curves up to a cavernous chest. The center is designed for sound. Bellows that rumble far louder than his chainsaw ever could. Sounds that shake the forest when he feeds.

The arms jutting out of his sides are the most human part of him. Toned, five-fingered, but with a grip that can snap bones.

Hunt’s face puts any question of humanity to rest. Jaws that hinge forever open to accommodate his teeth grind and shudder. The top of his head juts up and around. Completing Hunt’s infamous look are a dozen glossy black eyes that bore into Githany.

He’s so beautiful. Sometimes we forget he’s silver. A crimson tide usually coats his body when he’s not blending in with the trees. Most encountering him would think he’s red.

Hunt stalks in his snake form but prefers to kill with his legs unwound. Stomping his victims, punching around the vital organs to prolong the suffering. We’ve watched him in action. The way the blood flies up as he jams his legs into their bodies is true artistry. Sometimes the blood sprays so high he’s able to catch it on his rough, twisted tongue.

As our name suggests, we feed off of fear, not blood. Hunt just likes the taste.

Now fully shifted, he swoops forward, his unblinking eyes meeting Githany’s horrified gaze. She screams, a gorgeous, bloodcurdling scream.

Her terrorized scent bursts outward, giving us a heady rush. We try not to notice that her terror is higher for Hunt’s demon. We will just have to use our special skills later, scaring her enough to take first place again.

“Ready for us to release her? We must warn you. She has free run of all domains. It’s possible for her to find a way intohisroom.” We plant the thought, fiendish laughter spilling outward as our excitement builds.

His body sways. “It doesn’t matter if she does. I’ll track her down there just like I did here. I always succeed in my hunts.”

Githany

Where Hunt just stood, a creature of indescribable terror is now staring down at me. Not exactly a snake, not a spider either, but some alien mix of both. Rearing up on his winding body makes him staggeringly tall. The smallest trace of a man’s form remains from his torso up. But Hunt’s mask is gone, and a monster’s face has taken its place. Countless eyes lock onto me. My stomach churns, buckling with nausea as I remain trapped in his penetrative gaze.

A harsh grinding brings my attention to his smiling mouth. A deadly display of serrated blade-like points. They remind me of the chainsaw he carried before.

Hunt’s skin turns silver and blue to green, brown, and back again.

“Camouflage.” He smirks. His sharp smileis all-consuming. Hunt unwinds again, letting the four pointed legs split off from his snake half. I’m locked into those glistening black eyes as he raises on his front serpentine trunk, lifting his body over his head until the four other legs are tucked in close to his body. All that’s left is a single thick pillar and a face staring down. He mottles the colors on his supporting leg until it matches the bark of a tree.

This is nightmare fuel. All those eyes watching from above.

“By the time they figure out I’m hovering over them in the forest, it’s already too late.”

His body whips back down, slamming into the ground in a flash of movement that happens faster than I can shift away. Those other four legs wrap punishingly around me, rivaling the pressure from the glass box.

The supporting body slithers forward, constricting me alongside the smaller appendages.

His teeth graze my cheek as he lowers himself to whisper in my ear. “Beware the trees, Githany.” He releases me, giving me a forceful shove away from him as his legs once again wrap around his body, returning it to a single unit. “Your hunt has already begun.”

My brain is still stuck on the demonic face. I fight to keep him in my sights as my body acts on its own. My gaze is the last to leave as I twist away from Madness and Hunt. There’s a new black curtain only a few feet ahead.

Madness’s cackle follows me as I duck beneath the fabric. The sound is far deeper in his dark form. “Try not to die, Githany. Gator will be disappointed if he doesn’t get his turn.”

The funhouse and forest have fused together to create a room with no ceiling and no visible end. A carousel with flashing golden lights plays a rundown tune. A nest of vines have overtaken most of the horses and their poles. The repetitive jerkiness of the machinery shows a willingness to spin as designed. The greenery keeps it firmly rooted to its spot.

An oversized jack-in-the-box springs from a neon-yellow crate to my left, sending me jerking to the right. It’s pale painted face has been torn open. Branches extend from the eyes and mouth. A warped laughter is accompanied by the jingling of its blue and white jester hat. The body rocks forward, gloved hands reaching for me.

Traces of Madness and Hunt continue their war for space. An animatronic clown wrestles with the thorny vines of a blackberry bush, its knife-wielding arm jerky with the inability to raise itself as high as its programming desires.