Page 57 of Fed By Fear

“Distract her. We may have to sedate her until we can get her somewhere isolated.”

“There’s no time for that.” Githany’s voice snags all of our attention. Elegant fingers with nails like knives reach toward the nearest wall. Her body shakes. The walls tremble.

With a primal shriek, the room implodes. As the rubble clears, the Reaper’s Playroom ticket line comes into focus. Dozens of terrified haunted-house customers gapeat the newly formed hole in the outer wall. Githany just ripped through our domains and tore an opening into the real world.

“We should stop her.” It’s a logical thought. I speak the words, but take no action to do so. I’m too hypnotized by Githany. Her movements, slow and powerful. She strides into the night like a deity, arms outstretched, jaw hanging wide.

The world moves in slow motion, her blue glow like an angel’s light. The deepest, most earth-rattling growl I’ve experienced in all my time amongst the damned thunders out of her.

The bodies start flying.

She sucks in the first group of four guests and all three employees without a fight. Their deaths are mercifully fast. The rest are hauled to her from inside the haunted house and outside the building. Bodies launch through open doorways and crash through walls. Mangled, screaming. The trail of humans grows until they’re circling above Githany, broken bodies soaring around her as she slurps up one and then the next, making her way through every person.

There are dozens, maybe hundreds of victims. I’m starstruck. Too stunned to move. All three of us stand there, admiring our vicious little monster.

This is not like anything I’ve encountered.

It takes more than an hour for Githany to get her fill.

The final few bodies are completely pulverized by the time they sink into her open mouth. Who knows how far her power reached? Did they come from miles or towns away? Fragments of metal and wood jut from their skeletons. She’s pulled them through homes, cars, trees, walls. I’m mesmerized by the magnitude of her strength, ready to fall on my knees and kiss her bloody feet.

An eerie silence dwells over the ruins of Reaper’s Playroom. I can’t detect a single living being anywhere nearby. The three of us remain still, sharing in our shock and awe of the woman we’ve chosen to make ours.

Githany turns, laying a hand on her stomach. “I think I overate.”

Epilogue

Githany

I help all my monsters with their tasks. When Madness is tormenting his prey, I’m close by to plant the seeds of doubt. “He’s not real. There’s no one there. You have nothing to be afraid of.” I say it with such conviction. Even as Madness’s eyes glow from right over their shoulders. Teeth shining, mouths hinged wide. At some point the poor victim clings to me, begging me to make it stop. In those final breaking moments, I acknowledge his existence. By then, it’s far too late for them to escape.

It turns out I have a knack for driving people insane.

My act for Gator takes me to the water. A drowning woman is easy bait. “Help me. It’s going to get me. I can’t swim.” It doesn’t matter if they’re in a boat, on the shore, or hanging out of a balcony. Theyalwaysjump in the water. A man’s hero complex trumps his common sense every time.Gator prefers men. Says they’re a meatier mouthful. The perfect fit for his elongated jaws.

The water is like a second home to me now. I swim in circles, swirling their blood through the wake. Tasting their deaths.

My monsters’ cocks never fit quite as perfectly as they do the moment they’ve finished gorging themselves on fear. It gets me wet every time, seeing remnants of victims in their teeth.

Assisting Hunt may be my favorite. Maybe it’s the trees. I often desire to grow roots. Bury myself deep in the dirt. Let the earth swallow me whole. Lying here, beneath the moon. The wind whispers through the trees. Without my soul, I can hear each word.

Tonight’s carefully chosen location is a closed trailhead in the Appalachian Mountains. It was deemed too dangerous. The postedDo Not Entersign is catnip for thrill-seekers. The people who wander through here are strong, stubborn with the need to prove themselves. It makes them fight harder and for longer.

I never intervene at the beginning of the night. Six to eight hours of wandering off the trail seems to put them in a desperate enough place to satisfy Hunt. Watching them trekking in circles, muttering to themselves, cursing their choices, brings a smile to my face.

Hunt observes it all. I stroke every tree as I pass. The subtle shiver when I touch one of Hunt’s legs gives me a wicked satisfaction. Of course I recognize his legs and how they differ from the real tree trunks. I enjoy the feeling of frustration that builds in the air when I rub my fingers across the rough bark of every tree surrounding Hunt, intentionally passing him by. When I do finally show himsome physical affection, he almost always makes a sound. My silent, perfect hunter, breaking protocol and centuries of refined skill all because he’s desperate for my touch.

I like having complete control over my monsters.

For all the souls I’ve consumed, you’d think I may have a shred of my own, but no. Devouring souls doesn’t give me any trace of my former humanity. Nothing from the person’s past or present sticks around. I live for sensations now. Hungry, full, horny, satiated. It’s pretty similar to most humans, minus the crying and somber bits of life. At least I think it is. My affiliate marketing life is such a distant memory.

Hunt’s victim this evening is quick on his feet. I do love an athletic feast. He’s running so fast that the width of his gait nearly defies human logic. Hunt must have revealed his true form early. That look of sheer terror is my cue to join in.

“Hey! Over here!” I wave my arms.

The man skids to a stop, making a sharp left and tearing a path toward me.

The ground shudders with Hunt’s approach.