by Murr
Blood, meat… the feeding… The cravings…
I felt incredibly self-conscious, but at least I wasn’t wearing what Brenda had on, I told myself. If we stayed together, she was bound to get all the attention from the male population, who’d ignore me and make straight for the woman who was in what appeared to be little more than a pink satin nightie. It might have been for all I knew. Would cut out the middle man later anyway, save her the trouble of putting that on for bed. If she even wore anything at all, and if she planned on being alone of course – which, knowing Brenda, she probably didn’t.
She assured me, as we got out of the taxi, that very little had changed. And she was right; it was the same old, same old. Apart from the fact that I had become, y’know, old. Oh, I realise if I’d said that to someone in their 30s or 40s, or even mum and dad’s age, they’d have punched me in the face. But compared to a lot of the punters out there, I felt positively ancient – even if I didn’t look it. There were still some, however, like Brenda, who hadn’t chosen the quiet life yet – or it hadn’t chosen them, one or the other. Especially if you knew where to go, knew the route these days as my best friend clearly did.
I didn’t start to loosen up until we’d hit the third place, not really. I didn’t even have a drink in the first one, just diet coke – wanted to keep my wits about me because, well, someone probably should the way Brenda was downing those vodkas. But when I did have my first Bacardi – a large one, I was told – I did start to feel a little better, I have to admit. It always took the edge off back in the day, I’d just gotten out of the habit I guess – or didn’t want to become too reliant on it, especially when I began to have my suspicions about Gav.
I’d only had a couple before I began to feel its effects, as out of practice as I was. I wasn’t paralytic or anything, just nicely by that time. In spite of my protests, and refusing to get up there myself, Brenda was on the dance floor throwing some shapes – some very odd ones, it had to be said – much to the amusement of a handful of youngsters, and the delight of a couple of guys who looked about our age. They were ogling her as she gyrated, no doubt wishing she had a pole she could swing around.
That was where I met…him. I couldn’t tell you his name, because I don’t think he ever gave me it, or I simply don’t remember. It’s hard enough trying to picture his face, and even then I’m not sure I’m remembering it correctly; the features swimming. Everything’s a bit hazy from then onwards, you see. I do remember, after the initial awkwardness, us chatting like I’d known him for years. I was well aware that I’d been down that road before, but for some reason I didn’t seem to give a crap that night. To me, he seemed perfect. I think I let him buy me a drink, maybe even two – and then suddenly I was kissing him. Falling into him, losing myself. It just seemed like the right thing to do, the only thing to do. More drinks, more kissing and–
The next thing I knew I was in bed at home. It was morning, and light was streaming in through the window, hurting my eyes. I had one sheet over me, but was naked underneath it. And I was alone.
I struggled to remember what had happened the night before, recalled meeting someone – Mr Perfect, Mr Right? – but not a lot after that. Had he come back here with me? I hadn’t done something like that since my first year at uni, not since Gav came along, for obvious reasons… Was the guy still around, maybe in the loo or having a shower or something? I sat up and cocked an ear but there were no sounds coming from down the hallway. I called out, not his name because like I said I didn’t know that – just hello. Nothing. My dress and my underwear were scattered across the bedroom floor, like I’d been in a hurry to get them off; not folded neatly like I usually did over the chair at the dresser. My mobile was on the bedside table, switched off, which I never do, and when I turned it back on again I saw a handful of messages from Brenda.
Hope U havin’ a gr8 time – said one.
Just wat u needed – said another.
And a message that morning wanting me to call her, perhaps meet up for coffee later in the day…if I didn’t have other plans, that was. I frowned, rubbing my forehead as I sat there leaning against the pillows. Mr Right? More like Mr Fucking Right Now! A one night stand, an easy lay, whatever… and he’d bailed. I had no number for him, no way of getting in touch; not even his bloody name. How could I have been so stupid?
That was the first time I cried about this whole thing, and they were different to the tears I’d shed over Gav and his tart. Did I feel different even then? I felt used… and I suppose I had been. Definitely had been, looking back. If what had happened had happened, then I should really have gone and got the morning after pill – but I didn’t think I needed it. Gav had insisted I take regular steps to ensure that wasn’t an issue early on in our relationship, but then nothing’s ever 100% effective – especially when you’re dealing with something that…
Anyway, I was still in a bit of a state when I met Brenda, not that she seemed to see it. Sensitivity’s never really been her strong suit.
“You dark horse you,” was the first thing she said as we sat down in the coffee shop with our cappuccinos. “All that talk about not… And then you–”
“Brenda, please.”
“Got luckier than I did, sadly. So, how was he?”
“God, I can’t even…”
“That good, eh?”
“I… Look, I don’t remember.”
Brenda stared at me then as if to say: how? “You weren’t that far gone when you left, were you? What happened, did you have a few back at his place?”
“I…” All I could do was shake my head. “Why did I do that? Why did I go off like that with a complete and utter stranger?” Even as I said the words, I remembered that he hadn’t seemed like a stranger at the time. That he’d had an…effect on me. Brenda would have just called it charm – but it was more than that.
“You were adamant it’s what you wanted,” Bren promised me, taking a sip of her coffee. “Came and found me, said you’d met a bloke and you were heading off.”
“Jesus… I don’t remember any of that.” A thought suddenly occurred to me. “You don’t think there’s a chance I might have been…”
“What, roofied? Like I say, you didn’t look that out of it to me. We’ve both seen girls that’s happened to, at uni, remember?”
It was true, we had seen a few of those. Girls we’d managed to get away from guys we were pretty sure had drugged them; some could barely walk, others were throwing up for England. So, just my stupid impaired judgment then… If only I could remember!
But I couldn’t dredge the memories up at all. It was like trying to grab on to fog, nothing would stay for long – and I have to wonder now whether that’s another side-effect of what happened to me. What he put inside me.
I’ve tried to figure out why, I really have. Was it some kind of survival thing? I’ve seen that on nature programmes. Or the opposite: once he’d done what he’d done, did he then die himself? Was that his sole purpose? I have absolutely no idea… All I know is the end result of that night, which I discovered when I didn’t come on the following month. I dismissed it at first, as you do when you’re trying to pretend something isn’t happening. But when I was really late, I got myself a home test and did that.
Then I did another. And another… Every time it came up with those two red lines. Still I couldn’t believe it, so I went to the doctor and she confirmed that yes, in spite of the fact I really shouldn’t be, I was “with child”. I left the clinic and started crying as soon as I got inside my car.
No use crying over spilt milk…
So, there could be no denying the fact. The question was what to do about it? I’d be lying if I said it didn’t cross my mind to have a termination. I could barely look after myself, let alone a baby – and I was on my own now that Gav…
That was a point, what if it was Gav’s? I certainly couldn’t rule that out – not back then, though I know different now. Did he deserve to be a father, would he even wan
t to be now that he had that harpy? We’d never really discussed kids, not seriously – only in that “some day, maybe” way people do. If anything, the amount mum and dad kept going on about starting a family was enough to put us both off the notion. I couldn’t put anything off after that, though, could I?
I even got as far as booking an appointment, getting in the car to go to it – but in the end I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Knowing what I do now, I don’t think it would have let me anyway; would have found a way to stop me, some kind of pain. In the same way that it won’t leave me alone until it gets what it wants from me, what it needs…
I told Brenda first, of course, who sat down on the sofa in my flat and let out a long breath. She asked me what I was going to do and I told her the truth, that I had absolutely no idea.
“Holy shit, this is huge!” she said then, which didn’t exactly do much to calm me down. “You think it might be… y’know, that guy’s?”
Mr Perfect? Mr Fucking Right?
I shrugged. “Fifty-fifty at this point.”
“Holy shit,” repeated Brenda. I think the shock of it was not only because she was scared for me, but also because it made her think about herself. That it could happen to her, if she wasn’t careful. “So he probably didn’t…y’know, wear protection,” she said eventually.
Almost certainly not. But I hadn’t caught anything, that much I did know from the doctor’s tests – and I was lucky, actually. Hadn’t caught anything… except for what was inside. Or maybe it had caught me?
“When are you going to tell your folks?” she said next.
I bit my lip. Wasn’t even sure I was going to, but I knew I probably should – apart from anything I was going to need the support, financially if nothing else. I also knew that before long it would get hard to conceal, so I bit the bullet instead and called them.
“Oh love,” said my mum. “Who’s the father?”
“I… He’s no longer around,” I told her. Wasn’t exactly a lie; whether it was Gav or Mr Right, neither of them were exactly banging down my door.
“A rebound thing? Oh love,” my mum said again. “I don’t know whatever your dad’s going to make of this.”
I did. I knew exactly what he’d make of it, what he’d think of me… I could picture his face even as mum gave him the joyful news.
Turned out they were nothing but supportive, once the dust had settled, offered to go with me to appointments and scans, even though they lived quite far away. I was their little girl when it came right down to it, and I was finally giving them that grandchild they so craved.
The cravings. The feeding…
I even thought about asking mum for advice about that. About those strange urges I was beginning to get. Like when I’d go to do the shopping, pushing my trolley around the supermarket – pausing at the meat counter and gazing at all that food… Uncooked, but it looked perfect to me.
Perfect, right…. Mr Right…
One time I could have eaten the whole lot there and then. I think I even started drooling looking at the stuff through the glass. I shook my head though and walked off, put my other shopping through the till – the fresh fruit and veg I’d been told I needed to keep my vitamins up, and there was no way like the natural way. Like nature… Nurture.
Problem was I would just puke it all back up again. In fact there wasn’t that much I could tolerate, not regular food anyway. All pretty normal – morning sickness, except they don’t tell you it lasts all friggin’ day. Morning, evening and noon sickness it should be called.
Throwing up for England.
Same with the meat. I went away and looked it up. Cravings are just the body’s way of telling you it’s deficient in something. Like with coal, it’s lack of iron. Pickles, low salt levels. And dairy, that’s low levels of calcium. See? All normal. Red meat was blood cell growth, I read. Has high levels of vitamin B6 – whatever that is – which is important for blood–
The blood, the meat…
–cell growth. Shouldn’t eat it raw, mind. That’s a no-no. You could catch all sorts, pass it on to the… It’s a fairly common craving. You shouldn’t give in to it, though. You really shouldn’t. But, it’s like I said, the hunger – that’s the worst part. The need for it. I was even dreaming about it, having fucking nightmares for Heaven’s sake! The only way to get it all to go away was to buy some, to eat it. Dear God, that felt good… Didn’t last for long though, because that bastard thing inside me would leach (leech?) all the goodness from the meal. Leave me feeling empty again, ironically, as it demanded more and more.
Ranting and raving.
I stopped thinking about it as a baby, if I ever had done. It was just this thing, this… this parasite worming around inside of me, like the thing that had wormed its way inside me in the first place and put it there. No different.
At one of the early scans, which mum and dad came to, they could both see my face when I looked at the screen.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” asked dad.
“Can’t… can’t you see that?” I said.
“See what?”
“That!”
“It’s a little difficult to make out,” mum said then. “But yes, there it is – there’s the head, the body.”
I gaped at them, then at the person doing the scan. None of them could see it, they really couldn’t. None of them could see what I was seeing. Just a healthy baby, not a… not that creature. The worm, the leech.
With child… No. With…something else.
I knew what they’d say, though, if I said anything. “You’ve got to give it time, for the bond to form – the connection.” Oh, there was a connection there all right! The bond had already formed. I just wanted it out of me.
Either that or they’d say it was one of my moods, my depression – which pregnancy can trigger, I know. Another episode, like those I used to suffer from when I was young.
An episode? Would an episode make you do the things I’ve done? Force you to do such horrible…
Losing myself…
Because the raw meat from the supermarket, from the butchers, soon wasn’t enough for it. The pain, the cravings grew worse and worse. Nothing could fill me, could fill it. And I was so tired all the time, from the dreams, from the torture that meant I couldn’t even lie in bed without it hurting.
I thought about just cutting it out. Even grabbed a kitchen knife at one point and was about to stab it into my stomach, but a bolt of sheer agony stopped me. Saw me passing out on the floor. There was no way it would let me do that, its bond – connection – a defence mechanism as well. In control of my body, changing my body.
Not only would it not let me kill it, but it also wouldn’t leave me be until I gave it what it wanted.
The blood, the feeding… the cravings…
The first time was just another stranger. Someone walking his dog on the street as I drove round them late at night. All I had to do was pull over, ask for directions – who was going to think I was up to no good? And then… let the Midazolam do its work, injected into his neck (it’s amazing what you can get hold of working at the dentists, a forged form here and there; Dr Mel’s prescription). Then it was just a case of bundling him into the back seat, leaving that yapping dog behind.
I took him to a place I’d found, an old abandoned warehouse that not even the druggies used anymore. Laid him out on the plastic sheeting I’d brought with me. He was more or less starting to come round by then, so I found a use for that kitchen knife. Opened his coat and shirt, found a home for it in his chest. “I’m… I’m sorry,” I said to him as I did it, and he gurgled something back.
Blood pumped out, pooling on that chest. I paced my hand on it. Felt the warmness. Wanted to lick it, slurp it greedily into my mouth.
No. I didn’t want any of that. Wasn’t me – wasn’t my idea. It was that thing’s – the pain, the dreams. Telling me what to do, changing me, controlling me. I have to remember that, if nothing else… It wanted fresh blood
, fresh food. Only that would do. I tried to block it all out, what I was doing – but unlike the night this monster found its way inside me, I actually mentally recorded every minute of the feed: stripping him, putting the knife – the carving knife – to use again. Gnawing on him almost to the bone, even though it made me feel sick. Well, sick and satisfied at the same time. It was filling me up, but at the same time it was only food for that thing. Would only satisfy that for so long.
I dumped what was left of the body in the river that ran behind the warehouse – it was how they used to export stuff back in the day (meat and…) back when the warehouse was used – weighing it down with bricks. I burned the clothes in a metal bin. Then I cleaned myself up – what a mess I…it had made. Wasn’t thinking about forensics or anything like that, if I got caught then I got caught. It would put a stop to this maggot’s antics at least. Would be the only way it would stop, if they made it… if they made me.
Can’t remember if it was the creature’s idea or mine, or if there was any real difference by that point – but we struck upon the notion of hitting those pubs and clubs again next. Where I’d first come across him. Mr Right Now. With the charm.
With those eyes, those eyes that made me feel so…
Can’t speak for the stranger I picked up, but a lot of those creeps deserved what was coming to them. Ogling, wanting to feed, themselves. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so bad then, I thought, up in my head. My guts always felt bad. I always felt bad. In need.
I let them chat me up, pick me up…though never buy me anything alcoholic. Couldn’t risk the… “baby”; or rather the thing baking inside me wouldn’t risk it. Then I’d suggest we go outside, go somewhere more private I had in mind. Always ended the same way; I’d drug them – and get to work. Get rid of the evidence afterwards. All that blood…
Painting the town red.
On one occasion, the guy got quite rough and I thought I wasn’t going to be able to dose him in time. As he pawed me, kissing and groping – not seeming to care about my bump, which was getting quite pronounced and had to be hidden by looser and looser clothing as I continued to…hunt – I thought I saw his face, Mr Right’s. Heard him saying to me as he held me down on my bed, climaxing:
