A scream pierced the night, jolting Marbles from his thoughts. His victim had been discovered. Marbles took off, keeping to the shadows as much as possible, as the screaming was joined by more voices and running footsteps. Adrenaline rampaged through him, as he absconded from the scene. Inner conflict plagued his mind. Marbles had always been a strong man, but right at that moment, as the power surged through his sprinting body, Marbles was several times stronger than he was in his previous life. He ran on, holding fast to that shred of reason, which prevented him from turning back. He felt that if he were to abandon his escape and head back into the town, he would have very little trouble just slaughtering everyone. Marbles was weeping as he ran, for his simple old life. At the same time, he was both seething with rage and terrified all at once. He would have to maintain a strict control over these urges, if he were to remain unobtrusive. He should have waited until later, when the streets weren’t still so crowded. Anything more than five people, to Marbles, was a crowd.
This was still all so very new to him. He was nothing of the man he used to be. When he had killed and eaten the Siamese twins, he wasn’t thinking about right or wrong. He didn’t question, or tell himself that what he was contemplating was unthinkable. His only motivation was to take the baby, escape from the hospital with his prize, and eat it the moment he was sure he was alone. It wasn’t until after that he was struck with remorse, and then again, with the doe. The predator had taken precedence, and his rational mind had taken a rest. And then once again, with the woman in the laneway. Only this time, he was aware of the pattern emerging, the feeling that takes over just before he kills. That was when things started to get a bit hazy and dreamlike, and then blank.
Leaving the outskirts of the town, Marbles relaxed his pace somewhat. Night had taken hold and he was running in darkness now. Nobody was in pursuit, and it looked like he had gotten away with yet another kill. He began to make a wide berth around the town, and continue on to his planned destination. Covered in blood, and with a full stomach, Marbles felt his hunger had finally been quelled. He was now determined to catch up with the circus, without stopping to kill again. That determination wasn’t to last very long. Marbles was going to need a clean change of clothes before he could show his face around civilisation again. Since he had no money, he had but one choice. He would have to kill once more. It would have to be a clean kill though. No blood. A quick snap of the neck, the most favourable option. The drifter was truly becoming a monster. Of course he had a choice. He didn’t necessarily have to murder somebody for their attire, but in his mind, it was the only way.
His first priority however, was to put some distance between himself and the town he’d just left. He hoped to maybe come across a traveller along the road to the next town. A long and lonely road through the picturesque countryside presented Marbles with ample places to hide a body, should he be fortunate enough to meet someone so unfortunate as to meet him. If not, he could stealthily make his way into the next town, and perhaps enter a home to acquire a new outfit. And why the hell not… maybe even stop there for a quick meal?
And there it was again. That hunger… that craving. Just to think about the taste of flesh began to hollow his gut. He slowed to a brisk walk, and tried to direct his thoughts elsewhere, to anything other than the hunger. It was at least two days walk to the next town, and there was every chance the circus may have moved on again before he caught up. That’s a long time to be battling his thoughts, and suppressing his craving. Marbles made up his mind right there. Whether the circus was still there or not, Marbles would make a meal of someone first, and then find a change of clothes. That was the most sensible plan, he thought. With a new resolve, Marbles resumed his journey at a run.
10.
Those two days on the road seemed to stretch forever. Day and night, he pressed on relentlessly, without passing a single soul. Hour by tedious hour, Marbles slowly began to mentally degenerate. He found it increasingly difficult to distract his mind from the ravenous hunger, as it began to consume him. He couldn’t allow himself to stop or rest; only continue onward, driven by his need to devour. By the time he reached the next town, that single thought was all that was left inside his head, dominating his entire being – Food.
He entered the town, a complete predator, stalking the shadows and keeping out of sight. He headed straight for the nearest house, and circled the dwelling until he found an open window. All thoughts of the circus – all thoughts of his purpose even, were gone completely from his mind, as he approached the window and peered inside. Clouds parted in the night sky, to reveal the waxing moon as it inched its way closer to full. Marbles hesitated no longer, pulling himself up and through the window, sliding silently to the floor inside.
He found himself in a child’s bedroom, and creeped quietly over to the bed. A boy, maybe ten years old, lay peacefully on his back; deep asleep and snoring lightly. Pressing down hard over the child’s mouth and nose with one huge hand, he was easily able to encircle the skinny neck with his other. The psychotic drifter squeezed hard until he felt bones snapping. The young boy was dead before he even had the chance to wake fully. Marbles abstained for the moment, as difficult as that was. He wanted to eliminate any other threat in the house, before settling down to feed. He left the room as silently as he had entered it, and made his way across the hall to another bedroom.
He stopped and turned his head to the other end of the house, noticing a dim light flickering out from another room, accompanied by a low, muffled conversation. Inching closer to the doorway of the second bedroom, he glanced inside to see another sleeping form. He chose to enter before investigating the rest of the house, and repeated the process with this next victim. This one was an adult however. It wasn’t such an easy fit around the entire neck, as big as the clown’s hands were, so Marbles dug his thumb and fingers around the larynx, crushed and tore.
As blood sprayed, the man began to convulse, shaking the bed with a god-awful racket. Marbles threw himself on top of the man, keeping him still, and his hunger took control. The blood splashed in Marbles’ face as the man gurgled his final attempts at breath, and he couldn’t help but to descend his gaping mouth around the fresh wound, tearing the man’s throat completely out. The body ceased its spasms, and Marbles chewed and ripped savagely until the head became severed, held only by the spine.
Marbles remembered the voices in the end room and reluctantly climbed off the bed, and his second victim of the night. His brain was fogged with red, and Marbles had the full mentality of a beast. All semblance of humanity had left him at this point. There was no rational thought. No logic; just the desire to devour, as he stalked down the hallway towards the flickering room. There, he found a woman sitting sideways on a big, cushy armchair with her back to the doorway, her knees tucked up to her chest, and a blanket thrown around her. She was watching the TV, oblivious to the fact that her family were now dead, and her own time on this earth was about to end abruptly and viciously.
A board creaked underfoot as Marbles stepped slowly into the room. The woman looked around with a smile, and the beginnings of a “Hello Darling” forming on her lips. All that left her mouth was a surprised gasp, and the smile turned to a look of confusion and horror. Marbles advanced quickly towards her and she jumped up out of her chair, the blanket tripping her and sending her to the floor with a painful thud. The poor woman could only make breathless gasping sounds. Her ability to cry out had escaped her, as she struggled to kick the entangled blanket free.
Just as the intruder reached her, the woman’s muscles seized in fright, and all she could do was stare wide eyed at Marbles, as he fell upon her with frenzied strikes and slashes. Fight or flight kicked in, and as a last act of self-preservation, the near hysterical woman clawed at Marbles’ face; a sharp nail piercing the bottom of his left eyelid. With an enraged howl, Marbles grabbed the offending hand and snapped it backwards, before biting down hard on her fingers, removing three of them in an exaggerated display of bl
ood. Before she had a chance to scream, he slammed his free hand down on the side of her face, yanking her head sideways with such force, her neck snapped and instantly began swelling with blood.
That was all the encouragement he needed, and Marbles ecstatically bit down on the engorged neck. The plasma erupted from her in glorious bursts of red, as her fading heart pushed it out of her in gradually decreasing spurts. This was by far the most exciting kill he had performed. He let loose all reason and all control, giving himself over to this slaughter with complete abandon. Her thin night gown in shreds, the clown tore off her right breast in his teeth with a single, violent shake of his head. With one hand, he stuffed it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing insanely, while his other hand forced its way into the exposed wound and tore downwards, opening her up like a bag of crisps.
Marbles buried his head deep in her guts and continued to gorge, until she was practically reduced to a hollowed out cadaver. There was still plenty of unblemished flesh for him to feast upon. Her plump arms and legs practically untouched, but Marbles had another two, entirely whole victims awaiting him in the other end of the house. Rising from the bloody carnage, he released another growling yell, giving no thought or care to being heard. His entire world was within this house. Nothing else existed but the remaining two objects of his bloodlust, and the monster barrelled out of the living room and back down the hallway, towards the bedrooms.
11.
More than two hours passed before Marbles finally began to return to his senses, to find himself in the boy’s room on the floor; the scattered remains of the child all around him. The absolute excess of gluttony had left him feeling bloated and listless. After two days of running, and two hours of murderous gorging, Marbles rolled off his knees and onto his back, falling into a sound sleep.
“Fuck!” Sunlight glared mercilessly through the bedroom window as Marbles sat up abruptly. He had no idea what time it was or how long he had been lying there, but it had obviously been several hours. Far too long for his liking. Anybody could have passed by the open window and witnessed the carnage that had taken place here, with a blood drenched man sleeping amongst the gore. He quickly got on all fours and crawled over to the window, releasing the Venetian blind with a relieved sigh as it dropped closed. He stared absently at the child’s ripped apart corpse, with no hint of remorse. “What’s the point in lamenting? This is what I am now. And this is only the beginning,” he thought to himself, and stood to walk out of the room.
He returned to the bedroom where the now annihilated body of the man lay, and began searching through the wardrobe for some suitable clothing. He huffed, unimpressed by the fancy looking outfits on offer.
“Shit, Marbles,” he said to himself. “Ya had to go ‘n’ pick a house full of yuppie fucks.”
He tossed what he had back in the wardrobe, slamming the doors shut, and then went to the chest of drawers to see if there was anything more to his liking. The best he could come up with was an expensive looking pair of navy blue track pants, and a selection of t-shirts in varying colours. He settled on a plain, light green shirt and took the clothes with him to the bathroom. There, he took a shower; the first shower he’d had in what he realised had been weeks. The hot water rushed over him, feeling like heaven, as the caked, dried blood and all the grime of the past several days swirled around his feet in the shower stall. He didn’t want it to end.
Showered and dressed, Marbles returned to the living room. Circling clear of the mess he had made of the woman, Marbles picked up the blanket she had been using, and sat himself down on the couch. Tearing a large strip from an untainted corner of the blanket, he reached for a bottle of bourbon from the coffee table, poured some onto the blanket strip, and began scrubbing the dried blood off his boots. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was three in the afternoon. Returning his attention to his boots, Marbles was struck with the idea to find a bag and some extra changes of clothes. He finished cleaning off the blood and put his boots on, then began to search the house for supplies. Outside, he could hear the town’s bustle, and decided he would wait until nightfall, before continuing on his way.
Back in the Master bedroom, Marbles returned to the drawers, and pulled a few of the shirts he’d found previously. He also found, in the bottom drawer, two pairs of loose-fitting khaki jeans. He removed the unnecessarily fancy track pants, and pulled on a pair of the jeans.
“Much better,” he muttered to himself and searched the rest of the drawers, retrieving two pairs of thick socks, and a dark brown sweater. He placed the clothes on the chest of drawers and went about searching for a bag, which he quickly found in the hallway closet, along with a long, dark grey duffel coat. Once packed, he decided to continue through the house, searching for nothing in particular, just browsing. A wallet and set of keys sat on the end of the kitchen bench. He picked up the keys and looked at them for a moment, before dropping them back on the bench. A car would be handy, but he figured it was best to remain on foot. The car might draw attention from neighbours, and one thing that Marbles had retained from his previous existence, was his disdain for attention. The wallet contained a substantial amount of money, and he removed it, stuffing it in his jeans pocket. He didn’t need it for food, or for lodging even, but figured the time might come when money was needed for something.
Apart from the mutilated bodies scattered throughout the house, and the smell of blood and death around him, Marbles was feeling somewhat human. He smelled fresh and wore clean clothes. His thick, brown hair combed back on his head, had grown considerably over the past few weeks. His facial stubble had become thicker, and was now turning into a substantially full beard. He certainly didn’t much resemble the Marbles of old, which he supposed was a good thing. It would add to his anonymity; as no doubt, his disappearance from the morgue, along with the Siamese twins, had prompted an enthusiastic police search. When he had awoken on the table, his hair had been wild and unkempt. His beard had been not much more than a five-day growth. In only a matter of days, his appearance had altered drastically, and now, in his new outfit and neatly groomed, he could probably walk straight into a police station without raising the slightest suspicion. Marbles smiled with satisfaction, and returned to the living room, to sit and wait for nightfall.
As he waited, Marbles was deep in thought. He was reminiscing over his old life; the circus, the acquaintances and yes, though he scowled as he admitted it, friends he had made in his employment. The Ringmaster, Johann had been good to him, even in his debilitation after the attack in the woods. That feral child was the reason Marbles now sat here, surrounded by death and dangerously close to feeling hungry again. He looked down at his hand where the bite had occurred. It seemed a lifetime ago since the encounter. Well damn; technically, it was a lifetime ago. He turned his hands over and over thoughtfully, surprised by the amount of hair he now had on his forearms, which made its way down the backs of his hands, thinning out to a fine, dark fuzz that ended just short of his knuckles. He hadn’t really paid any attention until then. He never used to be an overtly hairy individual, so this, he felt to be quite odd indeed. In fact, the longer he sat and mused, the more bizarre his entire situation became to him. He had grown accustomed to the smell of death, the unusual thickness of all of his hair, even the red tinge to his vision, which became suddenly more pronounced as his attention was drawn to it.
Marbles got up and walked to the bathroom. He studied his features in the full mirror on the back of the door, barely recognising the man staring back at him.
“Shit, ay? I scrub up alright for a fucking monster hahaha!” He laughed aloud at his morbid observation, and went to gather his ill-gotten belongings. The sun had dropped below the rooftops outside, and the house had become dark. It was time to move on. Picking up the bag and swinging it onto his back, Marbles’ stomach gave a gurgle of protest. He looked at the hollow woman on the floor and licked his lips; an idea formed in his mind. He went to the kitchen and found a good sharp knife, opened th
e freezer and found two frozen ice packs, which he placed in his bag. Returning to the corpse, he squatted and sliced off several fillets of thigh flesh, careful not to bloody his clean clothes. He then sandwiched them neatly between the ice packs in the bag, and tossed the knife on the floor. He wouldn’t be needing any weapons. Marbles was a weapon.
12.
Stepping out into the fresh, warm evening air and leaving the back door ajar, the murderous drifter crossed the yard, and leaped over the fence with an agility that surprised him. It stood nearly six feet high, and Marbles had barely touched it in his attempt. A quiet laneway ran in both directions behind the house, and he immediately broke into a swift jog. The moon had risen up ahead, so he kept his eyes locked on her beautiful radiance as he moved down the lane effortlessly. Two-thirds full, he could physically feel her power and influence, pulling him along as though he were on autopilot.
Everything about him felt immeasurably stronger. Even the hair on his head, face and body exuded power, as though it were pushing its way forcefully through the follicles as he ran. Faster and faster, he ran without any increase of exertion at all. His breathing even and unlaboured, his blood pumping rhythmically through his veins. Marbles had never felt as alive as he did at that moment. A myriad of thoughts raced right alongside him. One thought in particular surfaced to take dominance. In order for Marbles to feel so alive, innocent people will have to die. Where this thought would have, at one time, disturbed and saddened him greatly, now it was making him smile. The horror and self-disgust he had felt after eating the Siamese twins, and the uneasiness he had felt as he became aware of the change coming over him with the woman in the alley, were now fated to remain in his past. Marbles had begun to enjoy the killing. He viewed it as a sport now; an endless playing field, where he was free to do as he chose; to kill without mercy or remorse and above all, to feed. This last aspect had grown in importance, shadowing every other emotion - every other need, until his entire world began to revolve around his next kill and the satisfaction it would bring.
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