By that time, you’re halfway across the parking lot. Goody for you. Great even. I hear you squeal like a pig before slaughter.
Thirty seconds. And it’s taken you this long to get away from me?
Bodies have fallen in less than thirty seconds. Flesh has been eaten. Hands have stopped twitching. Eyelids are scooped out in no less than ten. They weigh like a stack of quarters in your hand. Think of it like a giant fish egg, like some supreme caviar. Skshh as it’s smashed between my molars. Shck shck shck as it’s chewed. Swallowed. Delicious. I remember my first time. As in the, the old man in the supermarket half an hour ago. His eyes were rheumy like cloudy glass. I tossed them from one hand to the other, like how mother would separate egg yolks.
My arms snap back in place first. Crack! Crack! Something grinds; something shifts, then pops. My shoulders roll backwards then forwards. I’m on my side facing the street. But my head faces you. My eyes watch you. Then my vision turns and I stare at the street. An invisible hand mashes me back together like an angry toddler working a puzzle. My hands straighten. Each finger bone clicks into place. Click! Click! Click! My spine shuffles, rumbles, groans. My legs shake as protruding bones slide back in as smooth butter. More crackles, snaps, and pops. My body shakes with violence. My wounds close their gaping, gummy mouths. There’s brown blood, cold marrow, spinal fluid, juices, ammonia, maggots, pus, nerve endings, and dead semen. All flowing together. Back to a single source.
When my eyes sharpen their focus, I sit up. I moan. I smile and turn sideways to watch you again. You’re at the end of the parking lot. You look at me. You shake and shout something. It sounds like OOooOoOooo. Except not quite. Let my eardrums heal. Let me hear again. NOOoOoOoooO. That’s better. Quite accurate.
My feet slide against blood and gristle. I lurch forward. I find my footing and wobble. I’m getting used to this. I laugh with my remaining vocal cords. The ones that haven’t rotted. One foot, then the next, the next, the next. Before my rotted mind can catch up, I run to meet you again.
My mouth waters and leaks like a sieve. My pain receptors have long passed away. My feet shed with every placement. Skin tears. Chunky blood flows. Skin heals. Toes break. Toes reset. A machine out of Earth. Baby, I’m coming for you.
You scream when you see me running. You’re running too. You’re running away from me. The darkness meets you after every passing streetlight. You scream. You say something.
Something.
I slow down. I don’t take breaths. Something. Something familiar.
You say it again.
Joey!
Joey? Seems forever since I’ve heard that. Something from the other side maybe. Something from that other place. That far away place.
Joey! Please stop!
Stop? What is there to stop?
I walk toward you again. My feet shuffle and I stumble. Something is wrong. Something tingles at the end of my missing fingertips. I press half a tongue against my black teeth. I look at you. I look at my hands. My hands. I turn them over to look at my palms. My palms. I look down at a body. My body. My hands touch my face.
Then you walk toward me. Me? You hesitate. Your arm is crooked. White bone and gristle shine through the skin. I did that? Me? With your other arm, you reach out. You say something again. I can’t hear. You say it quieter.
Joey. Joey.
Then I realize who you are.
I take your outstretched hand. I feel it. I run my hand over it. You bring it to my face. You brush my cheek. Then I realize how stupid you really are. I bite three of your fingers off. Blood spurts out against my mouth. Sweet. Thrilling. You scream and I delight in it. You back away and trip on the curb. Your ankle snaps.
There is something hard and cool in my mouth. I spit it out. It clinks against the ground. You scream. It goes clink, clink, clink against the sidewalk. Gold shines in the streetlight. It’s a circle. A ring.
How much more could this make sense?
I chew your fingers as you crawl away on all fours. You stumble. You’re on your back.
Crawling on your stomach. I don’t have to run. I stride to the soles of your feet. I drag
you back. You scream again.
Joey! It’s me!
Of course it’s you. I grab a fistful of your hair. I bring you to my face.
Hi honey, I say.
Then I bite your face off.
Daniel Letz was born and raised in the Blue Ridge Mountains. He teaches and writes in his free time. His other work has appeared in the Creepy Podcast.
Published 2/14/26