Broken Hourglass

Henry Bennet rode along the freeway, humming along to the radio. The sky was dark, but a sliver of light glowed on the horizon. The world was coated in a thin dusting of snow. The streets were fairly empty at this time of day, the morning rush wouldn’t be up for a few more hours. He ran through the day's curriculum in an effort to fill the time. They’d been reading 1984 for a while now, there'll be a test today. Henry inwardly doubted many would do well on this one, their participation had been spotty at best. Still, there’s always some that do their work. He wasn’t even at school yet and he already wanted the day to be over. Katie had a stomach bug, couldn’t go to school. Joanna was home with her, but he wanted to be as well. Maybe his sophomore class could-

An owl slammed into the windshield. He can’t see. It’s sliding. What’s happening Katie-

There was an ear wrenching noise and the world went black

Things came into a strange focus. Everything had a film of red. He was suspended upside down, hanging by his seat belt. His head was sitting at a strange angle. Painless, but completely paralyzed. It seems the radio was still intact, though it had changed stations. Tinny jazz resonated in his skull, the trumpets blaring the loudest. Over the noise, he heard another car drive up to the sight of the crash. Through the smashed window, he could see a gleam of silver. A young girl emerged, one with white skin and hair. She came up to the side of the wreck, not saying a word. The last notes of the song faded out, and a voice came through.

“It seems like we’re having some technical difficulties. Stay tuned for more. In the meantime, here’s our lucky caller!” His phone buzzed from the crumpled roof. “Henry Bennet everyone! It seems this schoolteacher had a close encounter of the Bird kind haha.”

She stared through the hole where the window used to be. Grime marred her porcelain skin. Her presence stole any warmth from the atmosphere. They locked eyes, brown meeting black. Her hands were tiny, wrists carved with unintelligible runes. Reaching out, she placed an icy hand on Henry’s cheek.

When she moved away, he realized he was staring at his own dead body. There was no denying it was himself. Short brown hair, stout frame, his clothes. He had been wearing one of his favorite ties today, a pink one Katie got for him. The pattern was marred by the blood dripping down his face.

“What’s this? I’ve just received a word from the higher-ups. Oh no, It seems that Henry here isn’t eligible for our program. Don’t worry, We’ve sent out a representative to rectify the situation. Onto our next lucky caller!”

It sputtered out into a buzz of static. She looked at her hand in alarm, then back at his body. For a moment, she reminded him of Katie, of the look she had when facing a particularly difficult problem. That spark of humanity faded from her glassy voids, a look of determination crossing her face in its stead. She placed her hand back on his cheek.

The world stuttered

He woke up in a hospital. An IV pumped fluids into his hand. Katie and Joanna were at his bedside. Everything felt fuzzy, with a strange pressure in his head. As soon as they saw he was awake they lightened in relief. The doctor entered the room, having been alerted to his waking. She explained that he’d been involved in a crash and had been unconscious for a few hours. He’d suffered a head wound, concussion, and minor lacerations.

Eventually, he was discharged with orders to rest, keep his cuts clean, and to let them know if he starts showing abnormal symptoms. Joanna drove them home, Henry sitting with Katie in the back seat. Her face was pale and she looked a little queasy, but she still filled the silence with bubbly chatter. Normally, hearing her ramble about her passions filled him with warmth. Now though, they were driving an icepick into his skull. It was probably the concussion. So, he sat there in silence, not really listening to her. The drugs still in his system kept him from feeling much of anything. In the past, he’d wondered how he’d react to a near-death experience. He’d thought of many possibilities, but he hadn’t thought he’d be so...empty. There was no fear, no anger, not even a change in perspective. Now that he thought about it, the only thing he was feeling was hunger. Odd, the doctors had predicted a loss of appetite.

Eventually, they pulled into their apartment complex. Joanna insisted on taking the elevator up to their floor. God, he hated the 3rd floor, all those stairs. They lived in a fairly small apartment, the same one they’d had for the last 10 years. Henry left to lay down in his bedroom. He didn’t bother turning on the light, the window giving enough. He sunk onto the bed, staring at the swirling plaster. The only thing running through his head was of what he’d seen at the crash. Black eyes were glaring through the crack in his skull.

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew the room was darker and someone was knocking on the door. Joanna came through, stress lining her face. She was still beautiful, even after all these years. The salt and pepper hair and wrinkles only added to her dignity.

“Dinner’s ready if you feel up to it.” He got up, hunger overtaking his swimming head. He winced a little at the lights in the kitchen. They seemed brighter than normal. He sat at the table next to Katie, where his plate had already been prepared. She’d made spaghetti and meatballs, one of his favorites. Something still felt off, but he brushed that aside as a side effect of the concussion. They dug in, his desire overriding decorum. It didn’t taste like it normally did. The pasta was heavy and tasteless, and the sauce was sharp and bitter. It didn’t even feel like food. That was strange, she’d had the same recipe for years. There was no sign of anything wrong on their faces, they were both enjoying it. He made an effort to control his face as he shoved a meatball into his mouth. That was good, really good. He’d never been too big a fan of red meat, but at the moment the meatball was the best thing he’d ever tasted. Still, it felt overcooked, despite the fact that he could see that it wasn’t. Everything about that was weird, but he was too hungry to stop. Every mouthful of pasta forced down his throat only seemed to make it worse. The meat helped a little, but there weren't enough to take the hunger. He took another serving, taking more meat than pasta. Normally, that would have been enough to sate him. In fact, he felt uncomfortably full. Still, his mind told him he was empty. It wanted to keep going, despite the pressure in his stomach.

Henry told them he was going to bed, putting his plate in the sink. Body overfilled, mind painfully empty. He laid down on their bed, reflecting on the day's events. The drugs were draining from his system, pain creeping in the back of his head, waiting to strike. He needed to tell the school that he’d be out for a while, but the idea of looking at a screen made him want to vomit. He’ll do it later. The sun was setting, casting the room in red light. Trying to think about his curriculum only make the encroaching headache worse. For a while, he weighed the discomfort of moving vs the relief of medication. Eventually, the drugs won out. Moving made his head swim and stomach turn, but he pushed through it with the promise of meds. He swayed into the bathroom, keeping the lights off. That made it difficult to see, but they’d replaced the bulbs in there recently and the glow would burn a hole through him. He shuffled around for the new bag from the hospital. Once it was found, he had to squint at the dose instructions. Through watering eyes, he was able to make out two pills every six hours. At least he thought that’s what it said. He popped the fairly large capsules in his mouth and washed them down with the tap. While he was up, he brushed his teeth and changed his bandaids. Jeez, he looked awful. Listless brown eyes were lined with tired circles. The normal flush of his round face was gone, the sharp lines of his wounds standing out against his skin. Looking away, he cleaned and covered them.

Henry was back in bed, the room dark. How long had he been there? Joanna came in, concern still etched on her features. She lay down next to him, curling into his side. He didn’t respond to her, simply laying still. She was warm, made him realize how cold he’d been since the crash. He didn’t bother to engage her, didn’t see a point in it. She seemed to realize he wouldn’t appreciate the tv right now. The room kept getting darker as the moon got higher. She had fallen asleep, but discomfort kept him awake. There was a sharp pain in the roof of his mouth like something was trying to burrow through it. It grew worse and worse, dividing into two distinct points. She shifted beside him, unaware of his suffering. God, she was stifling. Wait, where had that thought come from? That was a horrible way to think about a partner. The pain reached a peak, and copper flooded his mouth. He forced himself to swallow the hot fluids, tongue probing for the source. There were a pair of swollen spots on the roof of his mouth, with a ragged hole in the top. Touching them sent a spasm through his facial muscles. The pain faded like it was never there. Now that his mouth had calmed, he fell backward into unconsciousness.

Henry was woken up by a foul taste. A faint light came through the window. There’s a thin acrid liquid coating his tongue. His head was fuzzy and dull, but the pain was still kept at bay. His whole body was wracked with pins and needles. He slowly crawled away from Joanna to avoid waking her. He rinsed his mouth out in the bathroom, scrubbing his mouth to try to get rid of the foul taste. It almost felt like he’d thrown up acid in the night. That was odd, something solid would have come up if that was the case. He got cleaned up as best as he could. When he entered the kitchen, it seemed like he was the only one up. A growl ran through his stomach. It felt like he hadn’t eaten for days. He pulled open the fridge, squinting through the light. His eyes landed on a pack of raw bacon. That was what he needed right now.

He pulled it out of the fridge and grabbed a pan, setting both on the counter. The stove took a moment to light, it was getting old at this point. As soon as he slit the plastic, a wave of hunger nearly doubled him over. The raw meat smelt like the most desirable meal on the face of the earth. A wash of that acrid bile dripped on his tongue. It wasn’t as bad as the first time, seemed to accent his hunger. A strange instinct came over him as he looked at the bacon. He almost wanted to- oh, the pan’s hot. He picked up a slice, feeling the cold meat and fat sliding over his fingers. It was a fascinating texture. Even cold and packaged, it smelt good. This would make a great breakfast.

Next thing he knew, there was a cold slimy lump in his mouth. It tasted as good as it smelt. It was a big bite, but the fluids soaking in helped. He swallowed the wadded slice. An instant later, he realized what he just did. What the hell, why had he done that?! That was raw pork, he could get seriously sick from that, and now was not the time to test his immune system. That’s not right, He needed to tell Joanna what had been happening. Still, something told him he should be more alarmed about all of this. Another part told him that there was no cause for alarm, and to keep going. How would he put what he’d been feeling into words? His face was itching underneath the bandages. Henry let out a sigh and went on with the cooking. He made sure to pay more attention to his actions. He cooked half the package, putting the rest back in the fridge. The cooked stuff went onto a paper towel to drain some of the grease. While the cooked bacon was hot, it was crispier than he would have liked. Still, beggars can’t be choosers. It still tasted good, the melted fat blending with the acid in an enjoyable way. He munched absently, hunger pains soothed. It was only when greasy fingers met soaked paper that he realized he’d somehow eaten it all. How had he eaten half a pound of bacon without realizing it? And why wasn’t he full? And why were his cuts so itchy? He knew he was hungry but that was ridiculous. It struck him that his family would be able to smell the bacon and be suspicious when he couldn’t produce any. So, he cooked the rest for when they woke up. The lightening of the window told him it wouldn’t be long. He drained the remaining grease from the pan and placed it in the sink. He scrubbed the grease from his hands and face.

It didn’t take long for Katie to wake up and come to the kitchen. She was looking a lot better than she did yesterday, seems she got over her bug. She was dressed for school, dropping her glittery backpack by the counter. It was a cheap bag, but it had a pony on it and she’d fallen in love. It was a present for the new school year. Third grade already, it felt like she’d learned to walk yesterday. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, though she had missed a few strands. She took some of his offered bacon and made a bowl of cereal.

“How are you doing? Stomach feeling better?” Katie nodded through her full mouth. Once she swallowed, she replied in kind.

“How’s your head?”

“Better than yesterday. I’ll be back to nagging you about your homework in no time.”

She giggled at that before they lapsed into silence. He poked and scratched at the covered wounds whenever she wasn’t looking. She finished her breakfast and checked the clock. Only a few minutes before the bus arrived. Katie grabbed her back and jogged out the door, leaving him alone again. The plate was cooling, its scent still invading the air. He shouldn't. He really shouldn’t. He’d already had way too much, and Joanna would be up soon. He paced around the kitchen, not looking at the table. It didn’t take long for Joanna to leave the bedroom, dressed for work but still rumpled from sleep. Even after all these early days, she’s still not a morning person. She crossed the kitchen, arms encircling his chest. Heh, she’d always been cuddly when she’s tired. The contact felt nice, but the emotions normally accompanying the gesture were gone. Still, he wasn’t going to let her know about his little problem. He turned, leaning up into a chaste kiss. If she could taste the remains of his acid or binge, she didn’t say anything. She grabbed one of her meal prepped breakfasts from the fridge and ran out the door.

Now that he was truly alone, Henry could finally explore what’s been going on with his body. Starting with the lumps in his mouth. Grabbing a little bowl, he crept into the bathroom. Now that is no longer felt like his skull was splitting open, he turned on the lights. Big mistake. The light was blinding, burning a hole through his eyes. He instantly turned them off, eyes watering. It took a few minutes for his vision to go back to normal. Once he could see again, Henry pursued his task. Jeez, he looked even worse than last night. His eyes were bloodshot, pupils reduced to pinpricks despite the dim light. All the blood was drained out of his face, leaving him pale and breathless. His face looked thinner than it normally did. Corse stubble coated his chin. Cracked lips were pulled into a grimace. It was hard to judge, but there seemed to be more grey in his hair than there was the day before. He opened his mouth, finger probing its surface. He found that the lumps had become more solid, like cartilage. They twitched when poked, an intensely discomfiting sensation. Now for the actual test. He held the little bowl underneath the growths. He thought of steak, a fresh cut of meat, still hot and dripping with blood. Drip. The taste of copper on his tongue, hot liquid trickling down his throat. Joanna, wrapped around him, neck so open, so vulnerable beside him. Wait, what?

He left the train of thought behind and pulled out the bowl. It was nearly full of thin yellow fluid. The smell was intense, this concentrated. It smelt like vomit, but... Different. Normally, even a hint of that sort of smell would make him nauseous. Now though, it almost seemed to settle his stomach. It felt good to release it, lifted a pressure from his skull he hadn’t even realized was there. He left the bowl on the counter, not bothering to do anything with it. He’ll deal with it later. For now, he’s just going to look at his cuts. He peeled the sticky pads off his face, before dropping it in shock. They were gone. What had been fresh scabs was rippling red skin. It looked like a scar, not like a day old injury. He ran a finger over the itching surface, It was bumpy and peeling under his fingertips. The pressure tore up some loose skin from its surface. He pulled at the flap, ripping away the used outer layer. It came up easily, exposing smoother pink skin underneath. That got rid of most of the itching. He stared at the shredded clinging to his hands. A flake slipped between the cracks, landing in the bowl. It hissed the instant it hit the surface, bubbles forming on the shred. It was fascinating to watch the skin get eaten away. So that confirmed it was some type of acid. It was stronger than stomach acid to be sure. Venom would probably be the best word for what he was producing. He washed the rest from his hands, still staring at his sickly face. This was wrong, this shouldn’t be happening. He couldn’t muster any panic at his mutation. There was no point to it.

Leaving the bathroom behind led Henry back to the kitchen. Most of the bacon was still there. Looking at it built up more venom behind his teeth. They weren’t here, no one would know. Besides, he was hungry again. No point letting it go to waste. Instinct took over, overriding any type of restraint. He took the plate and sat underneath the table. He shoved handfuls of meat down his gullet, barely bothering to chew or taste it. The venom broke down the flesh, letting huge mouthfuls slid down his throat. Manners or discomfort meant nothing. All that mattered was sating the ache in his gut. God, that’s good. Grease and venom dripped down his face. It didn’t take long for the rest do be consumed. It took biting down onto a soggy paper towel to bring him back to reality.

He pulled it out, disgusted by the texture. He shoved the plate and towel into the trash. The weirdest thing was that despite everything, he was still feeling empty. He’d eaten a pound of bacon in under an hour but still wanted something more. If anything, the waistband of his pants was feeling looser than before. Maybe before the accident, this sort of thing would scare him, or at least inspire curiosity. Nothing about this was right, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. Pins and needles were spreading through his body, strongest at his stomach, thighs, and upper back. A strange heat came with it, sweat beading on his brow. It was slowly growing warmer, tingling heat running its fingers down his skin.

Henry glared at the dingy walls of their apartment. It was a small place shoved to the edge of a claustrophobic city. Just like everything else in the area, it was overpriced, ill-maintained, and full of far too many people. Bodies filled the complex wall to wall, all in the same situation but resenting others for being there. The walls carried noise further than a still pond. No secret could be kept for long within its walls. Most of the people in the building were the same; proud, spiteful, bitter, but would ultimately submit to the weight of the world. There were few neighbors that had been there when they’d first moved in, most apartments trading hands again and again. Neither Henry nor Joanna had high paying jobs, but she still earned more than he did. Funny isn’t it, that teachers shape the entire next generation yet get paid and respected so little? Rent would be due soon, on top of his medical bills. They wouldn’t be able to afford it, especially since he’d be unable to work for a while. Still, he supposed it didn’t really matter. They could always move.

His memory was still rather fuzzy, he didn’t remember entering Katie’s bedroom. The pink paint of the walls was much fresher than the rest of the apartment. Toys, clothes, and posters filled the room, each a testament to her life. He went deeper, intending to- crunch.

One of her toys, an “instrument” she said was called an Otamatone was snapped under his foot. Annoyance prickled at his temples. Why had she left it lying on the floor near the door? Would she ever learn to be careful with her things? Heh, annoyance. At least he was finally feeling something. He considered cleaning up the mess but decided against it. She’ll just have to live with it. It was her fault she left it lying around. Why had he come here anyway? It’s not like there was anything important in there.

Somehow, he ended up wandering back to their bedroom. He stared at Joanna’s side, at her bookshelf, her nightstand, her dresser. She’d left her nightgown balled up on the bedspread. He ran his fingertips over its surface, blue cotton soft and cold. Picking it up, he meant to put it with the rest of her laundry. Something stopping him from letting go. It felt so nice, he could smell traces of her presence in the cloth. He pressed it to his face, taking in Joanna’s scent. That subtle mix of apple shampoo and sweat soaked into his brain. He could feel venom building behind his teeth. He wanted her here, wanted to experience her entirety. Even now, he could feel pressure building somewhere else as well. It was easy to picture, Joanna, lying prone beneath him, begging for him to- for, him to. What she was begging for, he didn’t quite want to think about. Was it to keep going, or was it to stop? He’s getting hungry again.

He left the bed behind, having to hoist up his pants as he did so. That was strange, he’s wearing a belt. Henry arched his spine, before being frozen by a bolt of lightning running down his back. Pain radiated from his shoulder blades like both arms had been dislocated. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The pain faded, leaving him crumpled on the floor. His jaw ached where it’d hit the ground. It fled as soon as it came, leaving no trace save his ragged breaths. The hunger reared its ugly head, body seeming determined to keep him miserable. He slowly made his way upwards, keeping his shoulders hunched to try to prevent any further pain. As he rose, he noticed something strange about his pants. They were struggling to stay up, despite the fact that he was wearing a belt. Pulling at it, the belt was loose, to the point where he had to slid it two notches tighter to get them to stay up. Looking closer, his stomach and thighs looked smaller than they had been. Rubbing at his sore jaw, his finger brushed against his teeth. He’d never liked his teeth, a lot of them were crooked. They didn’t have the money to fix them and there’s no way in hell he’d get braces while in his teaching career. He got so little respect from his students as is. The more his thought about it, the less he liked them. He wasn’t sure why that of all things bothered him now. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with his teeth. Back in the bathroom, he stared at his crooked smile. It wasn’t right, they weren’t supposed to be that way. Henry was tired of them, tired of today, tired of everything. It was a crazy idea, one that he normally would have rejected instantly. Today had been far from normal. Joanna had a private drawer she kept her things in. He rummaged through it, knowing what he wanted but not where to find it. Ah, here's what he needed, what would fix his problem. He was looking down at a nail file.

Henry let the sink run, getting it as hot as he could go. He cleaned the file, readying the sharp metal surface. It rested against a front tooth, hand trembling. Once he made the first mark, there’d be no going back. This would be forever. Good. closing his eyes, he forced his hand forward. The scraping noise filled the room. A little powder flaked onto his lip. He dropped the file instantly, tongue probing the scrape. The side of the tooth was rough and off tasting. This was a monumentally stupid plan all he’d do was ruin his teeth. Ruin? No, that wasn’t the right word. An internal battle left him shaking over the sink, file suspended near the mouth yet unwilling to continue. Something had to give. He grit his teeth and ran it over the first wound. Back and forth it moved, slowly eating through the thick enamel. It was so loud, he could feel the friction resonate in his jaw. Every few minutes he had to stop and drink some water to try and drain the fallout. Sometimes it came off as powder, other times chunks of enamel would splinter off. It slowly grew into a sharp point, each rub of the file hurting a little more. Sometimes he’d hit the lumps, sending a drop of venom on the file. The pain didn’t matter, all that mattered was getting rid of the dull edges.

It took a long time to get all his front teeth sharp. He didn’t bother with the back. Every breath he took sent a pang through them. Powdery saliva rubbed against the raw edges. Near the tips, he’d worn through the enamel completely, leaving the pulp exposed. His lips and tongue were covered in powder and broken pieces of his teeth. It was well worth it when he smiled. Those points seemed to bring the world back into balance. Yes, this was closer to how he was meant to be. The contentment of his work lessened the discomfort. He ran his thumb over one, sending an ache through his jaw but splitting the skin. Perfect. He licked the cut, copper overpowering the taste of bone. Now that the more pressing issue had been dealt with, he could address the other. He’d somehow lost a noticeable amount of weight in one day despite the fact that he’d been stuffing himself. Well, that wasn’t much stranger than anything else that’d been happening. Still, it was worth noting in the long run. A weight had settled between his shoulder blades, keeping them curled inward. He wasn’t flexible enough to feel the area that the pressure came from. The veins in his face were becoming more prominent, leaving his eyes bloodshot. A growl rang through the bathroom. It was time to test out his newest development.

Henry rummaged through the fridge, trying to find something appealing. The thought of more bacon made him nauseous. Most of the contents were inedible. Eventually, he struck gold. A package of chicken breasts lay on the top shelf. Joanna was probably planning to cook that for dinner tonight. Perfect. He slid down next to the fridge, clutching his prize. It was a pack of four, fresh from the deli. Pulling apart the plastic sent a wave of savory odor through the room. Venom built up behind his teeth, waiting to be released. He took a peice, leaving a coating of cold slime on his fingers. This time there'd be no holding back. He bit into the end of the breast, releasing his venom. It ate into the meat, turning it into a sludge that easily slid down his throat. Henry lost himself in a haze of gnashing teeth and dripping juices. The hack job had been incredibly effective. Flesh shredded in his mouth, making no distinction between the chicken and his own. The hot blood mixed with cold flesh, bringing him closer to the edge. Pain was far from his consciousness. Pink slime dripped onto the tile. The deeper he went, the more copper he could taste, and the slime got redder. Something had to give.

Henry came back into focus, staring at the torn skin of his fingers. Blood dripped into a puddle on the floor. All the flesh in his mouth had been ripped to shreds. Pieces of his own skin were lodged between his teeth. Chunks of styrofoam and plastic littered the floor. The chicken felt weightless in his stomach, unsubstantial. It wasn’t enough, nothing was ever enough. Rage began to bubble in his chest. Even after everything he went through, he couldn’t find comfort in a meal. He ripped open the fridge, not caring about leaving slick on the handle. He shoved the useless clutter out of the way, searching for anything to fill the ache. He’d meant to go shopping a few days ago. There was nothing he could eat in there. The blood in his mouth only served to make him hungrier, making him taste what he couldn’t have. He grabbed a heavy glass bowl of strawberries and hurled it into the wall. The plaster broke and the bowl shattered. Thick shards of glass were sent flying from the impact. The already filthy kitchen was drenched in sugar coated glass and fruit. The anger drained from his system as he took in the damage he’d done. Joanna, he needed Joanna. He ran from the room, taking no notice of the glass underfoot. Despite the broken screen, his phone still worked. The blood and slime on his hands would make that difficult. He washed his hands, not feeling the sting of the soap. Some of the deeper cuts were still oozing red. That gave him an opportunity to try and think rationally. He needed to talk to someone, needed someone else here. She’d be perfect.

He listened to it ring, waiting for her to pick up. Joanna answered, sounding frazzled from work.

“Hey, Henry. How are-“ He cut her off, voice ragged and wet around his swelling tongue.

“Something’s wrong Jo, I don’t know what’s happening. Everything hurts. I, I think I need to go back to the hospital.”

“I’ll be right there” he hung up, the screen going black. A bit of red seeped through the cracks in the glass. It was almost ready, he just needed to hold out for 20 minutes. The kitchen was unsalvageable, so he decided to wait in the bedroom. That proved to be a mistake. While he no longer had the promise of food he couldn’t have shoved in his face, it reminded him of Joanna. He’d go crazy in there. The fact that his mouth wouldn’t stop bleeding only made it worse. The promise of sustenance with no payoff was maddening. 18 minutes, and this would all be over. His clothes were loose and filthy. He left them, it didn’t matter. He waited in in the living room, watching the black tv. It was off, mind painting what he wanted to see.

16 minutes, the torn skin of his cheeks and tongue kept opening up. At least his teeth had finally gone numb. There was something lodged between them. He picked at it, pulling out a grimy chunk of plastic.

14 minutes, restless energy burned in his limbs, urging him to act. But, his mind was tired. So he stayed still.

10 minutes, his upper back was swelling. He could feel the hard lumps under the skin, getting bigger and bigger. The stretching skin was turning red. It was getting unbearably hot, sweat dripping down his face.

9 minutes, most of his body fat was gone. He could see the outline of his ribs. Pain radiated from his sunken stomach. Clothes littered the floor, too big and sticky with blood and sweat. Coarse hair coated his body, thick and dark. It felt like there was no moisture in his skin like it was going to split. He couldn’t stand up straight anymore, back swollen and heavy. There was something underneath the surface waiting to come out.

5 minutes, his nails were digging into his palms. This was taking too long, he needed her here now. It was getting hard to hold back the buildup of venom. He paced the room, glancing at the clock every few seconds. This wasn’t working, waiting here was just making every second drag by. He went to wait the rest of the time in the bathroom. When he looked in the mirror, he didn’t recognize the man staring back. Wild bloodshot eyes glared from an emaciated face. Feral gold glinted from around the pinprick pupils. Greasy brown hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. Dark veins pulsed against pale skin. His lips were covered in scrapes from his mangled teeth. His gums were inflamed, tongue and cheeks swollen. Rough stubble ran down his face and neck. A mess of drying fluids splattered his skin, most prominent around the mouth. He made a halfhearted attempt to scrub it off, but all that accomplished was making his lip bleed again. Time dissolved as he looked at that man. That wasn’t him, couldn’t be his own face. That wasn’t Henry Bennet.

Creak

“Henry? I’m home.” Finally. Now what? She’d probably be alarmed when she saw the kitchen. He had to act now. He glanced down at the counter. The bowl was still there. Perfect. He peered through the door, keeping silent. The sight of her turned back sapped the little self-control he had left.

Throwing the door open, he sprinted as fast as his bony legs would go. She turned at the sound, fear dawning on her face.

“Henry?!” The venom poured onto her face. Screams tore the quiet air in two. It hissed and bubbled, eating into her skin and eyes. Joanna crumpled to the floor, instinctively clawing at her face. All that did was start eating her hands as well. He pounced, crawling over her prone body. He ripped her shirt open, exposing her supple, tender flesh. All the pain and stress would be worth it. Her body was spasming. There was no reason to hold back now. He sunk his teeth into her stomach, fresh copper renewing his desire to eat. Venom poured into the wound, ringing another cracked screech from his prey. Chunks of fat and muscle were forced down his gullet faster than ever before. Steam rose from her exposed entrails. Those sent a quiver of pleasure through his stomach, far more satisfying than anything that came before. Blood pooled on the tiled floor. Deeper and deeper he went into her chest cavity, each mouthful taking the edge off his hunger. Both hands and face were used to force meat down his throat. For the first time since the crash, he truly felt full. That wasn’t going to stop him, not while she was still hot. At some point, she’d gone still and quiet. Once he realized she was dead, he slowed down a little. He wasn’t hungry anymore, but he couldn’t tear himself away from the body. Each mouthful built up more pressure in his stomach. Leaving behind the ravaged torso, he tore into her thigh. It was getting hard to breathe at this point. A few more mouthfuls sent cramps through his stomach. Something had to give. A tooth chipped against her femur, and something changed.

The weight on his back reached a peak and all hell broke loose. Immobilizing pain ran down his ribs and back like a shotgun. Something moved under his skin, desperate for release. The skin split, blood trickling down his back. Someone was screaming, but he didn’t know who. Bent, skinless arms burst through the holes. The air was a thousand needles stabbing into the exposed flesh. They were curled up and twitching. Scabs formed on the raw meat, spreading down his back. Muscles he’d never used twitched to life, slowing unfolding. The feeble motion cracked the scab, new material fusing it back shut. New hands came into view, fingers curled into fists. Tendons pulled at the fresh muscle, hands opening up almost painfully. Each movement split the hardened outer casing. This time, pieces would peel off, revealing angry pink skin. The new arms stretched out before him, joints popping with first-time use. He clawed at the scabs, tearing them off as fast as he could. The agony was fading to tolerable levels. He ran a hand over one of his new limbs, feeling the young uncalloused skin.

Sirens rang out through the building, steadily getting louder. Someone must have called the police. All those people crammed into his little nest. They wouldn’t just send one. They’d be armed, ready to kill him at a moment’s notice. They’d see the body, know what he’s capable of. Perfect. He sat beside the corpse, occasionally snagging a little strip of meat. All he had to do was watch and wait.