Reading📚: (1) ᏕᎮᎧᎧᏦᎩ ᏕᏖᎧᏒᎥᏋᏕ

The Hunger House When Shannon came back that Friday night or early Saturday morning, as was actually the case-her eyes were unblinking, her normally smiling, rosy face pallid. Her sandals were gone, bare feet were muddy. I looked up from my term paper on Beowulf. "Another interesting night?" She padded to the window, and stared through it, seemingly at nothing. She left dirty footprints on our dorm room floor. "I just swept," I muttered. That's when I noticed the blood on the back of her nearest hand, crusted in the crevices between her fingers and under her nails. "Did you try to take the shortcut through the woods again?" Shannon had come back scratched up before after getting lost in the dark, forced to forge her own trail through the brambly underbrush. She looked unusually grim tonight, though. I felt slightly uneasy myself. A storm was cooking, and humidity had spiked since midnight. Her blank expression snapped into a smile. "Yeah," she laughed. "And someone made off with my shoes at Mike's because I guess they thought they were theirs. I need a shower." She left before I could respond. I returned to my paper. The crack of thunder jerked me from sleep. It was so dark and stormy that I thought it must still be the middle of the night, but my watch read just past eight o'clock. I had fallen asleep to the side of my computer, not quite done with my paper. Grendel as the physical manifestation of Beowulf's inner beast came back to me. I still had plenty of time to finish before the noon deadline. Shannon was already awake, reading her psychology textbook in bed with a highlighter in one hand, the cap clutched between her teeth. I must have dozed off before she returned from the shower the night before. "Little adventure last night, huh?" I asked, stretching my back. She grinned. "I got lost in the woods and accidentally ended up at the Hunger House." I waited for more, but she returned to her reading, highlighting a passage. "And? When you came back you were kind of strange. Was it creepy?" "Yeah," she replied. "Sorry---I have to get this reading done." She bent her head to the textbook in her lap. I couldn't remember the last time Shannon had ever preferred classwork to recounting her nighttime exploits. Beowulf crevices brambly exploits clutched

I turned to my computer to touch the mouse, bringing the dark screen to life. I gasped, illuminated by the bright monitor, a streak of dried blood like an angry hand dragged across my paper. Flakes chipped off the screen when I touched it. "That dark-death shadow," I had quoted, visible beneath the smear, "who lurked and swooped in the long nights on the misty moors; nobody knows where these reavers from hell roam on their errands." "Shannon," I started, pointing to my screen. Lightening flared through the drapes, thunder clamoring on its heels. The smile slid off Shannon's face when she saw the blistered scab of blood. "I have to go back to the Hunger House," she said. "What happened last night?" I demanded. My uneasiness turned to sickly dread. "I didn't do this." When she still didn't respond, I practically sobbed, "This is weird. What happened?" Shannon stood. Still in her pajamas and shoeless, she wrenched the door open to leave the room. I leaped out of my chair to follow. I was chasing her down the hallway, watching her exit through the nearest fire escape, when I realized I'd forgotten to pull on shoes. I hesitated but followed outside, wincing in the pelting rain. The wet ground was soft under my feet, leaves were slick and grainy. I was sopping by the time I caught up on the wooded path. Shannon strode down the trail. It was so dark in the thickly grown woods I couldn't see fallen branches and almost fell. We reached the Hunger House, named for the dormitory caretaker who had lived there decades ago and reportedly starved himself to death. Students now use it as a hideaway to fool around or get high. The small wooden hut stood in a clearing, gleaming wetly in the lashing storm. I realized I was crying, my tears momentarily warm but untraceable in the rain. Shannon approached the door. It swung open before she touched the handle. I stayed frozen on the edge of the clearing, clinging to a low-hanging, slimy branch. The wind howled, ripping a blizzard of leaves free that swirled into the clearing. Shannon disappeared into the black interior of the house. A putrid smell wafted from the open door, overpowering even in the gale. I struggled not to vomit. A figure stooped out, illuminated in a blaze of lightning. It straightened on its back legs, towering over the doorframe, easily eight feet tall. Its front paws-big as shovels--dangled from colossal shoulders almost to the ground. Its roar drowned out the thunder. I wanted to run, but my feet had taken root. It looked at me, eyes blacker than shadow. It leaned on its front paws and slunk toward me on four legs, graceful and repulsive, alluring and grotesque. The foul stench grew more offensive, yet my feet wouldn't move. I realized I wasn't afraid, that my breathing matched the creature's heavy panting. I abhorred yet desired it. It looked at me with a kind of fervid hunger I was powerless to repel, a hunger that couldn't be satisfied, that only grew with each fresh kill. The black pits of its eyes promised knowledge of all the ugly, twisted things. I no longer wanted to run. I wanted to know. In one flash of darkness, the beast devoured the space between us. I yelled in triumph, but my the voice fell flat against the rush of the storm.

Reflection's Child Fierce rain pummels the garden. No plants will survive. The fragile tarp suspended above the plants is filled with holes, and the solid drops pause for naught for their resistance. The soft green shoots expected to grow strongly are now concealed by the shadow of an anguished night and drowned by the destructive tears of a sorrowful sky. Waking to wails from the force of the storm against the old house, I rise from my bed and stride to the window to look at my reflection. There I see myself, but there is something different becoming more and more apparent. Startled, I jumped backward, for I had never seen a sight such as this that appeared at my pane at that moment. A pale, knotted, and twisted face peers through the thickening vapor caused by my breath for she has none. Though she opens her mouth to the cold, she has no breath! Her eyes, turning ever-slowly towards mine, begin to transform. Sublime agony coalesces with the malignant calmness inside my room the temptation to become enchanted by this perverse version of my own face equals my desire to flee; held paralyzed by these forces, I can do nothing but try to understand the reality of the impossibilities that she presents. She is youthful, yet shows signs of advanced age; her face melting and creasing in the natural folds, seemingly allergic to the cleansing rain gives her an unnerving, alien appearance. Her mouth opens ever wider and reveals a shaded portrait swallowed down and begging to be released. Confidently, she presents this image to me. It has a purpose, I know, but terrified, I refuse to look. Suddenly, her eyes turn bright yellow from their previous abyssal, greasy black and the pupils shrink into narrow slits. Her eyes hesitate and then lock on mine. Silently they compel me to look at the deceptive image concealed in her mouth. My attempt to scream is stifled. I know not whether it is this creature's suppression or my own. An air of mystery captivates me and no longer can I feel my body or breathe. Time seems to be suspended, except for the continued depletion of my air supply. Desperate for relief, I stare down the beast's throat and hope to find an escape.

Down the passageway, I view an unexpected scene. A flower floating down from the warm sun draws my attention and once more I can breathe. Sensations return to my limbs and my body is warm. Color rewraps the scene, and the rain ceases. The flower glows pink and glides effortlessly to the tall grass below. A swallow sings with its swooping voice; playful and serene. The golden tips of the ripened field, inspired by the sun's warmth, bring a cheer that could not have been more tranquil even if the soil beneath my feet did not tickle them so that I flowed continuously from foot to foot across the field. White, beautiful butterflies beat their wings calmly and float dreamily among the tops of the fragrant grasses occasionally landing to rest and laze in unison with the other luxurious surroundings. Lightning rips me back to sheer horror, and robs me of my breath-suffocating, painful. Then sharp teeth close around my utopia and tear through my field, returning my mind to this terrifying reality. The glass of my window now barricades me from the wrath of this creature. The monster breaches it and watches me choke-a fish desperately flapping its gills; collapsing from the outside in, my lungs suck what they can in to stuff themselves with something anything while this malicious entity is murdering me viciously; I writhe-a worm caught exposed in the sun. Struggling as I may, I cannot escape the claustrophobia, the creature transforms into a devious, slithering serpent; squeezing out every last molecule of air from every cell in my body. I go limp, not able to withstand the pressures. The beast retracts its coils and rips my soul the very lining of my dying body-out of my shell and thrusts it to the dark, black, blank floor, and on it the creature feasts. Through my body's fading eyes. I can see the tearing of it-my essence to pieces. For every snag sliced in it, an excruciating torture I do endure. Such torture that blood boils over from the insides of my body and seeps into the floor. It may yet elude the pain that I know I never will overcome except in the calm of death, toward which I am surely headed. Hearing my wails, the serpent charges for my body, thinking it has left some soul in me, for I doubt that any who have endured this agony before have survived to experience this stage of soullessness. But now without a soul, I am stronger; I see this worm crawling to destroy me and I laugh a hearty laugh, spraying the lingering red in a fountain arch across the room. In hand, I take its head and firmly twist it off its body that now lies writhing on the floor as I had done seconds before. Now to vengefully take its soul, as it has taken mine; 1 slice opens its cold belly with its own gnarled tooth and reaches in for the lining, as it had reached for mine. I cannot find a singular soul, but find four instead including my own; it had not found such a number in mine. Supposing it should agonize four times worse than I, I tear out the other three and hear screams from the first floor, where my brother, my mother, and my father were before. I turned my eyes to the glossy veils in my hand, the souls. I smiled slightly and cast them through the shards and into the night.

SPIKE It was a day like every other day. I was stretched out among the soft bedding in my cage, smelling the faint wood scent of its cotton-like material. I moved my head to the right, without moving. my impressively large body, and nipped at the fresh dandelion leaves that had been brought to me. They were my favorite. The drone of the television kept me company. Fluffy sat nearby. washing her multicolored fur contentedly. Big Kitty snuggled against Nellie, our Golden Retriever, as they looked out the front window from the entry way. I could tell everyone was expecting a visitor. And they were excited. Aunt Tanya was coming from Nebraska. Her car pulled up to the curb and everything was about to change. My Mom and Ally went to greet her warmly at the door. They hugged and we saw that Aunt Tanya held a small animal tightly in her arms. Nellie seemed approving with her wagging tail and constant circling to see. Then Aunt Tanya lowered the animal to the ground. He took off like a streak. It was instant and unbelievable! He was running, but faster than anything I'd ever seen! His muscles bulged underneath his skin as he raced around. His mouth was wide open with enormous jaws held open and sharp, sharp, teeth clearly barred for us to see. We had rules in this house. Only cats could venture up above floor level, and no one ever spoke crossly or bothered them. They had their own breakfast table in the sun room where they ate out of the same three bowls every morning. Nellie always respected their bowls and she had her own below. They all shared the water dish. I was always held gently and also spoken softly to.

This monster-dog leaped up onto the furniture. Then on up onto the tables the coffee table, the end table, even the dining room table with the lace tablecloth! He had huge claws that dug into everything and he could jump several feet into the air with his tremendous, hideous, muscular legs. The claws were several inches long and thick. He raced around the room - seemingly around the walls themselves, it was so fast. I trembled in my cage and ran for my plastic house, but not in time! This monster dog (who I found out was a Jack-Russell Terrier called Spike) jumped up to the bay window behind my large cage (at least 5 times longer than his body and probably 10 times his size in total) and he leaped! The full force of his four clawed feet launching toward me! He shoved the entire cage over. Never had anyone been able to do that! My heart was pounding wildly in my chest. It began to rattle in my mouth and long guinea pig teeth, it was beating so fast! My Mom ran from across the room where she'd been standing near Aunt Tanya and leaped to my rescue. She grabbed me and cradled me tightly in her arms, holding me high, knowing that Spike was capable of jumping 10 feet straight up into the air. Spike relentlessly jumped and jumped and jumped toward me. His jaws open and gaping toward me. The drool fell from his lips and splattered as he flew in the air. Mom's heart was pounding in her chest as she held me and tried to make sense of the mayhem.

Knowing he could not pry me from her arms he turned slightly, just in time to spot Big Kitty running for the bedroom. He flew down the hallway. No one saw his paws touch the ground. He seemed to spring directly from his back claws to his front claws, going forward. He cornered Big Kitty under the bed and began a horrible, loud barking that would not stop. His dripping fangs and open jaws pushed and darted forward again and again and again, trying to get under the bed. Then came the cry a sharp high-pitched yelp. He withdrew from the bed and retreated. As he did, large drops of red blood began to drip from his ear. It followed him in a long line on the almost-white carpet down the hall. He flung his head from side to side repeatedly and the blood spattered about the room and onto the furniture. He ran in circles from my Papa who was trying to catch him with a towel to stop the bleeding. Finally, Aunt Tanya and Mom went out the front door with the dripping Spike. I was returned to my cage but moved to the safety of a bedroom with a closed door between me and the monster. They returned hours later with Spike sporting a large plastic color around his neck and bandages on his ear. It seemed a fitting punishment that he could not reach anything without the pink plastic clunking against the floor or walls. Those daggered teeth and slacking jaws were imprisoned inside it. He posed for the humiliating Facebook pictures while we all looked on. My heart beats faster just remembering it. My view of the world as an orderly place, with rules and unspoken boundaries, was forever changed that day.

KIBBLES and BITES Instead of rescuing a perfectly good mutt from a shelter, my next-door neighbor, the city slicker that he was, paid top dollar for some kind of Doberman Great Dane mix. Late last summer, my neighbor appeared rather unexpectedly on my front porch holding his designer dog at the end of a leash. His forehead wrapped in bandages, I asked if he had been in some sort of accident. He waived me off as if the injury were of no consequence and explained that he was returning to New York City. He asked if 1 would be willing to take Grendel, his dog, off his hands. I couldn't bear the thought of a dog cooped up all day in a small apartment, and I yearned for canine companionship ever since my own mutt, Roofus, succumbed to the effects of old age the previous winter. I eagerly accepted the man's proposition. Come fall, the weeds in my neighbor's yard were knee-high. I had found that Grendel was high-spirited, requiring lots of exercise. He growled aggressively when unfamiliar people ventured too close. A large dog, he had a voracious appetite. There was a terrible storm the last week in October. High winds knocked down a large branch, flattening my rear gate. Grendel sped away into the dusk. I donned my raincoat, grabbed a flashlight, and hurried out the back. Grendel's paws left deep prints in the mud. I followed the tracks into the ankle-deep storm waters of Arthur's Trench. Splashing forward, my raincoat did little to protect me from the torrential downpour. Lightening flashed, and thunder boomed. Around the bend a bright light shone in my eyes from above, blinding me. A familiar voice cried out, "Who's there?"

Recognizing me as his neighbor a few doors over. Frederic asked if I needed assistance. I explained how I had lost my dog. He had not seen Grendel and was out looking for his elderly father, Thurston. Previously a gruff man who boasted about all the communists he had killed in Korea, Thurston had changed recently with the early stages of dementia. When thunder sounded, he ran for the hills, fleeing what he thought was Chinese artillery. "I'll keep an eye out for him," I said, refusing Frederic's offer to pull me out of the trench. The walls were too steep to climb, and Grendel (and I) had nowhere to go but forward. Darkness prevailed as the sunset. Thousands of tiny glimmers, rain drops reflecting the glow from my flashlight, obscured my view ahead. A gale had toppled a giant tree. Where the roots once clung to the ground was a gap in a rocky outcropping, the entrance to a type of cave. I crawled through the crevice, holding the flashlight ahead of me as best I could. The light grew dim, the batteries dying. There was an odd shape a few yards away, a pile or mound of some sort, not rocks but something soft, Grendel seeking shelter perhaps. A flash of lightning illuminated the cave briefly. The shape was not a dog but a man, supine, his arms bent stiffly at his sides. "You okay, Thurston?" I called out, aiming my flashlight.

Covered in blood, limbs motionless, vacant dead eyes wide open, Thurston was not okay. Another lightning flash but from a different angle, I could see teeth, fangs, the jaws of some sort of demon. Darkness and yet another flash, the jaws lunged forward clamping around Thurston's wrist. A sickening crunch as bones cracked and split and the sounds of my scream were drowned out by thunder. I scrambled backward through the gap and fell face down into the stormwater, which had risen considerably. Struggling to my feet, I dropped my flashlight. It struck a rock and went out, Lightening flashed again, only further away and less bright. I could make out a shadowy figure slinking around the roots of the toppled tree. I turned to flee, but in the darkness, I tripped over a rock and fell. Splashes in quick succession and the sounds of footsteps on the ledge above me, exceedingly strong, the demon had vaulted the cliff wall with a single bound. I clambered up and ran as fast as I could. Should the demon pursue me, all would be lost, for 1 was no match for the beast's strength and speed. I hoped hunger would keep the monster at bay, that it would prefer to stay and feast rather than a run-down new game. Somehow I managed to claw my way out of the trench and find my way home I slammed the door behind me and secured the dead bolt. The lights wouldn't turn on, a power outage. I tried to call the sheriff, but the phone, like Thurston, was dead. I heard scuffling at my rear door. Lightening flashed, and I jumped as a shadow loamed across the back garden, ears pointed like devil horns and powerful limbs that could easily tear me apart. The scuffling continued, and alas I came to my senses. A familiar sound, the source of the shadow became clear. Relieved. I unbolted the door to let Grendel inside. Grendel whined pathetically to let me know he was hungry. "You have no idea what a fright you gave me, old boy," I said, stroking his wet muzzle. In the dark, I fumbled in the pantry to retrieve Grendel's kibbles. I heard gasping noises, the unmistakable sound of Grendel being sick on the hardwood floor. During his escapades, he must have consumed something nasty. Rag in hand, I bent over to clean up the mess. Suddenly power returned; lights flickered back to life. I recoiled in horror. My hand was bloody, and slick from petting Grendel's muzzle. Thurston's army-issued wristwatch lay in the bloody mess. I felt Grendel's hot murderous dog breath on the back of my neck. Paralyzed by fear, I was unable to move.