J.M. White
Chapter 1
Part I
HUNGER
The hunger has returned. Once more, I must hunt. God knows I’ve tried to stop, but the need to feed is too great—too persistent. This…this… thing inside of me has taken over. The thing I’ve come to call the Other keeps me alive. The Other does what I fail to do, ensuring we have the energy intake to maintain life.
I’ve kept a good distance from the target, using darkness as cover. Streetlights are now the enemy. Hunting is a painstaking process. It takes skill and patience, both of which are currently being tested. The Other does not know of these virtues. It relies on instinct.
The man strolls at an aggravating pace. His head is bowed, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his yellow jacket. He is probably consumed with thoughts of a warm bed and homecooked meal, or maybe a late-night fast food run and a beer. Either way, he does not know he is being followed. He is oblivious to the horror that lurks only twenty feet behind him. Even if he spotted me, his eyes would pass over me with disinterest. To him I would appear no different than anyone else, certainly not a threat, at least not initially. His limited scope of imagination would have him thinking I am after some lesser goal, like a wristwatch or wallet. I’d be just a material threat, not a mortal danger.
The man turns onto Bliss Street Terrace favoring the sidewalk paralleling the woods. The situation has turned in my favor. I slip into the woods using the thick evergreens as camouflage. I’ve been matching his pace until now. I close the gap, dodging branches and skirting rocks. The dead leaves left over from fall crunch softly under my weight. The sound is well controlled. I’ve learned how to blend in with the trees, ensuring the noises I emit mimic the forest. With each step, the man’s yellow jacket inches closer.
My mouth aches. The time for planning is over. I remind the Other this needs to be done quietly.
Quickly.
Focus. The yellow jacket is just a few feet in front of me. The only thing separating me from my target is the thinning wall of birch and pine trees.
This is it.
Adrenaline rushes through my body in warm waves. The Other takes over. My movement feels so fluid it’s as if I am not even touching the ground. My fingers close on the man’s collar and I yank him back into the foliage. He lets out a single cry before I’m able to clamp a firm hand over his mouth. Allowing that yelp was sloppy.
My heart slams against my breast bone. “I’m sorry,” I say, right before I snap his neck. I remove my razor blade and slash his throat. A rush of hydrating liquid spews fourth. Crouching over his lifeless body, the Other begins to drink.