Consumed- The Complete Works

by Kyle M. Scott

Suddenly, there was a thunderous crash. The window behind his brother shattered as the creature outside raised a huge limb, bristling with coarse insect hair, and thrust it through the glass.

  Time slowed to an endless, awful crawl as Billy watched a long, razor sharp talon, like that of a mantis, slide around his brother’s waistline. Below the huge grasping apparatus, a line of blackest crimson began to flow, dark as night, where the creature’s tooth-like tubercles sliced the skin and opened Kevin’s stomach as it held him.

  Billy gagged as he watched the glistening intestines housed within begin to swell and push their way free of their prison.

  The thing’s head loomed in over his brother.

  Billy screamed for his mom.

  He screamed for his dad and for Jesus, for God and for himself.

  And for his brother.

  No help came.

  Though the moon’s light was low, Billy could now make out the abomination’s features.

  He wished he could not.

  Its smooth dome resembled that of a spider’s. The entire front area of the head was covered in a vast cluster of black, pitiless eyes that seemed to stare as one, right into the centre of Billy’s soul. Beneath its countless, bulbous, black diamond orbs there was a gaping maw, almost perfectly cylindrical. A huge hole ringed with row after row of long, vicious looking teeth, thin as needles. Drool spilled from its meat-grinder mouth as it began to drag Kevin towards it. As he watched in repugnant, frightful awe, something moved within the dark abyss of its gullet, clicking together like pincers. A hideous mandible designed to tear and rend.

  And feed.

  It never made any other sound as it pulled his screaming, flailing brother close to its dark bosom, though the creature seemed to relish the terror it inspired.

  It worked slowly, dragging Kevin through the shattered, jagged glass, piercing his skin and tearing his soft flesh to ribbons. As his screams of terror crossed over into mind-ripping exclamations of agony, the thing’s cluster of abominable eyes seemed to shine with fresh fervor. His arms and shoulders spurted warm blood from a hundred wounds as the glass cut deep.

  His eyes fixed on Billy, just for a fleeting moment.

  It lasted longer for Billy than a million lifetimes. In his eyes, he saw the true depth of his betrayal.

  His brother’s eyes seemed to plead, and to question.

  One blood soaked and shredded arm reached out toward him with shivering, desperate fingers. Billy reached out himself to touch his brother one last time, but before he could, the black thing’s mandibles burst forth from its vile gullet and sliced into the skin and muscle of Kevin’s shoulder. His brother’s outstretched hand instinctively receded, clasping at the gushing wound. Ignoring Kevin’s feeble attempts to protect himself, the hellish creature tore a chunk of meat free, working the food into its maw where it ground it to pulp. The geyser of blood that erupted from the vicious laceration covered his screaming brother’s face in an arterial spray.

  With lightning speed, it turned its abhorrent hide toward the woods. Holding Kevin close in its long front limbs as a spider would a fly, it scuttled off into the night in near silence, like a fevered nightmare suddenly dispelled.

  Just as quickly as the world had descended into a madness of screams and chaos and horror, it was over.

  A soft wind caressed the cracked and ruined window, causing the small ragged remnants of Billy’s brother to sway gently, like tiny flags of skin waving farewell to their owner.

  On legs that felt like lead, Billy got to his feet and staggered to the ruined window. Resting his hands on the blood-slick, wooden pane, he peered out into the night.

  In the yard, he could make out dark splashes of blood from his brother’s wounds, trailing towards the hateful black of the forest, and nothing more.

  Kevin was gone.

  Billy’s eyes fell on the tree line, hoping beyond hope to catch a final glimpse of his poor, lost brother. The brother he’d condemned to death just as surely as if he’d loaded a gun, pointed at Kevin’s skull, and pulled the trigger.

  He thought about the thing he’d seen, the giant insect that wasn’t an insect, but an abomination; a mockery of all that dwelled in the natural world.

  A gun would have been better.

  A gun would have been much, much better.

  As though summoned from hell to affirm his thoughts, a scream pierced the stillness of the night.

  He’d never heard such a pitiful, excruciating sound; not in a thousand horror movies nor a thousand nightmares.

  It sounded like all the instruments of hell were being used on his brother, squeezing every drop of pain and torment from his quivering flesh.

  In his mind, Billy began to form pictures, images to compliment the awful sounds leaking from the darkness of the old woods. He imagined terrible, unspeakable things, and the waking nightmare in his mind’s eye played out every bit as long as his brother’s suffering.

  Finally, the sounds of his Kevin’s agony died on the wind. The night grew still once more.

  Billy thought back to what his brother had said.

  ‘All I know is that if you don’t leave the egg out there by midnight, right by the foot of the woods, then it comes. It comes for you instead, Billy, and it takes the real thing’.

  The real thing…

  He thought about those words and understood with terrible clarity that Kevin’s true suffering would last a lot longer than his screams.

  It would last till the stars fell from the sky and the oceans turned to dust.

  Prologue

  Billy sat on the sofa, waiting for the familiar sound of keys turning, and for the front door to open. They’d be home soon, mum and dad, from their carefree night out on the town with their new friends.

  The house was quiet now, and wreathed in darkness.

  He’d turned all the lights off.

  Billy knew enough about insects to know that many were attracted to the light.

  He would sit there in perfect darkness, and wait.

  In his hand, he held the small boiled egg.

  He studied it in the gloom.

  On the small, near featureless face, Kevin had painted a small smile. His way of seeing the bright side on all things, Billy mused. And it was accurate, after all. Kevin had loved to smile. And to laugh.

  Billy wiped the fresh tears from his eyes, and cleaned the snot from his nose with a handkerchief. The egg felt lighter now than it should. It was strange, but he felt sure there was something else in there besides the boiled egg.

  He shook it ever so lightly.

  Yes, there was a sloshing sound.

  Nothing like a boiled egg at all.

  Perhaps Kevin hadn’t boiled it properly, and some of the yolk was still soft.

  Billy knew better.

  Whatever was now housed in the fragile shell would remain in his protection. He swore he’d keep the egg safe. Whatever it was, it was all he had left of his brother.

  Outside he heard a car pull up.

  At this time of night, it could only be his parents.

  He took a deep breath. As their soft laughter grew louder, there was a small squeal of delight from his mom, and a gruff snort from his dad, as one of them fumbled with the keys.

  Billy reckoned they’d been drinking.

  That was good.

  It would make this whole thing a little easier to take.

  He struggled to compose himself as the battle with the keyhole was won, and the door swung open and the lights came on.

  A soft wind followed his stumbling, drunken parents over the threshold, and on it, he imagined he heard his brother, calling out in horror from a place far, far away.

  On seeing Billy sat there, red-eyed and tearful, his parent’s mirth died on their lips. Concern eclipsed the frivolity like ink spilled over white paper.

  He tried to compose himself.

  He really did.

  Instead, Billy burst into tears and reached out instinctually, desperate to be held b
y his parents as the nightmare of it all finally overwhelmed him. As his arms stretched forward, hungry for embrace, the small egg toppled from his hand.

  He watched in despair as it shattering on the hardwood floor.

  Billy screamed then.

  He screamed till his throat was torn and his vocal chords were all but snapped.

  And when his mom and dad saw what poured from the cracked and splintered eggshell and seeped between the wooden floor paneling, they screamed right along with him.

  LEMONADE

  1

  Linda watched with intensifying dread as the priest studied the trembling, filthy eight-year-old boy strapped to the bed. The old man crossed himself as he moved around the sodden mattress, careful not to wake the child from his troubled slumber. In his large, calloused hands he held a bible. A rosary swung from below the good book as he positioned himself above the boy’s face,

  “How long has he slept,” he asked quietly.

  Linda swallowed, “He’s been out for hours, Father. Sometimes he’s calm, but other times…”

  He nodded to himself. “And before exhaustion claimed him, how was he then?”

  Ashamed, Linda burst into fresh tears. “It’s not him, Father. It not my Joseph when it’s awake. It’s that…thing.” She spat the word from her mouth as though it was poison. Even the thought of that wicked, depraved entity that nestled in her sweet young son’s soul filled her with a hatred both black and endless.

  “And what did he say? Sorry, what did it say?”

  “It told me it knew you were coming, Father. And it sounded delighted.”

  “I expected as much.”

  She cleared her throat, struggling to form the words. “It told me other things, too…it told me my husband is…” she paused. “It told me he’s...he’s…”

  The priest frowned. “It’s not true. You know that, Mrs. Pendle, yes?”

  Wiping her eyes, Linda nodded.

  But do you know it? she asked herself. Do you really? He was no saint, Joe Snr. What if the second his heart stopped beating he was dragged off into the dark. You heard him in there! You heard him while the foul thing spoke, and he was screaming. He was screaming and he sounded so far away!

  “Yes. I know,” she answered, dutifully, secretly ashamed of her doubt.

  Linda’s journey towards personal salvation had been a long and painful one. She’d come to faith late in life, at the age of forty-four, she and her husband. There had been no great revelation that pulled her from the life she’d previously enjoyed. No miracle to behold. No light to guide her to the Lord.

  There had only been little Joseph.

  She’d lost family over it. Her parents, staunchly adverse to the doctrines of her religion, had cast her out, disgusted, ashamed, accusing her of lacking courage, of having a feeble mind. Their own set-in-stone spiritual beliefs at odds with her own. They’d never even laid eyes on little baby Joseph. Not even once.

  In finding God, she and her husband had lost most of everything else.

  Still, as she’d gazed into the twinkling, innocent eyes of her precious new-born son, she’d seen the face of God. She could not deny it, even if it meant losing the love of those who raised her. Joseph Snr, too, had lost his kin. Together, they had walked from a life of debauchery and sin…all for their boy.

  And when Joseph Snr had suddenly passed, ripped from the world by a heart-attack as final as it was sudden, she’d gone on. She’d kept her faith.

  Even then, alone in the world with only her son by her side to ease her lonely soul, she’d continued to believe.

  And in the long years since his awful, untimely death, she had taught her kind, sad boy the very same.

  She’d thought her faith unshakable; her only real solace as the days without Joseph Snr stretched into years being the knowledge that, one fine day, by God’s grace, they would be reunited and dwell in the majesty of their creator. Together they had found the Lord, and while parted for a time, they would one day embrace once more.

  But now…

  With this wretched, black, foul thing nestling inside her son…

  “It is a liar, Linda. May I call you Linda?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Father…what does it want?”

  She turned her attention to her son. He slept fitfully; his eyes darting behind his eyelids, his brow soaked in feverish sweat. His lips moved ever so slightly as he battled whatever housed within him, his small fingers twitched where they lay on the bed, and from his cracked, partially open lips, he whimpered softly.

  He was surely in the grip of a terrible nightmare, trapped down in the dark with the sickening presence that controlled his will.

  The priest cleared his throat. He spoke softly and his words overflowed with a weary care. “It wants what all demons want, Linda…It wants his soul.”

  A terrible chill overcame her as he spoke. She’d suspected the answer would be such, but the sheer terror of hearing it come from one so distinguished and so respected froze the blood in her veins.

  “It can’t have it!” Linda leaned down towards her son’s head. With her lips positioned just beside his ear, she whispered. “You can’t have him, you son of a bitch. We’ll beat you, I swear it.”

  It was a hollow promise at best, and she knew it.

  “Linda…please step away from the boy. Though he is restrained, the beast inside him has many tricks up its sleeve. Employ caution.”

  She did as she was asked and looked to the elderly cleric. In his eyes she saw sorrow, kindness, and an optimism that belied his years in the world. He smiled from behind his thick white beard, and again she felt deep shame for doubting his words regarding her husband.

  He was right.

  The entity lied.

  Joseph Snr was with the Lord.

  “Can you help him, Father? Please say you can help my boy.”

  “In the Lord we must trust, Linda. By his due diligence, all shall be revealed.”

  She had no idea what the hell kind of answer that was, but she nodded all the same.

  “Can you leave us alone now, please?” he asked. “I must speak with the demon if I can.”

  “Yes…yes, Father. Of course. I’ll just…”

  He smiled his warm, reassuring smile once more, flashing her his brilliant white, impeccably tended teeth. “Wait outside the door if you like. This won’t take long. But please…and I must be very clear on this, do not enter the room until I say so. Do you understand?”

  “Yes. I’ll be right outside. I…”

  “Thank you, Linda.”

  The old priest turned towards the curtains and drew them together slowly. The thin shard of winter sunlight that illuminated little Joseph’s bedroom shrank until it was no more. Darkness made its home in the room, seeming to loom over his tiny, fragile form like a wraith.

  Taking one last look at her boy, Linda stepped across the threshold and closed the door.

  2

  She sat on the staircase with her hands over her face and quietly wept for her beautiful son. Outside the window by her side, she could hear birds singing amidst the treetops, their voices soft and lilting, their melodies pure and true. They were so close, though their cheerful song echoes as though from a million miles away. A distant reminder of a safe, secure, and understandable world that had been stolen from her forever by the thing inside her son.

  Silently, she cursed the birds’ brittle happiness, repulsed by their simple joy.

  Disgusted with herself and with the awful bitterness that had found purchase in her heart, she fought to ignore their song, and instead she focused all her attention on the bedroom to her rear. On her departure, the room had fallen into a stark, deafening silence that seemed to stretch on for a thousand years and more.

  And still, no sound.

  How long has it been? a voice whispered in her head.

  She looked at her watch. Only two short minutes had passed. Linda gritted her teeth, closed her eyes,
and prayed.

  Please, Lord. If you can hear me, help my boy. He’s only a baby, and he’s such a good-natured child. I need him, Lord. I need him by my side. You took my husband. Please don’t let that thing in there take my only son.

  Please…

  From the bedroom, she heard the muffled hum of conversation. The priest must have made contact. The words themselves were lost behind the thick walls and the tightly shut door, but the holy man’s voice was unmistakable.

  And in answer, she heard the thing inside her baby.

  Its voice was her son’s own, yet not his own. She’d conversed with the demon many times, but it still struck terror in her to hear precious Joseph’s high-pitched, once-innocent intonations infected with such coldness, such malice, such gleeful cruelty.

  She gritted her teeth in incandescent rage as she imagined the filth and the horror that must be spewing from her son’s mouth, directed by the beast, towards the man of God.

  Wrought with guilt, torn by sorrow, and helpless to assist in any meaningful way, she sat, and she waited. The conversation went on for a half an hour, and to Linda, it was the longest half hour of her entire life.

  And then, just as suddenly as the communication had begun, it ceased. There was the sound of footsteps falling on the soft rug by Joseph’s bed, the turn of the doorknob, and then the bedroom door slowly swung open. She winced as the sunlight hit her directly in the eyes.

  He must have opened the curtains.

  Is that a good sign? Please, God, let it be a sign of hope, she silently begged.

  In the doorway, once again enshrouded in the December morning’s light, stood the exorcist.

  He ushered Linda back into the room with sad, tired eyes.

  3

  The exorcist stared out the window as he stroked his beard, lost in thoughts surely above and beyond her own. Linda’s eyes danced from his impressive silhouette to her steadily-weakening boy on the bed. His restraints were still in place, and sweat still glistened on his precious forehead, yet he seemed to sleep now in relative peace. Was it over? Could it be that simple?