The Flesh Eaters

by L. A. Morse

  Girl Hunter is two years younger than First Hunter, one year younger than Second Hunter. She looks much like Meg looked at this age, except that her body is slimmer and smaller. She has lost the angularity of childhood, and with the changes in her body she has come to savor the new experiences and sensations that are opening up to her. She, too, is learning how to use First Hunter for her own purposes.

  The children stand silently before Sawney Beane, uncomfortable as he pretends not to notice them. They shuffle uneasily until he raises his head and fixes them with a cold stare.

  “What is this?”

  They shrink’ back from the malevolence of his gaze. The silence grows even more oppressive, and then Girl Hunter pokes First Hunter to respond.

  “We want to start hunting by ourselves,” First Hunter blurts.

  Sawney Beane continues to stare, showing no reaction.

  Seeing that her brother will say nothing more, Girl Hunter speaks. “We can do it. You know we can... we want to... it is time for us to hunt alone.”

  After a moment, Sawney Beane asks, “Do you all want to do this?” All the children nod. “And you are certain you can?”

  “You have taught us,” Second Hunter replies. “We have learned our lessons well. We can do it.”

  The others chorus agreement.

  The request comes as no surprise to Sawney Beane. He has known it would come eventually, and though he is reluctant to surrender any control, he sees the necessity if the family is to grow stronger and develop. He studies the faces of his brood before speaking again. “Very well. It is time.”

  The children start to cheer, but he silences them with a glare.

  “You think you know what to do, but this is not a game. This is real.” He points to First Hunter. “He will be the leader. The rest of you must do what he says. If any of you do not, you will answer to me, and you will regret it.”

  “They will do what I say.” First Hunter gives a harsh, confident laugh. His tongue catches a dribble of saliva from his thin lips.

  “And you will do what I say!” Sawney Beane snaps at him. “You think you are a good hunter. Do not forget that the best hunter is the most careful one. There can be no mistakes. If anything goes wrong, I will make you wish you had never asked for this chance. Now, do you still wish to hunt?”

  A tremor of fear stabs through First Hunter, but he manages a hoarse “Aye.”

  “Tomorrow, then. We will see how good you are.” Sawney Beane turns his back, dismissing them.

  The children restrain their joy until they have moved away from their father. When they reach the shadows of the cave, their excitement bubbles over; they hit each other playfully and fight mock duels. They act like children who have just received permission to visit the fair.

  A man and a woman stride along the road, leading a heavily laden horse. The man is in his mid-twenties, stocky, with a full red beard, an open, pleasant countenance and cheerful eyes. His wife is younger, blond and fair-skinned. Her blue eyes radiate a serenity that makes her pleasant features seem beautiful.

  The couple stops to rest for a moment. “We have made good time,” he says. “We should reach your uncle’s farm before sundown.”

  “I’ll be glad to see him again,” the wife responds. “He has always been good to me.”

  “He is still good to you—to us. This is a great opportunity he is giving us, to live in his house and work his fields. Things are so difficult now in the South that I don’t know what we would have done without your uncle’s help.”

  “I wonder if he has changed much? It has been many years.”

  “If we don’t step lively, he will change even more before we reach him. Come along now, woman!”

  She smiles, then leans forward to kiss his cheek. His face turns as red as his beard, and a grin lights up his face.

  As the couple walks on, they are watched by a girl hidden on a hill overlooking the road. Now she turns and whistles down the hill, a prearranged signal. Immediately, there is an answering whistle from First Hunter, who is hidden in the bushes next to the road.

  First Hunter is eager to begin the hunt, but nervous about doing it properly. He turns to the children grouped around him.

  “They are coming. A he and a she. You know what you are to do. Go to your places and wait.”

  The children start off, rustling the bushes and making a fair amount of noise.

  First Hunter grabs one of the boys and twists his arm viciously. He savors the fear in the child’s face. “Make no sound. Anyone who makes a mistake will answer to me. Now go—quietly.”

  The children move off silently, except for one small girl. She has been cleaned up and dressed properly so that, except for her paleness, she resembles an ordinary child. First Hunter turns to her. “You remember what you are to do?”

  She nods.

  “Be ready. They will be here soon.”

  He leaves the girl and goes into the woods.

  Moments later, the red-bearded man and his blond wife round the bend and see a small girl sitting in the road, crying frantically.

  “Here now! What’s this?” the husband says.

  “It’s a little girl. We must see what’s wrong.”

  “Now, wife, we have a long way still to go. Let us not delay for things that do not concern us.”

  “John! She is crying her heart out! We must at least question her.” John opens his mouth, but she cuts him off. “And do not contradict me!”

  Her admonition is accompanied by a smile, and John surrenders with good grace.

  “You always get your way, don’t you? Sometimes I think your heart is much too good, but perhaps that’s what made you take pity on me and marry me.”

  They go to the child, and the woman kneels in the road before her.

  “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

  “It’s my father,” the girl says through her sobs.

  “Dry your eyes and tell us what happened.” The young wife applies a handkerchief to the girls, eyes and nose until the wailing ceases.

  “We were walking there, collecting wood”—the girl gestures toward the trees—”and he fell down and hurt his leg. He cannot walk, and I am not strong enough to help him.” The tears come again.

  The woman puts her arm around the child. “Now, now. Don’t cry. John, we must help this girl and her poor father.”

  “What can we do? I am not a surgeon.”

  “Perhaps he is not badly injured. If you get him out to the road, someone with a wagon will come along to help.”

  John is clearly unhappy. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. We must keep going. There are stories of bandits in these hills.”

  “Bandits? John! She is just a little girl. I’m ashamed of you!” She turns to the child. “Where is your father? How far away?”

  “Not far. He’s just in there. Please help us!”

  “John?” The woman’s blue eyes implore her husband.

  John sighs. “I suppose I’ll get no peace if I don’t. And you’ll keep us here so we’ll never get to your uncle’s.”

  “You are a good man.”

  “I hope I’m not a stupid man. Come along, child. Show me where your father is. My wife must wait here and hold the horse.”

  John follows the little girl into the woods. Before he disappears, he turns to look back at his pretty wife. He shakes his head resignedly. The woman laughs and waves.

  The little girl leads John a short distance into the woods. They reach a small clearing, where she stops. Puzzled, John asks where her father is. The girl says nothing, but turns and grins at him. Something in her smile—perhaps the way her upper teeth press into her lower lip—makes him very uneasy.

  From behind the trees and bushes, other children step silently out and form a rough circle about John. There seem to be ten or twelve of these children. They take several steps forward, tightening the circle about him. John is frightened by their appearance, by what is happening. The silent children are all smiling, bu
t the coldness of their eyes makes their smiles sinister. John whirls within the circle.

  He starts to ask a question, but it turns into a grunt of pain. He staggers, then looks behind himself to see the cause of the pain. Knives have been plunged into each of his legs behind the knee. The two children who have stabbed him are standing there, grinning. The fact that they appear to be only six years old heightens his disbelief and horror. As the pain of his wounds intensifies, he begins to realize what is happening, he screams. His first thought now is for the safety of his wife, and he calls out to her as he falls forward onto his knees.

  “Help! Help! Ambush! Flee! Mary! Mary! Help!”

  His cries spur the children to action. Though he tries desperately to draw his dagger from his belt, two of the children catch and hold his arm. Then Second Hunter steps calmly forward, raises his sword high in the air and brings it down on John’s wrist.

  Unbelieving, as though it were happening to someone else, John sees the sword cut through his arm, sees his hand, still clutching the dagger, fall to the ground, sees his blood shoot forth in a mighty red stream. He screams in agony, and is pushed to the ground. The children swarm over him, frenzied, stabbing whatever part of his body is available. John’s cries grow weaker, then cease as foaming blood gushes from his mouth. The children rain blows on him long after his lifeless body has stopped moving.

  Waiting patiently on the road, Mary hears a scream; it is indistinct, but she recognizes her husband’s voice. Uncertain what to do, she runs to the spot where John went into the woods, then runs back to the horse. She looks wildly up and down the road. Though she sees no one, she herself is observed. One of the older boys, called Bloody Axe, is watching her from the bushes. He is amused by her confusion and fear.

  Mary hears another scream, and though she is terrified, it helps her decide what to do. She rushes into the woods, in the direction from which the cries came. In her flight, she brushes close to the concealed boy, but does not see him. He smiles and follows silently behind her.

  Mary races through the woods. Branches and thorns catch her clothing and scratch her face, but she hardly notices. Then her dress is caught from behind, her movement is stopped. She pulls hard and hears the sound of ripping cloth as she is released. Her momentum hurls her into a clearing. It takes a moment before she can comprehend the terrible scene before her.

  She sees her husband’s body on the ground, covered in blood. A young girl, the one they met on the road, is hunched over him, her mouth greedily sucking at Johns bloody throat. Her senses overwhelmed, Mary screams and turns to run away, but Bloody Axe is blocking her path. She screams again, turns back into the clearing, and is grabbed from behind and firmly held. She stares at what seem to be grotesque caricatures of children. They are covered in blood, and all are holding dripping, bloody weapons. They stand quietly, looking at her with bemused interest.

  It seems to Mary that the moment lasts forever, and then Second Hunter moves slowly toward her. His piercing eyes hold hers, and though her brain tells her to struggle, to run, to flee, her body will not respond. She stands paralyzed by shock and fear. Second Hunter halts before her, gives her a friendly smile, and raises his knife slowly overhead. He holds that position, still grinning at her with friendly curiosity. First Hunter comes up and puts his hand on Second Hunter’s arm.

  “Wait. There is something we can do with her first. Each of you take an arm.”

  Bloody Axe takes one of Mary’s arms. Second Hunter puts away his knife and takes the other arm.

  First Hunter’s small, nasty eyes stare at Mary. In the half light of the woods, the pustules on his face glow bright red. His tongue protrudes from his lips. Mary looks at him, terrified, pleading with her eyes. First Hunter holds his knife before her face. He brings his head close to hers, and she smells his carrion breath, sees his rotting, yellow teeth.

  First Hunter gives a barking laugh and lowers the knife. Mary feels some small relief, but then he raises the blade to the top of her dress. Slowly, carefully, he begins to cut through the heavy material of the dress and the chemise beneath it. He is careful to avoid touching her skin with either the knife or his hand. He cuts the dress to her waist.

  Her breasts, freed from the confines of her garments, are surprisingly large and well shaped. The skin is milky white, so pale as to seem almost transparent, with a blue tracery of veins. Her nipples are large and pink. Staring at her, First Hunter exhales with a wet sound. Small bubbles of saliva form on his lips.

  First Hunter begins to cut the dress at her waist. When he has cut it past her full hips, it falls to the ground and she is naked. First Hunter studies her closely, noting the pulse beating at the back of her jaw, the small hollow at the base of her throat, her breasts rising and falling, the smooth, round belly, the wide hips and firm white thighs, the blond curly triangle between her legs.

  Raising his hand, First Hunter lightly touches her face with his fingertips. He barely grazes her skin, but Mary begins to weep and moan. His hand continues from her throat to her breast. As he touches her nipple, he feels it stiffen. Gently, he puts his palm on the underside of her breast, enjoying the solid weight of it in his hand. Then his fingertips graze her belly and go into the hollow of her navel. They brush over her hips, across her rounded buttocks, and move up the inside of her thighs to the curls between her legs. His touch there makes her weep uncontrollably.

  This new burst of crying excites First Hunter. No longer gentle, he squeezes her flesh with increasing violence. His fingers leave red indentations in her white skin. The more cruelly he grabs her, the more roughly he twists her flesh, the louder she sobs, which only increases his excitement. He presses against her body, digging his fingers into her back. His lust rises, causing his penis to press against his codpiece.

  “Take her to the ground,” he orders.

  Second Hunter and Bloody Axe pull Mary to the ground.

  ‘‘Hold her down.”

  Mary’s legs are bent and her knees are pressed together. First Hunter tries to part them, but she resists. He slaps her hard across the face, and forces himself between her legs. Kneeling, he pulls down his breeches and pushes his erect penis against her. He squeezes her breasts viciously, thrusts his hips several times, and climaxes quickly, growling harshly as he does.

  Mary sobs, tossing her head from side to side. Second Hunter looks at his brother, asking permission to take a turn. First Hunter nods and motions for someone else to hold Mary down.

  Second Hunter kneels over her. His eyes gleam darkly, the nostrils of his hawk nose flare. His hands explore Mary’s body. When he tries to get between her legs, she presses them together again. First Hunter grabs her ankles, raises them, and holds her legs apart until Second Hunter has mounted her. She lies still, weeping quietly as he thrusts into her.

  When Second Hunter is through, Bloody Axe takes his turn. Then one of the younger boys comes forward. First Hunter says he is too young, but the boy pulls up his shirt and shows that his small penis is erect. First Hunter laughs, and the boy is allowed to take his turn. He looks very small on top of the large body of the woman.

  Throughout the rape, all the children watch fascinated. Though the mechanics of human copulation are familiar to them, this spectacle is somehow more exciting than what they have seen in the cave. It is more prolonged, more open; they enjoy seeing the woman’s feeble struggles and hearing her whimper. To amuse the others, two of the younger children writhe on the ground and mimic Mary’s cries.

  Girl Hunter is totally engrossed by the rape. She watches in rapt concentration, both hands clasped around the thick hilt of her knife, the end of which is pressed into her groin on the outside of her dress. As each of her brothers tenses during orgasm and then relaxes, she too tenses and relaxes. Her lips seem swollen, and her breath comes with difficulty.

  When the last boy has finished, Girl Hunter comes forward, almost in a trance. She looks down at Mary, who has ceased to cry and seems oblivious now to everything about her.
Girl Hunter sits astride Mary’s thighs. Holding her knife very delicately, she makes small cuts on Mary’s breasts and belly, being careful to just break the skin. At first the cuts are just pricks, but then they lengthen into scratches.

  Mary begins to scream again. Girl Hunter becomes more and more excited. Her eyes wild, she scratches faster and faster until Mary’s white skin is etched with red lines. At last, in agony, Mary faints. This enrages Girl Hunter and she slaps Mary across the face and savagely twists her breast.

  “Wake up! Wake up! You cow! I am not through yet. You can’t get away like this. Wake up!”

  There is no response. Girl Hunter plunges the knife into Mary’s breast. Blood spatters, some of it hitting Girl Hunter on her mouth. Her tongue darts to lick it off. Then, breathing heavily, she stands up and turns to face First Hunter.

  “Do to me what you did to her.”

  First Hunter stares, uncertain of what she means. She lies down on the ground, close to where her brother stands. The other children gather in a circle around them. Girl Hunter bends her knees and arches her back. She pulls her dress lip until it is bunched under her arms, revealing her lithe white body. Placing her hands on her budding breasts, she feels them swell beneath the pressure. Her small dark nipples are achingly hard. She closes her eyes, and a sound comes from low in her throat as her hips begin to move of their own accord. First Hunter kneels beside her, his idiot’s face flushed and covered with sweat. She takes his hands and places them on her breasts. His palms scrape roughly against her taut nipples. Her hand goes inside the top of his breeches and closes around his hard penis. He inhales sharply. She yanks down his breeches until he is exposed and, holding his penis, pulls him toward her. Then she pushes with her hips, and he is inside her.

  The couple begins to move together, thrust and counter-thrust. The other children watch, spellbound, and then, one by one, they begin a kind of chant—a loud, rhythmic breathing that matches the grunts and groans of the lovers. The children’s bodies sway forward and backward in rhythm as they chant. The speed of their movements increases until Girl Hunter utters a series of gasping cries. As she climaxes, the children fall to the ground, completely spent. They lie close together, their bodies touching, breathing as a single organism.