Short Story: “The Hunger,” Part 2

29 November 2025

Here comes Part 2 of “The Hunger”; don’t forget my warning for those of a tender disposition!

25 March 2013

“The Hunger,” Part 2

I swam for a time in a sea of pain and blackness, unaware of Nurse Barrett methodically removing the leeches. The pain subsided when it seemed as if something were strapped to my forehead, causing a slight dizziness before overcoming the pain. I had a rather odd dream which replayed a memory. I dreamed of the day when Rachel and I married–the memory causes my cheeks to flush with embarrassment. I was surprised and shocked by her actions in the dream, actions so different from reality. My upbringing screamed that it was wrong, I should stop her, and I should not enjoy it. Curiosity broke down the barriers raised in my fundamentalist youth, and I began to enjoy it. At that point, the dream was cut off. I struggled to consciousness.

I lay on the cot, still naked. I flushed, as Nurse Barrett leaned over me, apparently checking my wounds. I tried to roll over, to hide my nakedness, but found myself strapped to the cot. Saunders was absent. I noticed Trina only wore a short, loose robe of red satin, Chinese dragons embroidered on the back. As she leaned over me, the robe fell open revealing a naked body like my Rachel’s. My cheeks flushed intensely. Nurse Barrett smiled, touching me lightly with one finger.

“I see you churchgoers have passions like the rest of us.” A smirk replaced the smile, and I noticed again her crimson-stained lips. “I always get a kick out of your kind–preaching of the sinful nature of sex, pretending piety. Yet, in the dark, all you men are animals, no matter how religious you claim to be–slaves to your passions.” She loosened the straps which bound me to the cot and turned away. I rose slowly, stiff and sore, pulled a dry uniform from my duffel, and dressed quickly. Silently, still smirking, she led me to a trap door in the center of the room. I opened the door and heard Saunders’ voice, backed by radio static. Trina held the door, smiling or smirking, and watched me descend. The door slammed shut with a dull thud.

Saunders sat at a small table, covered with electronic equipment. He gave me a pad and pencil, saying I should write my serial number down so he could report my arrival. We exchanged the information and waited in silence for a response.

“She is an odd person,” I noted.

“I enjoy her,” he replied. However it seemed he meant something other than he said.

Confirmation came. They exchanged some cryptic remarks which I now realize referred to me and my placement in this place. I now recognize each step of their plan was carefully laid out–each swing of the ax undercutting my standards precisely placed.

“That’s all I need. Nurse Barrett will show you the rest of your duties.” A hint of sarcasm colored his declaration.

I tried for several minutes to open the trap door, but something prevented me from opening it. I asked Saunders what the trick was. He looked puzzled as he tried the door himself. He pounded, shouting for Trina.

“Open the damn door!”

“I can’t– it’s stuck.”

Saunders shrugged. “Happens regularly–damn humidity!”

He led me to a small window in the cellar’s wall. After opening it, he gave me a leg up and out of the window. It clanked shut behind me. I crawled under the dense foliage, seeking a way out. There seemed to be a clear space, running away from the building. I could see little, the ground before me obscured by the gloom under the dense jungle growth. A hole opened beneath me; I tumbled into a dark pit. As I fell, I felt the pricks of a thousand tiny needles. I hit the bottom with a crunch, feeling as if a multitude of insects crawled all over me. Pain crashed against all my nerves from the thousand stings I suddenly received. A scream of pure terror rent the darkness which held me in its claws.

Hands grasped and pulled me from the pit. Through the haziness of mind inflicted upon me by the venom of a thousand stings, I could see Saunders dragging me through the foliage toward the back door. I wanted to aid him but could not get my limbs to respond. He dragged me into the house and laid me in the cot. I believe I was mumbling about how I would feel better after some rest. Trina came into my view holding something in her hand. Lifting her hand to her mouth, she breathed lightly upon what she held. Red light flared to life in her hand. I watched, unable to move, as she lowered her hand to hold the glowing object in front of face. An insect-like creature, gold colored and glowing red, shaped like a large beetle, waited in her palm. The light on her face made her look hungry, ambitious, and made her lips look black. I tried again to flee, but failed–my limbs still limp and useless. The insect leapt from her hand to my neck. I flinched and felt its sting, which burned like a hot coal touched to my skin. My mind went blank before I could scream, as if someone flicked off a light switch.

I suddenly entered a dreamlike world, reliving events pulled from my memory. Even in that dreamlike state, a flush colored my cheeks–the man I was offended by the things I must relate. Guilt rises; the words of the parson ring clear in my mind–these things should not be openly discussed. They are, nevertheless, necessary to understand my story. As I said before, my parents are wealthy. For a wedding gift, they sent Rachel and me to a friend’s cabin, secluded in the Alps. On a certain day, we hiked across a meadow covered with daisies. I rested among the wildflowers, staring up at the few wispy clouds floating across the sky. My mind wandered; I drifted toward sleep. One of the clouds changed into Rachel, sitting on me and pulling the white cotton dress over her head, but unlike the actual event, she bent and bit me, the pain searing like fire. The dream halted, returning to the cloud reforming into Rachel. The sequence repeated, with attention focused on her mouth on my shoulder and excruciating pain. I shuddered as the dream faded, awakening enough to feel a weight taken from my chest. Black dreamless sleep took me again.

Sometime later, I dreamed again. Like my parents, Rachel’s were also wealthy–they gave us a week in Hawaii. We lay resting on our bed, sweating from the still, oppressive afternoon. No breeze stirred the air, thick with evaporated water. Breathing felt like drowning, and the less one moved the less one had to breathe. The surf rolled against the sand monotonously. Our bungalow’s small electric fan did little to cool us as we sprawled on the bed, naked but not touching. A bolt of lightning split the clouds, releasing a tropical deluge. Rachel rolled onto her side and closer to me, her hand reaching out to stroke my chest, but as her fingers touched me, her nails became sharp claws, scratching across my chest, her face transforming into the face of a harpy that resembled Nurse Barrett. I tried to scream, but no sound issued from my gaping mouth, and the scratches across my chest bled and burned. As happened in the first dream, the dream was repeated, from Rachel rolling closer until I attempted to scream. The dream faded to reality. I heard the sound of rain pounding the roof before fading to blankness.

After more time passed, a third memory was replayed in a dream. I dreamed of the last night I spent with Rachel before coming to southeast Asia. We spent the entire furlough in our hotel room, shutting out the world. The dream focused on our last moments together, except that now she pleaded with me to take her away; her blood leaked from wounds on her shoulder and chest. I held her tight in my arms, her tears wetting my cheeks. For the third time, the dream returned to the beginning, detailing each action. However, at the end of the repeat, Rachel’s hair changed from brown to blond; her face altered, replaced by the smirking face of Trina Barrett. I jerked myself out of the dream and felt myself helped onto my cot.

I awakened, thirty-six hours later, in a darkened room. Nurse Barrett reclined on her cot, holding an object in her hands that glowed with soft red light; it looked like a crystal locket hanging from a chain around her neck, lit by some bloody fire. Her eyes sparkled, reflecting the light glowing in her hands. She noticed my gaze; the habitual smirk returned to her lips. She dropped the locket into her robe.

“I see you’ve survived your bout with jungle fever,” she purred. “I hope you realize you’d have died if I weren’t such a good nurse.”

I sat up slowly, groaning at the exertion, stiff and sore. “I’m grateful.”

“You’re grateful?” She laughed wickedly. “You’d better be more than grateful to buy my silence.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

She laughed again. “That’s typical! You religious types with your pretended piety deny the incident, believing your reputation versus that of a whore’s will exonerate you!”

“Are you saying . . . ?”

“You had sex with me three times while you were sick.” Her smirk widened into a triumphant grin.

“I don’t believe you.”

She stood slowly, grin still wide. With the speed and grace of a cat, she flicked on the light. The silk robe whispered as it slid from her shoulders. She stalked forward, stopping next to my cot and pointing to teeth marks on her shoulder and parallel scratches across her chest, duplicates of those Rachel had given me in my dreams. She pivoted on one heel, and stalked away. “You had three dreams of making love to your wife. Each time, you called and begged for her to come. When she did not, you crawled over to my cot, begging and pleading I make love to you. Knowing that is an effect of this particular strain of the fever, I obliged you– not that I minded. I’ve found your types enjoy sex with a gusto not found among ordinary men–must be all that talk about sin,” she smirked. “You left me the marks to remember the wonderful time we had.”

For a moment, I sat gaping at the marks on her perfectly shaped body. I was appalled by the thought that I might be responsible. I quickly thrust the thought from my mind, struggling to regain control. “They were only dreams–I could have spoken of the marks in my delirium and you could have duplicated them to blackmail me.” I shrugged.

She stalked forward again, holding a mirror in front of me; ice flowed into my guts when I saw the same scratches on my chest, the same teeth marks on my shoulder. She turned away. I could hardly control the desire to touch her perfect curves. She put on her robe and reclined again on her cot. The smirk returned to her lips and I noticed for the second time their deeply stained crimson color. She laughed as she picked up a long stemmed pipe and filled it with hashish. “Dreams.” She lit the pipe and took a long drag. She exhaled slowly, laughing again. Saunders entered the room. “He thinks they were only dreams,” she noted, handing him the pipe.

He took an equally long drag, which he held for a moment before exhaling. “Dreams!” He laughed before taking another pull at the pipe. They passed it back and forth, taking long drags and mumbling “dreams” as if it were some kind of litany. Their voices slurred as they smoked; their movements slowed. When they finished, Saunders knocked out the pipe and handed it back to Trina. “Lesh show him hish dreamshs,” he mumbled, removing his clothes. She laughed, opening her robe. I fled into the night, but could not shut out the sound of their slurred litany, echoing all around: “Dreams.”

Come back on Monday for another edition of this twisted tale!