Short Story: “The Hunger,” Part 3

1 December 2025

Curious coincidence, both the first of month. . . . Part 3 of “The Hunger.”

1 April 2013

Happy April Fool’s Day! Here follows Part 3 of our twisted tail! Enjoy, and beware of too obvious pranks!

“The Hunger, Part 3″

Several weeks passed before the subject was raised again. Nurse Barrett showed me our responsibilities, which involved the medical care of this and several nearby villages. She went about instructing me, while she smirked, fully knowing I would bring up the subject again.

“Even if what you claim were true, which it’s not,” I said, “I could not be responsible for actions committed while delirious.”

She laughed. “Yes, that is usually the claim: I was possessed of an evil, lecherous spirit and therefore, not responsible for my actions,” she went on, in a mocking voice. “I tried to save her from sin, but the devil took control and forced me to do it–that’s bunk.” That is not the word she used–hers was more profane. Even after all they have done to me, I cannot bring myself to use similar, profane language. “Let me assure you, however,” she continued, “that you were wide awake and in full possession of all your faculties.” She casually stripped off her uniform, smirking and watching me. She lay down on her cot, not bothering to put on her robe.

“You see, there is no cure for the disease you’ve caught. Soon the pain will grow; the pressure will become unbearable. The hunger will grow with it.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “You’ll come crawling to me, begging me to help you relieve the pain and hunger. Even now it begins to grow intolerable.” Her eyes stared at my obvious interest in her declaration. I struggled to throw the thoughts from my mind and failed. I knew I should flee, but stood enthralled by her nudity. She was right–the pain and hunger grew. My restraints crumbled. A cold hunger formed and filled the pit of my stomach. I took one step toward her. An image of Rachel flashed into my mind. How could I be unfaithful to her? In that moment, my psyche split in two–guilt and hunger. The two parts battled across my mind–Rachel representing guilt and Trina hunger. My body responded to every pull from each, stepping toward or away from Nurse Barrett. I heard myself screaming, head in hands as if the pressure on my temples could force the shattered halves of my tortured mind together. I turned and ran from the building into a steamy jungle afternoon. Nurse Barrett’s wicked laughter followed me. “You’ll be back!”

I fled, screaming, into the jungle, stopping only when I tripped and fell flat on my face. I slipped from consciousness. For a short time, I found peace in darkness, fleeing all thought. It was not long before the specters of my guilt and hunger found my hiding place and tortured me once more. I woke with a start, lying on the ground, the hunger unbearable. Madness took me and I ran again, screaming and cursing. I finally struck my head against a branch, causing the welcome peace of unconsciousness.

I recalled later, through the darkness, being carried to the stone building. They laid me on my cot and strapped something to my head. The specters appeared immediately, with Rachel the incarnation of my guilt and Trina my hunger. Rachel seemed bound. Trina spoke.

“It is interesting how every man has secrets hidden in the deepest recesses of his mind–he locks the truth away and pretends to be something he is not. Like your relationship,” she pointed to Rachel, “you claimed to be virgins when you married, yet that was a lie.”

“That is not true!” I said. The Rachel specter echoed my denial.

“Oh, really? What about the time, a month before you married, when you went for a picnic in the park?”

It was a warm day. We lay on a blanket in our shorts and T-shirts, enjoying the sun’s warmth. I remember Rachel standing suddenly, suggesting we should leave. However, in this dream sequence, she kissed me more passionately than normal. We looked around and pulled the blanket over us. Every explicit detail paraded before my mind showing how we sinned, according to our moral values. The Rachel specter mirrored my own feelings of disbelief, blurring and losing her form. The guilt became a raging flame, searing my mind. In the background, the Trina-hunger laughed wickedly. The flame of guilt altered form and became the ghost of Parson Smythe, sitting behind a judge’s bar, looking down at me over his reading glasses. I was suddenly bound to a chair before the bar, awaiting his judgment.

“So, you lied to me?” His deep voice rumbled, cutting my soul to its center. I tried to reply, deny the accusation, but the guilt had choked off my utterance. “How many other things did you lie about?”

The Trina specter appeared beside the bar in a business suit, looking over a folder with my name inscribed on its cover. “What about the Valentine’s dinner you had together, when her roommates were gone for the weekend?”

Rachel sat across a candlelit table from me, eating daintily. She wore a silk blouse, cream colored, with pearl buttons. Her hair was tied back, away from her face. I recalled the incident clearly and believed we had nothing to hide. She stood, straightening her black skirt, whose hemline barely reached mid-thigh. I was shocked and shouted a denial. A chain came from nowhere, binding me more tightly to the chair. I knew Rachel would never have worn a skirt so short. The idea was a fabrication coming from somewhere else. I tried again to speak, but a cloth gag covered my mouth stopping all utterance. I noticed the Parson’s disapproving glance. Rachel led me to the living room of her apartment, sat carefully on the carpet, and pulled me down beside her. She leaned back on her elbows, kicking off her black pumps, and turned toward me. After several lingering kisses, I flushed and tried to turn away. I felt, rather than saw, my mouth clamp down on her shoulder, heard her scream of pain, and tasted her salty blood as it gushed into my mouth.

The Parson shook his head slowly. “Liars go straight to Hell where they burn forever in a lake of fire and brimstone!”

A pit opened before my feet, glowing with orange flame. The chair leaned forward; the chains fell away. I fell into a lake of fire, screaming as the flames charred my flesh. A voice in my mind shouted: “You fool! It is only a dream! Wake up!” But the roaring of flames filled my ears; the stench of burning flesh penetrated my nose. The pain of burning seared every nerve. Even as I recall the nightmare, I feel heat on my skin, hear my flesh crackle as it burns, and I can still taste the blood.

I could not lose consciousness, as that is what brought the dream. Something, or someone, prevented my waking. I was tormented, for a time, in my own private hell. Laughter pierced the roaring and I looked up, seeking the source of the sound. I looked into the glittering blue eyes of the specter of my hunger, Trina Barrett.

“I can save you from this,” she purred.

“How?” I croaked.

Her form appeared before me, clad in sheer red rayon. “Embrace me,” she whispered.

“Never!”

She smirked. “Then burn.”

The flames, which shrank as we spoke, roared back to life. I screamed in agony, tormented again by the fire of guilt, the ache of a hunger that would never be satisfied. Twice more, the Trina specter offered to release me from the pain–both offers I rejected. However, each rejection came more slowly as my will crumbled. The next time she appeared, her tactics altered.

“Look,” she said, with a hint of desire, “we’ve seen your secret acts of sin, including what you did with me, one more sin will add little to the flame of your guilt. Why not be free from the pain of guilt and the hunger?” Her sheer robe disappeared and she reclined before me, naked and perfect. I had to admit, it looked more pleasant than the flames continually burning my flesh, the hunger twisting my guts. She looked toward me, spoke in a voice that resembled a moan, “I could give you much pleasure.” I felt tears, like trails of fire, run down my cheeks. I whimpered my rejection. The flames flared higher than before, causing more pain than anyone could possibly endure.

Somehow, whether by my own volition or by the choice of my tormentors, I escaped the nightmare. I found momentary peace in blankness. However, the she-devil in charge of the destruction of my soul did not allow me long to rest. I was soon returned to the world of dreams and forced into a new nightmare. The dreams I had before of Rachel replayed, the difference this time is that the dream ended before I tasted her blood, or she, mine. The pain and pressure grew with each dream sequence. Each dream replayed three times in rapid succession. The sequence changed to the fabricated dreams of our alleged premarital sex. As before, each dream stopped immediately before I tasted blood three times in succession. I could hardly stand the pain and hunger building inside.

Finally, the she-devil, Nurse Barrett, appeared in my dream. Reality superimposed itself over the dream, and she knelt over me, eyes glittering in the red glow of her crystal locket, her lips stained black. The dream of her and me on the cot repeated. Reality reimposed itself; she still knelt over me, red glow coming from one hand. The dream repeated and froze. Reality–she held the glowing insect to her own neck. Pain shot through her form from the glowing insect’s bite. Dream–freeze. Reality–she brought her hand and the insect to my neck. Sting–fire racing down my nerves. A trickle of blood flowed from the bite on her neck. Dream–reality. The two scenes rolled forward; I lived in two realities. In the dream, I put my lips to the wound on her neck, drinking her blood. In reality, she put her lips to my neck, drinking my blood. The dream faded. She lifted her bloody lips from my neck, turning her head so I could drink her blood. It burned like fire in my mouth, but not a fire to consume fuel–it consumed the cold hunger within. For a moment, I felt whole, tormented neither by guilt nor hunger. The hunger and pain were gone from me.

The glow faded, she opened her eyes. “Isn’t that much better than the pain? The hunger?” I heard Saunders laughing in the background. Trina looked toward him, nodded, and laughed, her laughter ringing of triumph. I stiffened beneath her. She pushed herself into a sitting position, smirked, and stood up. “Dreams,” she whispered. Guilt hammered at the walls of my sanity. Saunders handed her the glowing pipe and helped her into her robe while she took a long drag. The walls guarding the huddled remains of my sanity tumbled, leaving me to be lashed by the consuming fire of my guilt. As pain and blackness grasped me, I heard Trina whisper again: “Dreams.” I screamed until my voice faded into silence.

Look for the tragic conclusion next time!