Account 06: Hunger

Background information

• Name: Olivia Chester
• Pronouns: She/her
  
• Date: March 25, 2020
• Occupation: College student
• City of residence: Atkins, Michigan
• Date(s) of account: March 2020
• Subject of account: A hangover
  

Account
I've been hungry for so long. Even as I write this I am trying not to think of what is in my fridge. It would not satiate the hunger, but it might dull the edge, if only for a moment.

I used to be human. I used to have friends. I spoke with them and played with them and ate with them. My name was Olivia Chester. I was a student at Atkins Community College. A model student, most would say, though I drank and smoked far more than I should have. However, I do not believe I was an addict. I stopped several times and never went through withdrawal. I simply enjoyed the thrill of indulging in the forbidden.

It started with the noises.

Two weeks ago, I was in my room, studying for a biology exam the next day and kicking myself for going out drinking the night before. I'd just started reading through my textbook when I heard something at the door. It sounded like scratching.

I stopped what I was doing and turned around, hoping I could see what was making that noise without having to go out into the hallway. But the scratching stopped as soon as I turned my attention towards the door.

I slowly walked towards the door, not really sure what else to do, and opened it. There was nobody there. I looked around, but there was still nothing in sight. Just the same hallway as ever.

I started to hear more scratching sounds. They were much more distant, and sounded like they were coming from around the corner. I thought there must have been an animal loose, although pets weren't allowed in that building. My hangover made it difficult to think clearly. Maybe if I'd been more careful, I wouldn't have followed the noises.

When I rounded the corner, what I saw was not an animal.

It was not a human, let me be absolutely clear on that. It clearly had been at one point, but not anymore. It crawled and writhed on the ground, scratching at anything it could get near in a desperate attempt at getting someone to come near and let it in.

I screamed, and it lifted its head towards me. I was frozen in place as it shambled towards me, though I wanted nothing more than to run. The thing let out a low groan as it advanced. My paralysis suddenly giving way to panicked aggression, I kicked at the thing on the floor, but it grabbed my leg with hands that were far too strong and bit into the flesh of my ankle.

It would be pointless at this point to mention every time I screamed that day. I can't even remember, but I think I was probably screaming the entire time.

Something thick and black came from the thing's mouth, spilling onto the ground. It writhed towards me and crawled onto my foot and over my leg and filled what the thing had taken from my leg with itself.

That was when I first felt the hunger. When the tar entered my leg. I felt so hungry, and I saw flesh before me.

I knelt down before the thing and tore pieces from it. I knew what I was doing was wrong, that I was supposed to run away, but I was so hungry.

There was more of that thick black tar in the thing, and as I devoured it, the hunger only grew sharper.

I suppose I'm lucky that I chose an apartment with so few tenants to move into. It means that nobody saw the thing but me, and nobody saw me drag what was left of it into my apartment and stuff it in pieces into my fridge.

I'm sick to my stomach even as I write this. I know it's not normal to feel the hunger I feel. I wish so desperately that I could live an ordinary life again, that I could go back and tell myself not to give into the want and excess I've indulged for so long. But it's too late now.

It's hard to breathe sometimes. The tar fills my mouth and lungs and I choke on it. But it doesn't kill me. After all, it needs to eat.

It's hungry too.

Analysis
That was... something. It honestly reads like some kind of zombie story. Although I find it interesting to note that the infection isn't spread by the bite itself, but by a substance capable of entering those who are bitten, I'm tempted to think this account is a work of fiction inspired by zombie movies and the like.

I considered visiting Atkins Community College and seeing if anyone had heard of Chester. Frankly, though, I couldn't think of a good enough lie to explain why I wanted to know about her.

Alex called the number Chester provided. It took several seconds, but she picked up. It wasn't exactly enlightening, unfortunately. The only sound on the other end was growling, eventually interrupted by someone asking, "Who is it?"

There was a sickening tearing noise, and the voice on the other end said one last thing before hanging up: "Well, one way or another, I'm busy at the moment. I'm eating dinner."