The Hungry

The Hungry

By Nomar Knight

     I have been called by many names. Feared by thousands. So many lives succumbed to my insatiable appetite. On a night like countless others, I strutted along the city streets among the multitudes of boastful creatures, each engulfed in his own miserable existence. My observation of the beasts while they played their games grew into a morbid fascination. Too bad they never knew that they’re struggles were pointless. They took their surroundings for granted and used each other for selfish gains. They inhabited a fruitful planet suited for my talents since strength was rewarded with the spoils of victory. The ruthless cretins conquered only to succumb to my fancies. 

     I followed Mr. Wonderful into a bar and grinned at how he exuded the utmost confidence. His brown hair barely combed to the right, fell into place as if he had commanded his body to follow his will. He sat at the bar like the world owed him everything. The young female bartender cooed as he whispered in her ear. She blushed and promptly fetched his drink. 

     Once Mr. Wonderful got what he needed, he turned and faced the patrons sitting at the tables and booths. He scanned the room like a lioness eyeing a field of antelope. He failed to notice the disappointment plastered on the bartender’s face. The temptation to reveal her good fortune passed as the hunger reminded me that I had to remain still and look unassuming. 

     Mr. Wonderful stepped off the stool and inched his way towards me. I pretended to see him for the first time and grinned as if in disbelief. The smug look on his face signaled that I was not worthy of the self professed titan’s presence, but I resisted a chuckle, knowing he played into my hands. 

     “Is this seat taken?”

     He lowered his glass toward the empty chair. Without uttering a word, I shook my head slightly, making sure my blond hair didn’t hide my face. He had no idea that we had spent an intimate night. There was nothing more revealing than peaking inside a man’s dreams. 

     He placed the drink on the red tablecloth and offered a hand. “Hi, I’m Armando.”

     I smiled, careful not to flash my pearly whites and gently placed my hand on his. 

     He held on to it, leaned closer and whispered, “This is where you tell me your name, blue eyes.”

     I giggled and shuttered, allowing him to feel my energy, knowing that he would take it as a sign of flattery. Experience allowed me to mask my intentions with expert precision.

     “I’m Karma.”

     His eyebrows furrowed in surprise. Mr. Wonderful chuckled in a controlled manner, blocking the outside world from seeing his imperfections. 

     “Were your parents hippies?”

     His ignorance confirmed a millennium of pure inbreeding. His kind craved the hunt in order to feel superior.

     “No, they were stockbrokers. Now I’m alone in the world.”

     I sounded sad and innocent. 

     The sparkle in his dark eyes confirmed my ability to push the right buttons. 

     “Do you want to get out of here, Karma?”

     The hunger inside me released. Men like Mr. Wonderful could never get enough. They mistook it for pheromones of lust. 

     I rose from the chair and whispered in his ear, “Sure, but be gentle with me.”

     We got in his blue Lamborghini where I let him feel every crevice of my body. We kissed and my hunger reached a fever pitch. 

     He said, “I want to be inside you.” He unzipped his pants. 

     I pretended to be helpless and said, “No, not here.”

     “Come on, Karma! It’s dark here. There’s no one around. No one can see or hear us.”

     “But I’m nervous.”

     He jumped on me, searched for panties, yet found none. Then he smiled, “Why are you fighting it, baby? You know you want this.”

     I tried to meagerly push him off, but he was too big, too strong. I yelled, “I can’t because I lied to you.”

     He stopped. “Lied about what?”

     I trembled as though completely helpless, looked away from him, and said, “My name isn’t Karma.”

     He chuckled. “That doesn’t matter, baby.” He tried to force himself inside me. I lifted and flung him, smashing his back against the driver’s side window, cracking it. 

     He screamed, “What the hell?”

     “Allow me to introduce myself, Mr. Wonderful. I am The Hungry.”

     His screams and his soul satisfied my thirst, for the night.

  

- 806 words  

© Copyright Nomar Knight 2015. All rights reserved.

A Knight Chills Flash Fiction Presentation.

From the Mind of a Madman (Ch.2)

The link to chapter one is here.

This is a supernatural suspense miniseries. Enjoy Chapter Two.

From the Mind of a Madman

By Nomar Knight

Chapter Two

Blinded by an annoying strobe light, I couldn’t help but think that soon the pavement would be my grave. As I stood on the ledge of my apartment building, my knees threatened to buckle from under me. Not since Mrs. Lawton’s fifth grade Math class did I tremble with overwhelming fear.

“Come, Cesar, I challenge you to a long multiplication problem. The first one of us that completes the problem wins.”

I recalled wishing I could sink into a hole and disappear.

The crowd’s thirst for blood shook me out of my trance.

“Jump! Jump!”

“Don’t listen to them.”

A female’s voice drew my attention behind me to my right.

“Help me.”

I didn’t recognize the sound of my voice. It sounded like a frog caught in my throat.

The female wore a gray blazer and a green blouse. Her shiny detective’s shield was pinched on her belt.

“Professor Perez, please look at me.”

Since I wore only my pajamas, the night’s cool air felt as if I was trapped inside an igloo. I couldn’t stop shaking.

“I’m Detective Patricia Duncan. The neighbors told me you’re a great guy.”

For the first time I focused my vision on her face. She had her left hand over her eyes, making it difficult for me to see them.

I muttered. “This darn light is blinding.”

“Tell me, Professor, why are we out here?”

“I don’t know how I got here. I must have fallen asleep, next thing I know, I’m a step away from…”

The detective sighed as though relieved, “Great, then we can go back to your apartment now. Give me your hand.”

“I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“You’re not the first person to sleepwalk.” Compassion filled her soothing tone.

I was tempted to tell her about the morbid visions that filled my waking hours since I had lost my Nicole. How I was losing my grip on reality, when another voice to my left swayed my attention.

“Don’t be a chicken!”

Shock nearly stopped me from breathing. My fifth grade teacher sat next to me with her legs dangling over the ledge.

“But you’re dead.”

Detective Duncan sighed again, only it sounded more like frustration. “Reach out your hand and you will be safe.”

Mrs. Lawton laughed. “I remembered the look on your face when I challenged you in front of the other students. I thought you were going to pee in your pants.”

Turning my head to the detective, I whispered, “Can you see her?”

“See who?”

My heart sank. I knew the cop wouldn’t believe me.

Mrs. Lawton said, “What are you waiting for? Don’t you like playing up to the crowd? They want you to jump.”

“You’re not real! This whole situation isn’t real.”

The detective spoke softly, “I’m most certainly real and I’m here to help you, Professor. What’s your first name?”

Mrs. Lawton got up and offered her hand. Her gray hair fell down to her shoulders. “We can jump together. Remember how you actually beat me. I did the math problem faster than you, but you actually won.”

I grinned, recalling how obese she used to be…how she towered over me. “Yes, I defeated you, the great Mrs. Lawton.”

She giggled. “Cesar, you were slow, but accurate. Perhaps slow and steady does win the race. Let me help you. Jump off with me.”

I gripped her hand and stared at my bloodthirsty audience. Most of the scoundrels below remained still. People in blue uniforms scurried about. Firefighters raced in unison like killer army ants determine to achieve a common goal.

“This isn’t real, but the pain feels so real. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t live without my Nicole.”

“Nicole? Please tell me about her.” Detective Duncan sounded desperate and louder.

“Jump with me Cesar and I promise you’ll be with Nicole again.”

Tears blurred my vision.

“Professor Perez, tell me how I can reach Nicole. Is she your girlfriend?”

“She was my fiancé.”

“For Christ sake!” Mrs. Lawton raised her voice, making me feel like a ten-year-old again. “Just take a step forward and you will be with her forever.”

“Professor, call me Patty,” said the detective. “I’d love to talk about this with you in the apartment, over a cup of coffee.”

I shifted my glance from the crowd below back to the cop. I caught a glimpse of her eyes. Suffering leaked out of amazing blue pupils.

“Do you know what it’s like, Patty, to lose the love of your life?”

“I’ll answer that question if you tell me your first name.”

“I’m Cesar.”

She reached out as though to shake my hand.

Mrs. Lawton screamed, “Jump now, you little weasel!”

Patty Duncan took a step toward me. “I know someone else is talking to you right now. I can’t see her, but by the way you’re extending your left hand, I figure you’re holding her hand. Is it Nicole?”

Tears cascaded down my cheeks. I whispered, “No.”

“Is it Mrs. Lawton?”

An intense pain shot from my left hand up to my elbow. When I focused my attention on the old hag, a stench of rotted meat made me gag. Mrs. Lawton’s skeletal hand applied a crunching grip. A scream trapped in my throat.

“Let’s go, Cesar!”

The zombie teacher’s tongue fell off the ledge. She jumped and took me with her.

...Stay tuned for Chapter Three

©2013 Nomar Knight. All rights reserved.

A Knight Chills Miniseries.

From the Mind of a Madman

       It's time for a little experiment. This is the first chapter of a miniseries. It is slightly tweaked, but unedited. It's been awhile since my Knight Chills readers were treated to a miniseries. This is a suspense thriller with a supernatural twist as it evolves from the creative stage. Mind you, I'm flying without a net. No outline exists. The characters will drive the storyline and hopefully, some encouraging words from you, my favorite readers, may keep the action going.  

I hope you enjoy Chapter One From the Mind of a Madman  

From the Mind of a Madman

By Nomar Knight

Chapter 1

As I maneuvered through a crowded street, a sense of impending doom exploded from deep within my gut. The dying sun’s glare added to my ever-increasing headache. A dry mouth reminded me that I had not consumed any liquids in hours. Blaring horns and a baby’s piercing screams forced me to shorten my attempt at exercise and enter a nearby coffee shop.

While making my way toward the counter, images of severed heads filled the display cases.

“What can I get for you, sir?”

I shut my eyes, praying for the pain in my head to vanish, hoping that when I acknowledged my present situation, the macabre display would be gone. As luck would have it, what I had seen as human heads was actually a variety of beautiful cakes.

“Sir, are you alright?”

The soothing, feminine voice did not match its producer. Standing with concerned, pale, blue eyes was a mammoth of a young man. He wore a baseball cap and forced a smile, giving him a classic look of constipation. I tried to speak, but found that words remained trapped in my mind. Not a sound shot forth. Clearing my throat, I uttered, “Black coffee, please.”

He pointed at the baked goods. “Would you like a piece of cake with your coffee?”

I froze when one by one the cakes began to split open only to reveal screaming heads.

“Sir, are you okay?”

I cupped my ears, shook my head and rushed into a booth, muttering, “This can’t be happening.”

The sound of heels clacking on the tiled floor drew my attention to the main entrance. A young, blond female, with eyes of coal, strolled toward the horrid display case.

“Hi, Mack, I’ll take a tea with lemon, please.”

The big guy’s fake smile softened into a genuine greeting.

“Hello, Mary Lou.”

I tried to look away, but something about her curly hair caught my eye. A soft hissing sound made my heart beat faster.

Mary Lou asked, “So how’s your accounting class coming along?”

My eyes remained focused at the back of Mary Lou’s head. The hissing sound grew louder. I could have sworn globs of hair strands threatened to move independently as if taking on the appearance of snakes.

Leaning forward, I rested one elbow on the table, shut my eyes and squeezed the bridge of my nose with two fingers.

Mary Lou whispered, “What’s wrong with him?”

I pretended not to hear them chatter about me. In truth, I was concerned that if my gaze met hers, she’d turn me to stone.

“Excuse me, sir. Here’s your coffee.”

I glanced upward and spotted a thin, delicate hand gripping a steaming cup of black coffee and a cup of tea with the other. I didn’t even bother to hide my astonishment as she flashed pearly whites.

“Say, aren’t you Professor Perez?”

I grabbed the cup, careful not to meet her gaze, and sipped the coffee.

She continued yapping, “You’re the Literature Professor. I’m thinking about changing majors.”

Her loud tone made it impossible to tune her out. I gulped down more of the beverage, savoring its therapeutic aroma.

“I’ve heard your classes are interesting.”

I scanned the table, searching for something that would turn the chatterbox off. Lucky for her, the only thing on my table was a spoon and an empty napkin holder.

“A friend of mine takes your class.”

I met her gaze and couldn’t stop my hands from shaking. Rivulets of coffee spilled over the rim of the cup until some of the drops landed on the rectangular table.

“Are you alright, Professor?”

When I lowered my gaze to the table and back up to her furrowed eyebrows, I envisioned sticking the spoon through her left eye.

At last I spoke, “I’m sorry. This damn migraine makes me irritable.”

Without uttering another word, I slid out of the booth, dropped a five dollar bill near the cup and left amidst a chorus of screams and profanity. It wasn’t until I pulled my apartment keys out of my pocket that I noticed the blood.

I whispered, “Did I really stab that girl’s eye out or did I imagine it?”

My apartment was a stone’s throw away from the coffee shop. I rushed into my modest abode, locked the door behind me and listened, waiting for the sirens of an ambulance or a police car. I must have paused for quite some time because when I had left the coffee shop, I recalled daylight’s stubborn refusal to die. One glance at the open window revealed street lights against a black sky.

I turned the lights on and inspected my hands. Dried blood covered my fingers.

“What have I done?”

I heard the toilet flush. I moved to the closed bathroom door and knocked.

“Darling, can you come out? I think I’ve done something dreadful.”

Silence…a choking silence crept up my throat. I stepped back expecting the door knob to rotate, but nothing happened.

“What’s wrong now?”

Nicole’s soothing voice startled me as it came from behind.

I wanted to hug her, but felt compelled to show restraint. “I hate it when you do that.”

Her lips curled into a sly smile. Piercing chocolate eyes sent shivers down my spine. I worshipped her and she knew it.

“God, I love how shiny your hair is.”

She blushed, glanced down at my hands then shook her head. “Is that blood on your fingers?”

A loud pounding on the door made me jump.

“Professor, may I have a word with you?”

I mumbled, “That nosy landlord is always interrupting us.”

Nicole rolled her eyes.

I opened the door to see Mr. Butterfield sporting a look of concern. “Do you have a visitor, Professor?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s just my fiancé and I here. Why?”

“I came to remind you that the rent is due today. I’m sorry for the intrusion.”

The door remained wide open while I fetched my checkbook from my desk. I noticed the nosy geezer scanning my apartment.

“Are you alright, Professor?”

The constant inquiries to my health started to annoy me.

“I wish people would stop asking me that. I’m fine.”

I handed him the check, unable to hide my rising anger.

He took the payment and a look of concern spread across his face.

“Did you cut yourself, sir?”

I bit my lip and frowned. “Goodnight Mr. Butterfield.”

He turned to leave then paused. “Professor, don’t you remember what happened last week?”

“Please leave Mr. Butterfield.”

He sighed and left with a solemn expression on his face.

I shut the door and spotted Nicole sitting on the sofa.

She said softly. “Let me go.”

“Why would you want to leave my side, darling?”

She placed elbows over her knees until her head rested on her hands.

“Because I don’t belong here.”

“Nonsense! You’re the love of my life.”

Somehow, she was no longer on the sofa. In a split second, her nose almost touched mine. Her eyes swirled in never ending circles, lulling me into a meditative stupor. Sirens hollered as if far off in the distance.

“Wake up, darling.”

Nicole’s voice startled me. A cool breeze slapped my face. When I regained my focus, I realized that I was standing on the ledge of the rooftop. Fire trucks, police vehicles and a crowd gathered below.

A bloodthirsty chorus shouted, “Jump! Jump!”

“Nicole, what’s happening?”

Then I remembered, a week ago my fiancé had jumped off the very ledge I stood on.

...Stay tuned for Chapter Two

©2013 Nomar Knight. All rights reserved.

A Knight Chills Miniseries.

Book of the Damned

Thunder slammed against the night sky, echoing how Cindy Parker felt inside. She scratched her face with reckless abandon, attributing her loathing as a result of wishing she was never born. She cried for an opportunity to stop the madness. She envisioned the cause of her misery—her grandfather— held captive, for of all things, tax evasion.

“I hate you!” She screamed tearing out another chunk of skin; a bloody trail leaving behind a face only a place like the Circus of the Damned could appreciate.

She pictured his swollen cheekbones, sunken gray eyes and furry unibrow, detesting her own existence. Hereditary abnormalities plagued her reality. She inherited her mother’s looks except those dreaded eyebrows. Her mother dismissed the facial curse with statements like, you’re a girl, and you can groom it. No one has to know.

For years she thought her existence came as a result of a gross error in judgment. Her mother was only thirteen when she realized amorous relations with someone she called Johnnie; Cindy’s alleged father. A violation of her mother’s privacy revealed the truth. There was no Johnnie; it was all a ruse so people would think her grandfather was a victim of his daughter’s bad decisions. Her mother wrote about how she despised that the man responsible for her misery was pitied by the neighbors. She feared her mate. The monster she called daddy.

Cindy’s screams echoed throughout white walls. Her anxiety led to self mutilation. She stopped scratching her face and slammed her head against the floor. The first contact with the cold tiles produced a lump above her left eye. The second impact brought forth blood from her right nostril.

“I hate you!” She rolled on the floor, crashing from one wall to another.

Whispers haunted her all of the time. During the day she heard her mother’s voice ordering her to do something she could never do herself. Get your act together and move on with life. That’s when Cindy would burst into fits of laughter. Irony. Her whole life was an ironic anomaly of epic proportion. Fathered by her grandfather and never having access to an older woman took a heavy toll on her psyche. She felt another piece of her soul dying, withering away. She longed for a motherly type since her own mother acted more like a sister.

Laughter echoed inside the hollow room as cold chills ran through her spine. “You want me to get my act together?” She stopped rolling and sat up. Blood reached her mouth. “Mom, you crazy bitch! Why did you leave me alone with him?”

At night, images of her mother, lying in a pool of blood on the bathroom floor, haunted her. A razor covered with precious fluid lay next to slit wrists.

Something stirred inside her; something horrible fed off her blood. She glanced down and yelled, “I hate you!” She wanted to punch herself but a sharp pain electrified her womb as if in total defiance. When she calmed down the pain subsided. She wept.

Voices. She heard voices approaching in the dead of night. The room’s lights went from dim to full blown illumination.

“Holy shit! We need to restrain her!”

She felt herself lifted by unseen forces, praying for the moment escape became possible. She uttered, “When will I die?”

A hoarse feminine voice said, “Not tonight, sweetheart.” She felt shackles on her hands and she writhed screaming for release, begging for death as more stabbing pains served to counter her tantrum.

A deep male voice said, “Should we sedate her?”

“No, she’ll spit the baby out soon enough.”

All of a sudden, blind rage gave way to horrid fear as the light which at first blinded her began to reveal her surroundings. A couple wearing green medical attire stared at her with wide orbs. A portly female spoke first, “Cindy, don’t expect sympathy from us. You push when I tell you.”

Cindy yelled, “I need something for the pain!”

The man said, “You tell us what you did with your grandfather’s body and we’ll give you something for the pain.”

“What?” At last she suspected the world had gone mad. “Everyone knows he’s in jail for tax evasion.”

“Come now Cindy,” the man continued, “You know darn well he made bail. What did you do with the body? The police found blood in your trunk, on the kitchen floor, and a trail which led to your garage.”

The intense pain pounded inside her. She screamed! The female said, “The baby’s not going to wait any longer. He’s coming now!” The woman readied her hands, set to deliver the child.

“No! Don’t let him come out! He’s tainted.” Cindy wailed in agony. “He’s evil!”

“Push!” yelled the female.

“No!”

For three minutes Cindy’s screams added to a horrific tension. Upon reaching a fever pitch, a veil of silence hung loose in the humid air. Cindy felt relief, but wondered about the deafening silence. “Is he alive?” She saw how the woman cringed.

Cindy laughed. She was relieved to break the vicious cycle of inbreeding.
The man spoke, “He’s moving.”

A baby’s cries filled the room.

Tears rolled down Cindy’s face, “No, it can’t be.”

The female said, “He has strange eyebrows, but I guess under the circumstances, they’re appropriate.”

“What do you mean? Show me my baby!”

The man spoke, “Tell us where you hid the body.”

“It’s in the basement, inside the wall with the others.”

The man stuttered, “O, Others?”

“According to my mother’s diary,” Cindy paused to gather her breath, “every time one of us is born with one eye, the men would kill them and hide the babies in the walls.”

The man asked, “How many of them are there?”

Cindy gestured for the baby. The woman complied. When she held her child in her arms she said, “There are two hundred and thirty-four, one for each year since my ancestors fought for our independence.”

She stared at her baby, the result of years of sin. The child, with one eyebrow across the center of its tiny face, opened its evil gray eye and grinned.
She squeezed his neck ready to toss the baby across the room but the man stopped her, pulled the infant out of her tired arms and handed it to the woman. As she exited with the baby in hand she said, “Thank God, he’ll be alright.”

“We need to kill it.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that Cindy.” The man gripped her left knee.

“Why?”

“Well, we don’t do that anymore. Now we breed them to become soldiers. It turns out they're amazing killing machines. Besides, we have to keep the cycle alive. You killed dad, but you didn’t kill me, sis.” He smiled, “We’ll try again when you’re feeling stronger.”

He lifted his coat, pulling an old book out of his belt. “Our father had a diary too. We have many brothers and sisters, but you belong to me.”

-1, 163 words

Odd Surprise

Six-year-old Mona Peterson watched a quartet of flies buzz in and out of a gap in the wooden planks on the living room floor. Her hazel eyes followed the pests as they flew in a circular pattern. Every few seconds one fly would break ranks and plunge into an opening. The others followed, disappeared for an instant, and then came out to begin the strange routine again.

After three minutes of witnessing this odd behavior, Mona peeked in the dark hole. Nothing was visible. Each time the flies exited the gap, she moved her head out of the way. When they flew in, she opened her right eye wide, hoping to discover the reason for the insects’ odd behavior.

“Honey, what are you doing?” Mona’s babysitter asked.

The little girl glanced towards the sofa but quickly returned her gaze to the floor.

“Mona, are you sad that your daddy was rushed to the hospital? Don’t worry, he’ll be alright.”

Mona continued to focus on the morbid aerial show.

“Mona?” The babysitter rose from the sofa and stood over the little girl. “What are you doing?”

Mona pointed at the flies and said, “They’re playing peek-a-boo.”

The sitter crouched next to Mona and with a key, jimmied the loose floorboard. All of a sudden, the four flies sprung out followed by ten more. Mona’s loud screams carried throughout the house. Inside the hole lay a bloody finger with her father’s gold wedding band still on it.


245 words