Feed Me: And Other Horror Stories by Brock Mauve

Author:Brock Mauve [Mauve, Brock]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Absum Press
Published: 2022-02-09T06:00:00+00:00

By the time she regained consciousness, night had fallen.

Numbness plagued her entire body. Even her thoughts felt sluggish; remembering where she was required monumental effort.

She glanced up at her hands. Although the cuffs had wound deep red lines into her forearms, she couldn’t find any other damage.

Relieved that her fall hadn’t shattered her wrists, she glanced down at her legs.

Bloody pulps had replaced her feet. The grinding friction had shredded away most of her skin.

She tried to lift her feet, but the chains prevented her from raising her ankles high enough to clear the tread.

Tears welled in her eyes. Given the extensive damage, it might be years before she walked again, assuming she made it out of the room alive.

Yank your feet through the cuffs. It’s the only way.

This thought filled her with fear. Although her feet were a shadow of what they used to be, they were still too large to slide through the cuffs without significant pulling. But what other choice did she have? The tread further eviscerated her feet by the second. Before long, it would reach bone, inflicting irreversible damage.

So after inhaling a few calming breaths, she yanked her feet through the cuffs, ignoring the intense pain bursting from her toes, and vaulted onto the carpet.

The door swung open.

Brandon stormed in, knife in hand. “Who said you could stop running?” he said. He charged toward her.

She swung her legs around the treadmill and kneed him in the stomach. The blow caused him to slip on the pool of blood gathered on the floor and land on his upturned knife chest-first. He howled as the blade disappeared to the hilt.

She recoiled from his flailing limbs, face contorted with shock. But then she seized upon the opportunity and wrapped her legs around his throat.

His eyes bulged as she squeezed her thighs together. Blood spurted from his chest, staining his white shirt a deep red.

He died a few minutes later, the treadmill drowning out his final death rattle.

She released him and lifted her feet to her arms. The movement required every ounce of her remaining strength. Even then, she only managed to keep her feet raised for a few seconds before her core gave out and sent her legs plummeting back to the carpet.

She dripped just enough blood onto her wrists to allow her to slide her hands through the cuffs. Now completely unshackled, she eased her aching body underneath the handrail and lowered herself to the carpet. Then, she turned and looked at Brandon. “Second place as always,” she said before crawling out the door

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