Cyril Figgis Posted October 2, 2021 Share Posted October 2, 2021 ((It's that time of year again. Time for falling leaves, pumpkin spice aplenty, and lots and lots of teen murder. I wanted to do something different this year to celebrate the month of spooks, and what better way to do that than to try my hand at a WG slasher fic? I may not be Wes Craven, but I hope you'll find this story full of thrills and chills--and plenty of weight gain to go around!)) FIVE LITTLE PIGGIES CHAPTER 1 Jamie used to look forward to Friday nights: getting together with her friends, hanging out at the mall until close, and then finding some party to crash. They managed to raise more hell than a bunch of high school kids should be able to, but that was the power of affluence. The girls all came from well-to-do families that had powerful connections and could get them off the hook whenever they crashed a car or got so much as a whiff of detention. It used to be said that they had more power at their school than even the superintendent, and anyone who got on their bad side was doomed for life. The keywords were ‘used to be’, as all the fun and games came to a crashing halt when Peggy McDonald killed herself. Peggy was like any other victim of the Queens of Devil’s Peak, in that she was lacking in something that they had in abundance. They tormented anyone that had less money, wore anything less than designer, or failed to live up to their beauty standards—and poor Peggy hit all three. The McDonalds lived on a farm outside of town, and while they made enough to get by, they lacked many of the luxuries that her peers had, like a car made in the last decade or even a good TV. She wore cheaper clothes and never anything in style, always running a year or two behind and patching them so much they resembled quilts before she threw anything away. That would have all been bad enough, but Peggy had the absolute audacity to be anything more than a size 2. Few could hope to match Jamie and her friends’ twiggy physiques, but Peggy was bigger than most—easily the biggest girl in school. Life on the farm meant three hearty meals a day, which was more than some of the jocks managed, and Peggy was nowhere near as active as them. She huffed and puffed to each class, barrel thighs clapping and slapping with each meager step she took and chubby cheeks a rosy red when she reached her destination. Her belly was so large that she had to squeeze herself into each of her desks, with the smallest creating a lip of fat that crept onto the surface. At least her breasts were the biggest out of all the girls at Haddonfield High, but they were a thin silver lining on a very wide, very obese cloud. She was bullied from an early age, but things only got worse as Peggy grew up and out and the bullies got more creative in their harassment. There was the time that someone filled her locker with sloppy joe mix from the cafeteria, the day she went around with a note that read ‘WIDE LOAD’ stuck to her back, and a little ditty that had followed her since she was a kid. ‘Old McDonald had a farm, e-i-e-i-o! And on this farm, he had a Peg, e-i-e-i-o,’ they would sing at her until she waddled away as fast as her chubby legs could carry her. Every indignity that could be heaped on her was, but she weathered it all and learned to walk with her chin held high. That did not sit well with Nancy, the queen bee of school and the main instigator of the gang’s actions. With how ruthless she was, some wondered if she was actually the daughter of Satan and not Big Bill Hill, owner of the three biggest dealerships in town. Nancy had made even hardened men weep like b**s, flaunting her father’s wealth to command fear from all around her, and anyone that was not afraid of her was lying. Her favorite hobby was finding someone to make miserable, and the worse she could do to them, the better she felt. Thus, when Peggy began to ignore all the taunts and jabs at her, Nancy gritted her teeth and did what she could to torment the farm girl. Her needy second-in-command, Heather, spread a nasty rumor about how Peggy needed to be greased out of a desk to get out. The sportiest of the bunch, Adrienne, stole her clothes from her locker during P.E., forcing her to spend the rest of the day in her sweaty gym clothes. Marilyn, the craftiest of the gang, weakened the legs on her desk in Pre-Calculus so that as soon as Peggy sat down, it would break. The only one who did not participate was Jamie, who was growing tired of the group’s antics as she got older and wiser. There used to be a thrill whenever she broke the law or picked on someone smaller than her, but when she realized just how far her ‘friends’ took it, the whole experience soured for her. So, when Nancy ordered her to use her connections to edit pig ears onto Peggy’s yearbook photo while it was being developed, Jamie nodded and said she was on it—and that was the sum of it. The poor girl already had enough going against her, so why did they need to plague her further? In spite of all the abuse she suffered over the course of her junior year, Peggy still showed up for school each and every day, which only made Nancy more spiteful. She was determined to have the hefty girl cowed and brought under heel, no matter what it took. To that end, she arranged for a very special barn party for the school and convinced the star quarterback to take Peggy along as a date, all to culminate in one of the cruelest humiliations Nancy had ever devised. Jamie knew about the plan from the get-go, and she wanted so badly to be able to tell Peggy—to keep her from suffering such an indignity—but she never found the nerve. Though she was fed up with Nancy’s cruel games, she was not about to stick her neck out for anyone and incur the queen bee’s wrath. She knew that Nancy had eyes all over the school, and anyone wanting to get into her good graces would surely rat her out if she was caught warning Peggy. Thus, in the days leading up to the party, Jamie watched and waited, the pit in her stomach growing bigger and bigger as she thought of what was to come. Finally, the big day arrived, and everything unfortunately went off without a hitch. Jamie watched as Peggy arrived in a cocktail dress that looked like it was bought just for the occasion, arm linked with Will Godwinn, and looking the happiest she ever had. The couple danced, talked, and even laughed with each other, just as if they were on an actual date—but Jamie knew that there would be no good night kiss to close the evening. No, what closed out the evening was a giant tub of pig shit dumped out onto Peggy from on high. It was a horribly cruel thing to do, but if that was the only barb she had ever suffered, maybe Peggy would have still been alive. This was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and when Jamie looked at the filth-covered girl, she saw something broken inside her. As the filth ran down her dress and coated her frizzy hair, the big girl looked off into the distance—the same ‘thousand yard stare’ Uncle Raymond had ever since ‘Nam. Peggy stumbled out of the barn in a daze, as if oblivious to the laughter of her classmates, and disappeared into the night, never to be seen alive by anyone again. Her father was the one to find her in the garage the following morning: slumped over, shotgun in her hand, and half her head missing. The jokes came to a screeching halt after that. Nancy tried to have the last laugh by spreading a rumor that she had choked on a ham sandwich, but no one was willing to play along when Peggy was still warm in the ground. The Queens of Devil’s Peak suddenly found their rule challenged, as fewer people were willing to put up with their wretched behavior now that they had seen how far it could go. While no one was able to charge them with any crimes, they were judged guilty in the eyes of the public and could no longer rely on their parents to bail them out of trouble. They were still domineering as can be, but their power dwindled to almost nothing as they approached graduation. Jamie’s departure from the group came the day after the party, when she called Nancy every foul word in the book and left her with a black eye that lasted for a week. She was almost happy to see her former accomplices get cracked down on, but that feeling was dampened by the knowledge that it took someone’s life to happen. Everywhere she went, she saw Peggy—passing by store windows, in the locker room at school, and even in the corner of her bedroom—and she always had that same far-off look in her eyes. It always brought up that roiling feeling in her stomach, and she found that there was only one thing that really helped to ease those pangs of guilt—a nice snack. Whether it was exploring her freedom from Nancy’s clique or the frequent guilt trips brought on by Peggy’s death, Jamie found herself growing heavier as her senior year progressed. It was a slow start at first, nibbling on a few things here and there whenever her nerves got the better of her, but that escalated as time passed and the distance between her and the old gang grew. Without Nancy looming over her, Jamie was eager to explore things that she had passed on before, like trying several new restaurants and snacks she never had before. The thought that there could be side effects from eating Burger King or KFC whenever she wanted never crossed her mind, which only led to the inevitable. By the time Spring Break rolled around, the former mean girl had gotten too chunky for last year’s swimsuits and would have been exiled from the clique if she had not already walked away. She was nowhere near as big as Peggy was, but Jamie had eaten herself to a size 12 and looked every bit the part. Gone was a slender stomach that excited the boys whenever they got a glimpse at the pool, replaced instead by a soft stomach that pooched out no matter how much she tried to suck in. Running was never her favorite activity, but the new layer of pudge that coated her thighs made it even harder. And it seemed that her mom’s genes were finally kicking in, as she developed the round rump that her mother and aunts all shared. It was slightly concerning to the formerly slender girl, who had been forced for years to stay thin as a rail, but more than anything, she felt relaxed and at ease. Now that she was no longer under Nancy’s thumb, she was free to do whatever she wanted: go camping near Crystal Lake, date guys that were less than All-American athletes, or listen to something besides the latest teen heartthrob. Jamie did not actually want to do those, mind you, but at least she had the option to do so and not get smeared by Nancy and her cronies. Her life was better without them, even if she was more full-figured than she would have preferred, and she would be grateful if she never heard from them again. That was why she surprised and disappointed when she got a call from Heather Buchanan the first day of Spring Break. She picked up her Garfield phone—a trinket she was able to break out now that Nancy could no longer demean her—and answered, “Hello?” “Jamie! What’s up, girl?” asked Heather in that insincerely chipper voice of hers. “How has my favorite chemistry partner been?” Jamie rolled her eyes at the question. They were paired together in chemistry back in junior year, but she wound up doing all the work while Heather just pretended to listen. No wonder she was the other girl’s favorite chemistry partner—she helped Heather get the easiest A of her life. “What do you want, Heather? I was just getting ready to go to the bookstore,” Jamie fibbed. Her afternoon was going to be spent on the couch, watching a marathon of that cheesy soap opera she had gotten hooked on and working her way through a big bowl of popcorn. “Ugh, why would you want to spend your vacation in a musty old bookstore when you could be checking out some cute clothes with one of your bestest friends ever?” Heather all but purred. Gritting her teeth so hard that a headache formed, Jamie grunted, “We’re not friends, Heather. You only ever hung out with Nancy because you wanted the power that came from being with the biggest bitch on campus, and don’t you try to deny it.” “Hey, Jamie, come on,” Heather replied in a hurried tone, “that’s going a little far, don’t you think? I mean, we had some good times, didn’t we?” Jamie felt her face go red at that and asked in turn, “Oh, like when you stole Britt Turner’s boyfriend and then dumped him just because she wouldn’t let you cheat off her test? Or when we got ** and you squealed when the police showed up? How about that time we killed a girl? I hope you choke and die on your own vomit, Heather Buchanan.” She was about to slam her phone down when she heard Heather squeal through the receiver, “Wait, wait! I need your help, Jamie!” It took a moment of pondering, as Heather was never the kind to ask for help unless she was putting on an act. Eventually, Jamie picked her phone back up and asked, “What’s wrong?” “Oh, thank God,” Heather sighed in relief. “Look, I’m at the mall right now, and there’s this creep that’s been following me ever since I left Nordstrom’s. I tried going to security, but they wouldn’t listen to a word I said! I am seriously freaking out, Jamie, and the girls aren’t answering their phones. Please, can you just come pick me up or something?” Jamie and Heather might not have been friends, but they were close enough to know when the perpetually lying Heather was telling the truth—and this was one of those times. She had only ever heard Nancy’s little hanger-on like this one time before, when she was locked in a wardrobe for the aforementioned squealing and nearly hyperventilated. If she was willing to plead for help from someone like Jamie, then she was in some serious trouble and Jamie was not about to leave her hanging, regardless of the past. “All right, let me get my keys and I’ll be there in 10,” Jamie told Heather. “Stay somewhere well lit with lots of people, and make sure you keep your bag phone with you, okay?” “I will, I will,” Heather sniffled. “Just please hurry, Jamie…this guy is giving me major creeps.” “I’m on my way,” Jamie replied before hanging up and hauling herself off the couch. As she went to her room to grab her car keys and shoes, Jamie’s mind raced with possibilities on who this stalker was. The old gang had made their fair share of enemies between everyone they tormented or beguiled, but why go to the trouble of creeping on them rather than come after them in the open? That was a question for the police though, as Jamie’s first priority was getting to the mall and driving Heather as far from this danger as possible. *** While waiting for Jamie to arrive, Heather huddled up at one of the tables in the food court and kept one eye out for the man on her tail. She had been browsing through the shoe section when she spotted a guy in a sweatshirt watching her from the other department. It was a tad unsettling being watched, but she was used to it—though she preferred when the watching was for her looks, not to keep her out of trouble. When she moved on to the next aisle, she realized that the man had followed her, though he kept his distance. This happened again and again, with her doing her best to be stealthier each time and him still finding her, no matter where she hid. It was when he followed her out of the store that Heather called Jamie while doing her best to maintain her composure. Things were bad enough with everyone treating her like some kind of criminal; the last thing she needed was for them to think she was a coward too. She only allowed her façade whenever the crowd thinned out, and even then, she was nowhere near the blubbering mess that she felt like on the inside. All she had to do was wait for Jamie to show up, and then they could go to the police, the FBI, or anyone else that could find this creep. Of course, that was easier said than done, as her foot was tapping faster than a Buddy Rich solo while she scanned the food court for her stalker. She did not see him among the masses, but that did not mean he was not out there looking for her still—the thought of which sent a shiver down her back. It was strange: she normally loved the mall for how open it felt, but now that she knew there was someone after her, it felt like she was boxed in all over again. Anyone could have been the man in the hood, from the guy at the Hotdog on a Stick to the Krishna by the exit, and that thought only made Heather more on edge. “Hey, are you all right?” asked a passerby, only to get a shriek of panic in reply as Heather bolted out of her seat and ran as fast as her legs could carry her. She had no idea where she was running to—just that she needed to get as far from people as possible. Anything was better than sitting with all eyes on her, any one of them belonging to someone who wished her harm. Her frantic escape took her to one of the restrooms tucked away on still-developing wing of the mall, where she ran in and hid inside one of the stalls. It was a hole in the wall at the large mall, tucked out of sight while the stores nearby were still being built and, at one point, the perfect place for the clique to gather for some blow. That was the farthest thing from Heather’s mind as she sat on top of the toilet and clutched her bag phone for dear life. When she heard the door open, her heart shot into her throat and she stopped breathing for an instant. Heavy footsteps filled the air as someone walked down the row of stalls, stopping at each one and throwing the doors open before arriving at Heather’s hiding spot. The craven girl bit down on her finger hard enough to draw blood in an effort to hold back a scream of terror, especially when the figure grabbed the handle and rattled it around in an effort to get in. After an agonizing minute of wondering if he would rip the handle off, the rattling stopped and the figure stepped back from the door, only to kick the flimsy door open. Heather’s heart stopped cold when she saw the man standing in front of her. He was tall and broad shouldered, clad in a baggy sweatshirt and ratty jeans, and wearing muddy boots. It was not his build or fashion sense that disturbed her, but the pig’s head that he wore like a mask. The eyes had been plucked out and the skin warped so that he could see out of them, and what she saw in turn were bloodshot eyes that burned with hatred. “Leave me alone!” she shrieked as the man stood in the doorway of the stall. “I called the police, and they’ll be here any minute! Do you have any idea who I am?” The man ignored Heather’s screams as he walked into the stall and pulled a syringe from his pocket. When he stood in front of her, he snorted, “One little piggy went to market…” >_< 0_0, lyle81992, flyer33 and 1 other 4 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted October 3, 2021 Author Share Posted October 3, 2021 CHAPTER 2 Heather’s bloodcurdling screams attracted a few passersby to the restroom, but when one woman dared to peek her head inside, she did not see anyone, save for Councilwoman Buchanan’s daughter staggering out of a stall. She asked Heather, “Are you okay? There was some screaming. Do you need us to get security for you, honey?” The woman received a blank look from the teen, who licked her lips and muttered, “Hungry.” “Oh, well, do you need anything from the food court?” asked the woman, though her question went ignored as Heather pushed her aside and stumbled back into the mall proper. The girl’s dazed swagger attracted some attention, but most people passed her by without a second glance—and those who knew Heather from the news just assumed she was up to her usual antics. Though she fumbled her way through the mall hunched over and clutching her stomach, Heather’s path was clear as she made a beeline for the food court. The closer she got to her destination, the more she drooled at the tantalizing smells that hit her nostrils, so much so that by the time she got within sight of the stands, she was like a slobbering dog. Burgers, pizza, tacos, ice cream, and so many more delicious goodies filled her vision, and Heather’s brain was sparking as it struggled to make a decision. She scanned the food court for something—anything—to quell the gnawing sensation in her stomach, and she finally settled on the first thing in reach. It was a cheeseburger, and even though she would have normally avoided them like the plague, it was all Heather could see in that moment. She snatched it out of its owner’s hand and crammed as much of it in her mouth as she could, bringing a guttural groan to her throat when the greasy beef hit her tongue. “Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” asked the burger-less man, but the only answer he received was Heather snatching up a handful of fries and shoveling them in her mouth. “Back off, you psychopath—I paid for that!” “Bite me, I’m starving!” Heather barked, spittle and crumbs flying from her lips before she bent low beside the table and used both hands to force food in her mouth. She ate faster than she ever had before, her jaw practically like a grinder as she tore through the burger and fries in an attempt to stifle her hunger as quickly as she could. The man attempted to hold her back from his lunch, but when he restrained her, she kicked and shrieked like a wild animal in an attempt to get back to her sustenance. It took headbutting him in the nose to let her go, but even though the man cried out at his broken nose, Heather paid him no mind and returned to her ill-gotten feast. She had to eat something before her stomach caved in on itself, and she would have eaten an entire cow whole if it meant stopping the stabbing sensation in her gut. Her fast food binge was capped off when she ripped the lid off the man’s milkshake and poured it down her gullet, oblivious to how it splattered all over her new blouse. Heather tossed the empty cup aside and put her hand to her stomach, only to still feel it roiling just beneath the surface. How could she still be hungry? That was a meal she could never have hoped to finish before, and she just inhaled it like a vacuum. All questions were pushed out of her mind as she was wracked with pangs and staggered off to the next table to rip a sub from an old woman’s hand. “How dare you—” the grandmother began before being silenced by a growl from Heather. It did not take long for Heather’s appalling behavior to draw a crowd, but the peanut gallery was the farthest thing from her mind as she stuffed her face with more food than she would eat in a week. No matter how much she ate—sandwiches, pizza by the slice, or plates of Chinese food—it was not enough to satiate the beast inside her. She did not care who she ticked off with her thievery; all that mattered was putting an end to the black hole that had formed in her stomach. Meanwhile, the people watching kept their distance, having seen what happened to the brave few that tried to stop Heather from her gluttonous rampage. Those that attempted to hold her back met much the same fate as her first victim—kicking them in the shin, stamping her high heel into their feet, and elbowing them in the stomach, to name a few. They waited for mall security to arrive and handle the ravenous girl, assuming they would even be able to do so. She was like a woman possessed, her eyes glassy and distant as she shoveled food down her throat with reckless abandon. “All right, folks, step aside and let us do our job,” one of the three guards that arrived told the crowd. “Someone mind explaining what’s going on?” “See for yourself,” a man remarked as he gestured to Heather, who was doing her best to fit two tacos in her mouth at once. “Crazy chick started eating everyone’s food, and when we try to hold her down, she just starts freaking out. Must be high on something, if you ask me.” “That’s one of them little hellraisers from Haddonfield High, so I ain’t surprised. We’ll see what we can do until we can get some proper backup here,” the guard sighed. He thought the Queens of Devil’s Peak were over after what they did to that poor McDonald girl, but some things never change. Before the guard approached Heather, one of his colleagues nudged him with his elbow and asked, “Jim, is it just my eyes, or is she looking a little bloated? I thought the Buchanan girl was supposed to be thinner than this.” Jim, who had tried to detain Nancy Hill’s hellcat friends many times before, was very familiar with how they looked—and Lonnie was right. He had seen Heather Buchanan earlier that day when she went into Nordstrom’s and he instructed the in-store guard to keep an eye out for her; that was only an hour or two ago, and she had been small enough that a slight breeze would blow her away. Now, she looked like someone had stuck a hose in her mouth and turned on the water, because she looked downright pudgy—fat, even. Of all the members of her clique, Heather had been the most fashion conscious of the bunch and always wore something chic and trendy. The problem was that such clothes did not have much give to them, and her designer outfit was fit to burst like a sausage casing. Thick arms were squeezed out of her sleeves like cookie dough, her stomach looked like she had crammed a beach ball up her skirt, and plump thighs caused seams to tear in her knee-high socks. This should have been a nightmare for Heather, but she was so preoccupied with eating that she paid the gains no mind. “Don’t matter if she’s a hundred pounds or five hundred—she’s causing a scene and she needs to go,” Jim told his partners. “Come on, she’s just a girl. How much damage can she do?” The answer, it turned out, was a lot. In her hunger-induced madness, Heather bit down on one guard’s finger so hard that she drew blood, kicked Lonnie in the groin, and threw a chair at Jim’s head—all in between bites of food. A small part of her brain was mortified by the actions, but the greater part of her consciousness was devoted to one thing and one thing only. As such, she moved right onto the next meal after the guards were dispatched, throwing handfuls of saucy orange chicken down her gullet. With no one willing to stand in her way and all the tables abandoned, Heather’s frenzied feast only increased in fever and she stuffed her cheeks until she could not squeeze one more bite in. It did not matter if the meal was halfway finished or even if the food fell on the floor when people fled from her—a meal was a meal, as proven when Heather scooped up the remnants of a banana split from the ground and tossed it in her mouth. All decorum and etiquette was tossed out the window as the girl became more and more feral in her attempts to satiate herself. That bestial way of gobbling up food only caused Heather’s weight to skyrocket, and her trendy clothes surrendered to the blubber that she was building up. Threads and seams popped along the sides of her blouse, exposing burgeoning rolls of fat along her torso, and a jagged tear ran down her socks as her calves grew too chunky for them. One bystander even jumped back when her belly burst through her skirt, creating a cascade of flab that fell just shy of her crotch. Heather Buchanan was now every nasty insult she had thrown at overweight people: fat, unsightly, and unable to control their appetite. After she wolfed down a burrito, the formerly slender girl stopped in place and rubbed her stomach, as if gauging how hungry she still was. She was a horrible sight to behold: her pristine hair now looked a rat’s nest and was filled with crumbs, sauces of all varieties stained her clothes and cheeks, and the rapid buildup of fat had caused a number of stretch marks to appear on her fair skin. But just when the crowd thought she was finished, her eyes turned to the Mandarin Express across the way and she licked her lips with desire. “More,” Heather muttered as she plodded over to the stand, her ungainly body awkward and wobbly. “Need more food…” *** Jamie lived the closest to the mall, but she always failed to take into account how crowded it got around the shopping center. As such, what was promised as ten minutes turned into twenty while she tried to find a space in the always crowded parking lot. She finally managed to snag a spot after a minivan pulled out, and she raced out of her car to make up for lost time. Had she been more focused on anything else, she might have paid attention to a hooded man that passed her by on the way in, but she only had Heather in mind. The first place her mind went to was the food court—the most visible spot in the entire mall—and Jamie ran as fast as she could, regardless of how her weakened body ached from the effort. As she got closer to her destination, she found a crowd of people milling around and had to force her way through. Was there some kind of attraction going on? She did not hear any music, so it could not be a dancer or singer, nor was there anyone talking to the crowd. All she hoped was that she would not find Heather dead on the ground, too late to do anything to help. What she found when she managed to breach the crowd was still horrific, but less deathly and more puzzling. Standing behind the counter of the Sbarro was an obscenely fat woman gobbling up everything she could get her hands on, from prepared food to raw ingredients. The only clothes she had were rags that hung off her or were caught in her thick fat rolls, and Heather saw the remnants of an outfit lying in the middle of the food court. It was neither the clothes, the fat, nor the ravenous eating that unnerved Jamie though—it was the fact that she recognized that glutton as Heather Buchanan, now three times her size. “Heather! Heather, what are you doing?” she called out as she got closer to the stand. “Forget it, kid, she’s off in her own world,” one of the bystanders told her with a shake of his head. “We tried talking to her and holding her back, but she just wouldn’t stop. And ever since she started blowing up like a parade balloon, no one’s wanted to go near her.” Jamie turned to the man and asked, “What do you mean? There’s no way someone could just start fattening up all of a sudden, like some kind of cartoon.” The man shrugged as he replied, “Everyone here will back that up. She just came in here and started stealing everyone’s food, and it’s like everything she ate went straight to fat. I don’t know how it happened either, but it happened either way.” It was impossible, but there was no denying that this was happening before her very eyes, and Jamie had to pinch herself to make sure it was not some twisted dream. She took a few cautious steps towards the counter and hopped over just as Heather finished eating everything up front and made her way into the back. Jamie winced when she saw her former clique member’s backside, now saggy and riddled with enough cellulite to resemble the surface of the moon. A million different possibilities for how this happened ran through her head, and though none of them were good, she still pressed on. The determined girl poked her head into the supply room and watched with disgust as Heather drank from a tub of marinara sauce like a horse at a trough. Jamie called out again, “Heather, can you hear me? It’s me—Jamie. I’m here now.” Heather lifted her head out of the tub of sauce and gazed blearily at Jamie for a moment, looking like an absolute fright with marinara covering half her face. A gleam of recognition flickered into her eyes and she gurgled, “Jamie?” “Yes, yes! It’s me,” Jamie replied, her shoulders slumping in relief. “What is all this? How did this happen? Do you remember anything?” “I don’t know,” Heather groaned as she stumbled on her feet and glanced down at her fat fingers. “I’m…I’m so fat. Jamie, what—” She did not get to finish that question, for the blonde suddenly clutched at her chest and let out a gasp before falling on the ground. Jamie rushed to her side and held Heather up as best she could, her eyes wide as she asked, “Heather? Heather, what’s wrong? Talk to me!” “P-P-Pig face…did this,” the flabby fashionista wheezed. “Chest…tight…can’t breathe.” “Help! We need a doctor back here!” Jamie screamed to the crowd outside, but when she turned back to Heather, she knew it was too late. Her eyes were wide, bloodshot, and frozen in place as the life left her body and she took her last, labored breath. *** Heather Buchanan died on Saturday, March 17, 1984 of unknown and highly unusual causes. It took three men to load her body into the ambulance when it arrived, and though there were dozens of witnesses to the gluttonous rampage, no one could explain how a former beauty pageant winner had grown three times her size in under an hour. The one who was with her when she died, Jamie Myers, was too shaken to answer questions, save for mentioning what Heather’s last words were. When she finished with the police, Jamie asked if she could make a phone call and reached out to the first person that came to mind. No one answered for a few rings until a harsh, high voice on the other end answered, “Fitzgerald Residence.” “Adrienne, it’s Jamie,” the weary girl told her former accomplice. “Have you seen the news?” “I just finished watching the report,” Adrienne replied. “Is it true what they’re saying—that Heather ate everything in the food court and turned into a blob?” “Yes—all of it’s true,” Jamie answered in turn. “Listen, I need you to get Nancy and Marilyn together as soon as possible. I don’t know how to explain, but I’ve got a bad feeling about all this.” There was a pause on the other end of the line before the cheerleader told Jamie, “I’ll call Marilyn, but Nancy’s out of town this week. Why, what’s wrong?” “I’ll tell you when we get together,” Jamie answered. “Just do me a favor—keep your doors locked and keep your eyes out for anyone suspicious.” After agreeing to meet at one of their old hangouts, the girls hung up and Jamie waited for her parents to pick her up from the station. Heather’s last words played on a loop in her mind, and she wondered just who or what ‘Pig Face’ was. Any other time, it would have been laughable—like one of those villains in Dick Tracy that her little brother loved so much—but when she thought of Heather’s bloated face turning blue, any humor vanished. She needed to find out what had happened to her and make sure the same fate did not befall the other members of the clique—including herself… *** The hooded man drove to the outskirts of town and made his way off the beaten path until he reached a quaint farmhouse surrounded by vast fields. When he got out, he nodded to an older woman sitting on the porch and knitting a scarf. The woman nodded back to him and asked, “Is it done, boy? We ain’t heard anything over the radio yet.” “You should be hearing about it soon,” the man grunted as he made his way up the porch. “I got the serpent-tongue: last I saw her, she was using that tongue to lick ketchup off the floor.” “Good—then we know it’ll work for the others,” the woman remarked. “Go on in and get you something to drink while Pa finishes up downstairs.” “Yes, ma’am,” the hooded man replied before walking inside. The inside of the house had a humble charm to it, with handcrafted furniture spread throughout and very modest decorations. Most distinct of all were the pictures of a very heavyset and pretty girl that lined the walls, showing her go from a chubby little baby to a full-bodied young woman. The man picked up one—a senior portrait taken the summer prior—and ran a rough finger along her chin. “I hope this makes you happy, Peggy,” the man sighed. “It’s all for you…” >_< 0_0, pillow, lyle81992 and 1 other 3 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted October 4, 2021 Share Posted October 4, 2021 Damn, this is some real horror. good work on making it scary dude! Cyril Figgis and >_< 0_0 1 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted October 4, 2021 Author Share Posted October 4, 2021 6 minutes ago, Batman76 said: Damn, this is some real horror. good work on making it scary dude! Much obliged! And just you wait, because the spooks are just getting started. >_< 0_0 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
>_< 0_0 Posted October 4, 2021 Share Posted October 4, 2021 I did not expect an actual horror story, but it is a well-crafted surprise. It’s interesting this takes place in 1984 as well. That surely means something, but I have no idea what Cyril Figgis and Batman76 1 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted October 4, 2021 Author Share Posted October 4, 2021 22 minutes ago, >_< 0_0 said: I did not expect an actual horror story, but it is a well-crafted surprise. It’s interesting this takes place in 1984 as well. That surely means something, but I have no idea what Wanted to try my hand at something a little different, especially since I'm wrapping up the feel-good story of the summer in The Roundest Rugby Player. As for 1984, there's no special meaning behind it outside of two slasher bits: it's the same year A Nightmare on Elm Street came out, and the early 80s were the height of the genre's mainstream popularity. xandercroft and >_< 0_0 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted October 8, 2021 Author Share Posted October 8, 2021 CHAPTER 3 Rides home from the police station used to be silent affairs for Jamie and her parents, with them disappointed in her for making yet more bad choices and her not caring what they thought. That was not the case today, as her parents had been briefed on what happened at the mall and Jamie was more shaken up than ever before. Her mother gave her a genuinely affectionate hug for the first time in years, and her father put his coat around her as she shivered in the warm spring air. It was nice compared to their usually cold treatment or the ‘happy family’ act they put on when in public, and Jamie wished that it had not taken a murder to happen. When they got in the car, Jamie’s mother turned back and patted her daughter on the knee. “Jamie, I’m so, so sorry to hear about what happened with Heather; that must have been absolutely terrifying. Let me know if you’d like to have a session with my therapist, and I’ll talk to him about giving you a freebie, okay?” “Sure, Mom,” Jamie answered, though she did not imagine talking to anyone else about this any time soon. She already had Peggy haunting her dreams; she did not need Heather added to the mix. “Damn shame,” her father remarked with a shake of his head. “I’ll have to send the Buchanans a card—no, a bouquet. Good people, those Buchanans…couldn’t have happened to a nicer couple.” That comment almost made Jamie snort with dark humor. Heather hated her overbearing parents, who never seemed to be pleased with anything she did—even before she started getting into trouble on a weekly basis. Nothing was good enough for the Buchanans, who demanded only the best from their one daughter, whether it be A+s or victory in the local beauty pageants. It was why she was such a sycophant when it came to Nancy—that was all she knew how to be. But Jamie would let her parents hang onto that illusion that Heather came from a happy home, especially since they were in the same boat themselves. “Do you want to stop anywhere on the way home, honey?” asked her mother. “You want to stop by Friendly’s and get a sundae?” “Molly, I thought we agreed she should start cutting back,” her father butted in with a whisper that was still loud enough for Jamie to hear—the prick. “Now is not the time, Harold,” Molly hissed before glancing back at Jamie, who shook her head. “After everything today, I’m not really that hungry,” she answered honestly. “I’d just like to go home and be by myself for a bit, if that’s okay.” Molly nodded and gave Jamie’s knee a squeeze. “That’s all right, sweetie—whatever you want. And when you do feel like eating, I’ll have Luisa make your favorite, okay?” Jamie gave a quick nod before glancing out the window and tuning out the hushed argument her parents had in the front seat. She tried to piece together everything that had happened with Heather and how something so absurd could have happened in real life. There was no way someone could get that fat that fast, no matter how much greasy mall food she consumed—though her heightened capacity was another mystery entirely. And just who was this ‘Pig Face’ and what had they done to Heather to turn her into that slobby abomination? It was a question that could not be easily answered, no matter how much her father wanted to blame it on the Russians. What mattered most was making sure the rest of the gang did not fall victim to the same fate… *** When she got back home, Jamie retreated to the sanctuary of the bathroom, where she vomited up all the disgust and panic that had been boiling away in her stomach since she found Heather. Every inch of her body ached when she finally finished, and silver spots danced in her vision as she lay on the floor, gasping for air. That was bad enough, but when she saw Peggy standing in the corner of the room while she was curled up around the toilet, Jamie felt like she would get sick all over again. “I don’t need this right now, Peggy,” the weary girl grunted as she shakily rose to her feet. “I’ve already got enough on my plate without you showing up.” “Well, that’s a shame, because you’re never getting rid of me,” the shit-caked vision told Jamie. “There’s no such thing as bad timing for guilt—of course, there’s also no good time either.” Though she had been haunted by Peggy’s image for months, these were the hallucinations that Jamie hated the most. It was bad enough when the dead girl stood off to the side and gazed holes right through her, but the talking made her think there was something really wrong with her. What Peggy said changed time after time: there was whimpering and sobbing, begging Jamie to stop Nancy, or singing to the last song that played when the prank happened. Jamie knew that it was just her mind playing tricks on her, that it was all a figment of her diseased imagination, but when she could even smell the rancid dung whenever Peggy was around, it was hard to keep that in mind. “If you’re going to haunt me, you could at least clean yourself up,” Jamie told Peggy before bowing to wash her face. “The maid just washed the bath rugs.” “Oh, where are my manners? Let me try something else,” the dead girl hummed before a shotgun blast filled the room. When Jamie whipped her head up from the sink, she saw Peggy was no longer covered in filth—though she was missing half her head. Her tongue lolled out the left side of her face and the pulp that remained poured blood all over the floor, but that was not what horrified Jamie the most. It was that bone, muscle, and gray matter were splattered against the wall, and even though her eyeball now rested on the floor, it peered straight up at Jamie. She kicked it against the far wall, but even that did not stop it from burning a hole into her soul. “Why are you doing this?!” Jamie shrieked at the apparition, who merely shrugged her shoulders. “Why can’t you just stay dead?!” Peggy smirked as much as she could without most of her jaw and answered, “Because I want you to remember me, Jamie—I want you to remember what you and those horrible sluts did to me until the day you die.” Jamie grabbed the sink until her knuckles turned white and backed up as much as she could as Peggy took lumbering steps towards her. The bloated vision prodded her old classmate with a pudgy finger and hissed, “You’re the only one burdened with a conscience, but that’s not much good when you don’t have the backbone to stand up for anything. You could have told Nancy to back off—even warned me about what she had planned—but you were too much of a little chicken shit to say a word. So now, I want you to remember exactly what your cowardice did, Jamie Myers. You maybe have been able to skirt around the law, but you’ll never get away from me.” Hot tears welled up in Jamie’s eyes and she had to turn away from the sight of Peggy’s mangled face as she sobbingly replied, “I’m sorry, Peggy! I’m sorry for everything!” “Not as sorry as you’re going to be,” the specter seethed. She reached out and gave a sharp pinch to the lip of fat that oozed over Jamie’s waistband, sneering, “Scared yet, Jamie? Bet it’s eating at you like a gator—just chomping away at your insides. How about a snack to calm it down?” “I-I’m not hungry,” Jamie whimpered, too scared to swat away Peggy’s hand. “After what happened with Heather, I don’t think I ever want to see food again.” Peggy’s fingernails dug into Jamie’s soft stomach as she whispered, “Oh, hush. It’s like my mama always said: a little bit of ice cream cures anything, any time of year. I think your mother just picked some rocky road up at the store, and you know how much you love your rocky road.” God help her, she really did. When she was a child, Jamie could not get enough of the stuff, and it was the first source of comfort she sought after distancing herself from Nancy. There were plenty of times since that fateful party when she stopped by the ice cream parlor or picked up a pint on the sly because her guilt-induced cravings nibbled at her, and the evidence was at her waist. She had developed a number of culinary vices since she decided to cut loose, but that chocolatey treat remained at the top, pounds be damned. “Don’t…don’t make me do it,” Jamie choked out, the words barely getting around the lump in her throat. “I’m already too fat.” “You call this fat? Then what was I, exactly?” Peggy jeered. She finally let go of Jamie’s stomach and let it bounce for a moment before adding, “If you think you’re fat now, just you wait: even if Pig Face doesn’t get his hands on you, time will tell; just don’t go blaming it on me. After all, I’m just a figment of your imagination, right?” In the span of a blink, Jamie found herself alone in the bathroom once again, with no sign of Peggy to be found. She slumped down to the floor and wrapped her arms around herself as tight as she could, feeling smaller than she ever had before. There was something horribly wrong with her, but who could she possibly talk to about this? The only release she had was in the freezer downstairs, and the pint was soon emptied as Jamie did her best to bury her worries in chocolate ice cream. *** When she finally managed to compose herself, Jamie snuck out of the house and made her way to the Haddonfield High football field bleachers, where she and the girls used to smoke and gossip instead of attending class. She brought her sky blue windbreaker with her, partly because the skies had grown dark with clouds and partly because she did not want Adrienne to see her food baby. The rocky road was good—too good, as usual—but after her experience with Peggy, it was going to take more than ice cream to fix things. Thankfully, there was a KFC near the school that had just what she needed to quell her guilt and make her stomach stick out like a balloon. “Come on, you worthless skanks, where are you?” Jamie hissed under her breath as she pulled her coat tighter around herself. The bleachers used to be a great hiding spot, but after what happened to Heather, she did not want to stay there any longer than she needed to. Soon as she spoke her peace with Adrienne and Marilyn, she could run back to the safety of home and a bag of potato chips. The sound of running on grass caught her attention, and Jamie turned to see Adrienne jogging over to her in a canary yellow ensemble—typical of the always chipper girl. Everyone knew that her smiles and cheer were a façade to distract from the knife she always had behind her back, waiting for someone to drop their guard before she went for the jugular. That smile always pissed Jamie off, and it only made her foul mood even worse as Adrienne came to a stop beside her. “Hey, Jamie! Got here as soon as I could,” the athletic girl explained. “How are you holding up after everything that went down?” Jamie crossed her arms and grunted, “I’ve been better. Where’s Marilyn?” “Oh, she said she was too overwrought to come out,” Adrienne answered, dramatically throwing her hand back like a fainting starlet before a smirk spread across her lips. “But you know that she’s probably just using that as an excuse to get her boyfriend over.” “Okay, so Troy’s spending the night with her. Good, good,” Jamie muttered to herself as she paced back and forth. “So, what’s going on? Been a while since we hung out, so I figured it was pretty important,” Adrienne remarked. She leaned against the fence, pulled a cigarette from the pack in her purse, and held it out to Jamie. “Want one?” Did she need it? No, she had cut out smoking like everything else from her time with Nancy. Did she want it? After everything that she went through earlier, it was the best idea in the world. Jamie happily accepted the cigarette and lighter from her old accomplice and took a long drag on the cancer stick. It was terrible for her, like her rocky road, but so damn good. “That feels a lot better,” Jamie sighed as she joined Adrienne against the fence. “Surprised I didn’t run out and buy a pack of Marlboros as soon as they let me out of the station.” “I wouldn’t blame you. I only saw everything that was on the news—I don’t even want to imagine what it was like it reality,” Adrienne replied with a shiver. “Did she say anything to you before she went, or was it all just eating until her heart stopped?” Jamie took another drag before answering, “She was mostly eating, but there was this minute or two right before the end when the fog cleared that she was able to tell me a few things. She was confused about where she was and what she was doing, and then she collapsed and talked about how her chest felt tight. The only thing that really stuck out was how she talked about ‘Pig Face did it’, but your guess is as good as mine to what that means.” Adrienne’s eyes went wide at that and she asked, “Pig Face? Did she say anything else?” “Nothing after that—why?” Jamie muttered. “Because last night, I saw this guy creeping around our house with a pig mask on,” Adrienne explained. “I told my dad about it, but by the time he got his gun, the creep was gone. I just figured it was someone trying to play a prank, but if Heather saw him too—” “Then maybe Marilyn will too,” Jamie whispered. She dropped her cigarette in the grass and stamped it out before turning to Adrienne. “We need to get over to her house, right now.” Adrienne nodded and followed after Jamie with a hustle in her step. “You really think that she’s in trouble? I mean, she’s got one of the toughest guys at school with her!” “Heather was turned into a fat blob in a crowded mall full of people,” Jamie retorted as they made their way to Adrienne’s Camaro. “I don’t know want to find out what this guy could do if it’s just the two of them.” *** At the Lovett household, danger was the furthest thing from Marilyn’s mind as she locked lips with her latest himbo lover while he undid her blouse. They had been going out for the last few weeks, though they had little spark other than the physical—Marilyn being far smarter than she let on and Troy being dumber than he looked. But what the jock lacked in brains, he more than made up for below the belt, having given Marilyn the ride of her life in his pickup truck on their first date to the drive-in. In truth, they did not need any reason to hook up with each other, but since she had to give some impression she was crushed by Heather’s death, Marilyn called him over under the impression of needing comfort over her loss. It only took a moment or two for them to begin making out, slamming against walls and toppling onto the stairs before making their way back to the spacious living room. They were so into each other that they did not notice the front door was left unlocked—or that someone came in while they were canoodling on the couch. In fact, they only paused when Marilyn pulled away and giggled, “You know what would really help me feel better, Troy-Boy?” “What’s that, babe?” grunted the basketball player. “My daddy just got a new bottle of tequila, and he never leaves the liquor cabinet locked,” Marilyn purred. “Be a dear and get me a glass?” “Anything for you, doll,” Troy chuckled before undoing the top button on her blouse. “But when I get back, we’re going to move into the second half, yeah?” After Troy left for the kitchen, Marilyn shifted around on the couch and fiddled with her bra in an effort to make her meager breasts seem bigger. She always hated how underdeveloped she was and prayed for the kind of tits that would make God cry, but no matter what she did to make them grow, nothing ever worked. Her breasts were on the high ends of an A-cup, and she always glared at the well-endowed with the scorching fury of a thousand suns. “One of these days, we’re going to do something about you two,” Marilyn whispered to her two mosquito bumps before a thump in the kitchen caught her attention. She hopped off the couch and called out, “Troy? Troy, you okay back there?” When she received no answer, the petite girl made her way back to the kitchen and froze in the doorway when she saw what had befallen her boyfriend—Troy lay face down in a pool of blood, all coming from his shattered skull. Standing over his lifeless body was a man in a tattered sweatshirt, jeans, and a pig’s face masking his own, and in his hands was a blood-soaked meat tenderizer. The pig-faced man turned to Marilyn, and her heart stopped cold when he pointed the mallet at her. “One little piggy stayed home,” he grunted before charging at her. lyle81992, venusderuebens, Batman76 and 1 other 3 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
xandercroft Posted October 8, 2021 Share Posted October 8, 2021 Horror stories rock. Good job! Cyril Figgis 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted October 8, 2021 Author Share Posted October 8, 2021 1 minute ago, xandercroft said: Horror stories rock. Good job! Thank you kindly! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
>_< 0_0 Posted October 11, 2021 Share Posted October 11, 2021 Dude, this writing is Hollywood-tier stuff. I wonder which girls going to have the roast beef 🥩 Cyril Figgis 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted October 11, 2021 Author Share Posted October 11, 2021 3 hours ago, >_< 0_0 said: Dude, this writing is Hollywood-tier stuff. I wonder which girls going to have the roast beef 🥩 Thank you kindly! And I won't spoil who, but I will say this--whoever it is will be a vegetarian. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted October 12, 2021 Share Posted October 12, 2021 holy crap that emotional eating and foreshadowing...is she gonna drown in her own boobs? Also, I'm wandering if Jamie is actually pigface... Cyril Figgis 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted October 12, 2021 Author Share Posted October 12, 2021 1 hour ago, Batman76 said: Also, I'm wandering if Jamie is actually pigface... What a tweest! But we'll have to wait a minute yet to see who's behind the mask... xandercroft 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
xandercroft Posted October 12, 2021 Share Posted October 12, 2021 Shamalanalalan? Is that you? Cyril Figgis 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
>_< 0_0 Posted October 12, 2021 Share Posted October 12, 2021 8 hours ago, Batman76 said: holy crap that emotional eating and foreshadowing...is she gonna drown in her own boobs? Also, I'm wandering if Jamie is actually pigface... He could also be Professor Pyg… or not. But it was the first character he reminded me of xandercroft and Cyril Figgis 1 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted October 12, 2021 Author Share Posted October 12, 2021 3 hours ago, >_< 0_0 said: He could also be Professor Pyg… or not. But it was the first character he reminded me of It's criminal how there aren't more pig-based villains out there in pop culture. So consider this me doing my civic duty. >_< 0_0 and xandercroft 1 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
xandercroft Posted October 14, 2021 Share Posted October 14, 2021 Bebop? Angry bird’s villains? That one episode of power rangers? Greedly from Captain Planet? Hmmm. >_< 0_0 and Cyril Figgis 1 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest ratetankmark Posted October 14, 2021 Share Posted October 14, 2021 Man, you're just such a good writer in anything, this was incredible even if I'm not the biggest horror fan. But I am excited to see where this goes. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted October 17, 2021 Author Share Posted October 17, 2021 CHAPTER 4 Marilyn’s feet were frozen in place when she saw the pig-faced killer standing over her boyfriend’s body, but they came unglued the second he pointed his mallet at her. She turned to run, a bloodcurdling shriek peeling out of her lips, but the murderer ran her down like a wild boar and pinned her to the grin. Kick and scream all she wanted, there was no way she was going to shift a man who was twice her weight and built like a freight train. “Hold still, Jezebel,” the man growled as he grappled with the struggling Marilyn. “You don’t get the hammer—that would be too quick for the likes of you.” “Let me go! Let me go!” Marilyn squealed, pawing at her assailant to no avail. “Take whatever you want from the house, just let me go! I won’t say anything to the police or anybody!” “I know you won’t. After tonight, you won’t say anything ever again,” the man sneered behind his porcine mask as he dropped the mallet and pulled a syringe from his pocket. Before Marilyn could do anything, the man jammed the syringe into her neck and forced the yellow contents into her jugular. Her screams were cut off as she took a sharp gasp of air and her pupils went wide as dinner plates before shrinking to a pinpoint. Any thoughts of fight or flight vanished from her brain as every synapse became devoted to one thing and one thing only—eating. Ignoring how she had a light dinner before cuddling up with Troy, her brain was tricked into thinking that she had not eaten in days and was just about to collapse. “God…so hungry,” Marilyn groaned. She looked up to the pig-faced man with pleading eyes and whimpered, “What did you do to me? Why am I so hungry now?” “Because you’re as greedy as the Whore of Babylon,” the man answered as he stood up and allowed Marilyn to go free. “By now, you’d probably eat your pet fish to sate that appetite of yours, but I wouldn’t damn an innocent creature like that. No, you’ve got plenty of food down here.” He gestured back to the kitchen table, where Marilyn found that all the contents of the fridge had been left out. Deli meat, last night’s lasagna, even the fresh carton of eggs that her mother had picked up just the morning—nothing was left untouched. Not a single thing had been prepared: no sandwiches made with the deli meat, nothing toasted or fried, and even the beverages still sat in their jugs. And yet, despite how inelegant the whole affair was, it looked like Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter dinner all rolled into one feast for the starving Marilyn. “It all looks so good,” she muttered to herself as she stumbled towards the table, sidestepping Troy’s body as if it was a puddle in the street. “I don’t know even know where to start.” Her decision was made for her when the masked man came from behind and brought an apple to her lips, which Marilyn bit into without a second’s thought. A lusty groan came from her lips and her eyes rolled back in her head as the sweet juices trickled down her throat, sparking a tingling deep in her body that she only ever felt when she was with one of the dumb brutes at school. She ripped the apple out of the man’s hand and tore it to pieces, wolfing it down until it was no more than stems and seeds. “And now, it begins,” the pig-faced man grunted as he watched Marilyn all but throw herself on the table and take a giant bite out of a loaf of bread. “You’ll do anything to quell the beast that dwells inside you, but such hedonism comes at a heavy price—one you’ll pay before long.” Marilyn was too far gone to hear him, stuffing as much as she could fit in her mouth and filling it again as soon as she made space for more. She had never been so hungry before in her entire life: it was so strong inside her that it actually hurt, and she worried that if she stopped, her stomach would cave in on itself. As fast as she ate, the chasm in her belly never seemed any fuller; even when she ate more than she would in a week, it still begged for more. But that was not the only thing aching to be filled, as her thighs feverishly squirmed against each other to quell and stimulate her thirsty sex. Ever since she learned how to play men like a fiddle, Marilyn had used her body to get whatever she wanted—jewelry, dresses, and even a sports car. Some of her meal tickets were good in the sack, like Father Jager, but none ever really managed to bring her over the edge like she wanted. She always had to put on an act of enjoying it, and considering some of the lummoxes she had been with, she felt like she deserved an Oscar for her performances. But this feeling that sparked inside her as she forced hundreds of calories down her throat, was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Was this what was missing from her life? Like all highs though, it had to come down at some point, and this crash came when Marilyn heard a tear between her legs. Her eating slowed, though never stopped, as she looked down at her quivering thighs and realized that they were quivering for a whole different reason than her bottled lust. Pale, pasty, pudge peeked out of little holes that ran up her jeans, opened by the friction of her thick thighs squirming against each other. That she was tearing through her clothes was troubling enough, but what made it more unnerving was that she was not this thick when the evening started. She was burdened with her mother’s genes and any weight favored her lower body, but she had put on more weight in the last few minutes than she had in the last few years. “Why ish thish haffening?” Marilyn whined around a mouthful of cold lasagna, sauce speckling her chin as she crammed as much as past her lips as she could manage. “Why can’d I shdop?” The pig-faced man watching from afar sneered at her, “If you bothered to listen in school, you’d know how addictive drugs can be—and you’ve got one of the most potent poisons coursing through your system right now. You couldn’t stop now, even if you wanted to.” “I do! I do wanna shtop!” Marilyn screamed before a can of soda turned her panic into arousal. “Not from what I hear,” the man grunted. “Right now, your brain doesn’t know what to think; it’s all a bunch of mush oozing in one direction. You’re operating on primal instincts right now and, slut that you are, feeding and fucking is one in the same right now. A shame that your friend’s death couldn’t be as pleasant.” Marilyn thought back to what she saw on the news earlier that afternoon and whimpered as she recalled Heather being carried out of the mall, the sheet draped over her corpse unable to hide just how bloated she had become. Was that her fate—to eat until her heart could not take another bite? It was a grotesque possibility, and even though she willed every muscle in her body to fight back, it seemed that she was destined for it. With nothing to do but eat and push against the tremors rumbling through her body, Marilyn could only watch as the bombardment of calories wreaked havoc on her once slender physique. Her blouse became tight around the middle, gaps forming between the buttons as her flat stomach bloated into a gooey belly, but she could do nothing to give herself some relief. More tears formed on her jeans until they became one long, burst seam that ran from her aching crotch to her knees, allowing her flabby thighs to thrash against each other with ease. She heard another rip behind her, and the incapacitated girl could only groan as she realized her ass was making its own escape. The table was nearly empty by the time she popped the button on her jeans, which gave her a faint glimmer of hope before her heavy gut made its presence known with a snarling growl. There was no way she could still be hungry after clearing out half her kitchen, but she realized that for all she had eaten, she was nowhere close to feeling full. More than that, she still felt like she was climbing that wave of pleasure and had yet to reach the crest, which promised the only real climax of her life. It made her sick to think, but she still needed to feed these base desires; she just prayed that she could stop before she met her end. Finally, after dumping a can of tuna down her gullet, she rested her immense backside against the table and groaned in painful pleasure. Marilyn’s breath was hot and heavy as she did her best to compose herself in that fleeting moment of control, and she ran her fingers over the swell of her stomach. It was a flabby mound of goo that drooped down from her waist like a teardrop and obscured her crotch—not that anyone could see that anyway, considering how rotund her thighs had become. Her legs had started out thick and round, but as more and more weight piled on them, the accumulated blubber collapsed on itself into a pile of cellulite-pocked rolls that flopped over her encumbered knees and ran down to thick cankles. In the cruelest twist of fate she could imagine, Marilyn ran a hand over her breasts—still encased in her padded bra—had barely grown at all. The only reason her bra had gotten tight was because of fat building up elsewhere; she remained the same A-cup she was when she waddled into the kitchen. And yet, when she cupped her breasts and weighed them in her hands, a shock ran down her spine and she nearly lost her footing. Her sensitivity had skyrocketed since that needle was plunged into her neck, and she longed for someone—even that pig-faced bastard—to touch her where it mattered. In fact, she had not seen Pig Face in some time, having lost track of him around when she tore through a frozen pizza that was barely thawed. She glanced around like a gazelle searching for a lion in the grass, but there was no sign of her attacker to be found. Perhaps he left her under the impression that she would choke to death on her food or her heart would stop in the middle of her meal. If that was the case, she needed to use this moment of clarity to get help—and maybe get some food on the way to a hospital or police station. The portly Marilyn waddled out of her kitchen and nearly made it to the front door, only for Pig Face to lunge out from around the corner and grab hold of her. She shrieked as though she had been branded with a hot iron, “Please, let me go! I’m so fat already—what more do you want?” “You think this is fat?” asked Pig Face as he grabbed a thick love handle and wobbled it so fiercely that Marilyn thought he would tear it off. “You’re not even half Heather’s size yet, and I know how much you two loved to compare with each other. Besides, I’ve got something in the den that I think you’re really going to love.” She tried to get out of his grasp, but the masked man had a vice-like grip on her arm as he led her down the hall and into the den, where a large pile of groceries had been dumped unceremoniously on the ground. Marilyn recoiled at the sight and yanked as hard as she could, but Pig Face refused to let her go—until she was caught in a new kind of trap. While he was able to walk through the doorway just fine, Pig Face was jarred when Marilyn froze behind him, her hips caught in between the doorway and wedged like a cork. It was almost comical, seeing her fat swell out around her as she struggled to get free, but no one was laughing. Pig Face glowered at her from behind his mask and he cocked his head to the side as he remarked, “Guess these old doorways are smaller than the ones used today. Well, we can work with this—can’t let this food go to waste, after all.” “No, please! I’ll give you anything you want,” Marilyn sobbed, hot tears running down chubby cheeks as she pleaded with her captor while trying to wrench her fat hips through the narrow doorway. “My dad’s one of the richest men in the city—you can take whatever you want from the safe! I’ve got thousands of dollars in jewelry upstairs! I…I’ll even let you fuck me! I’ll do whatever you want—head, up the ass, anything! Just please, please don’t kill me!” Unmoved by his plump prisoner, Pig Face scooped up a bag of cookies from the floor and hissed, “Is that your answer to everything? You’d screw your own father if it meant getting out of trouble, I bet. But I’m not so easily swayed by your promises.” Marilyn hiccupped in her fear and whimpered, “Please…no more food.” “‘And there came one of the seven angels which had the seven vials, and talked to me, saying unto me, Come hither; I will shew unto thee the judgment of the great whore that sitteth upon many waters: with whom the kings of the earth have committed fornication, and the inhabitants of the earth have been made ** with the wine of her fornication,’” the man recited as he gathered more food into his arms and set them upon a side table near Marilyn. When she realized that her pleas mattered not to Pig Face, the trapped girl sobbed quietly and fidgeted as best she could in the doorway, her hunger and lust forgotten in abject terror. Her captor continued, “‘So he carried me away in the spirit into the wilderness: and I saw a woman sit upon a scarlet colored beast, full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns. And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet color, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of her fornication.’” The burly man disappeared from sight for a moment, and Marilyn dug her fingers between her pillowy fat and the wall to give herself leverage. She very nearly got free before Pig Face returned with a familiar bottle of liquor in his hand. He waggled it in front of her and finished, “‘And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus: and when I saw her, I wondered with great admiration.’” “I don’t want to drink,” Marilyn sniveled, her face a mess of tears, snot, and streaking makeup. “Oh, this isn’t for you to drink,” Pig Face retorted as he knelt down in front of her, disappearing under the hang of her belly. “Do what you do best and spread your legs.” *** Jamie and Adrienne drove as fast they could to Marilyn’s place, but even with the latter’s sports car, Marilyn lived the furthest out from the group. It took the better part of a half-hour before they finally pulled up to her Colonial home, and at first glance, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Troy’s pickup truck was still parked in the driveway, there were several lights on, and the front door was shut—nothing unusual. It was that sense of normalcy that made Jamie’s blood run cold, and she clutched her purse tight as she climbed out of the car. “Are you crazy? What if Pig Face is already in there?” Adrienne whispered, her fingers glued to the steering wheel. “You could be walking into a trap!” “Maybe, but we need to take that chance,” Jamie answered before marching to the front door. “If Marilyn’s still okay, we need to get her somewhere Pig Face can’t find her.” When she reached the front door, the headstrong girl froze as she realized that it was not shut all the way—it was left ajar by a hair’s breadth. It was possible that Troy and Marilyn left it open by accident, but knowing how much that girl liked to fool around, Jamie knew that she kept the door locked as much as possible. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Jamie nudged the door open and called out, “Marilyn? It’s Jamie—are you here?” No answer, and while she could have been upstairs, Jamie felt a heavy weight forming in her stomach. She crept through the old house, each squeak in the floorboard sending goosebumps up her arm, and hesitated around every corner as she searched for Marilyn. Her breath was frozen in her lungs until she made her way back to the den, and then it came out in a shriek that could be heard from outside. There, stuck in the doorway, was Marilyn Lovett—all four hundred pounds of her. The formerly slender girl had grown so wide that her hips actually cracked the doorframe, but she was wedged from her knees to her stomach. Arms as big as barley sacks hung limp and useless in front of her, and her breasts could only be distinguished from the rolls of her belly by her rosy nipples. That belly, once slight enough that it was almost concave, had grown into a heavy mass that sagged down her thighs like a cascade of blubber and split into a cleft at the bottom. Shapely thighs were now immense sacks of lard that looked almost like stacks of pancakes, hiding her knees from view and merging with chunky calves to create a tower of tonnage. She was not the globular mess that Heather had become, but Marilyn was still a corpulent caricature of herself. In amongst all that heavy, sagging weight was the same petrified look that was on Heather’s face—eyes bulging and bloodshot, cheeks pale, and foam at the corner of her lips. Scattered all around her were remnants of food, empty containers, and a broken bottle of tequila at her feet. Most haunting of all was a message scrawled in ketchup on the wall beside Marilyn. ‘MYSTERY, BABYLON THE GREAT, THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS AND ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH.’ As she stood transfixed at Marilyn’s body, Jamie heard Adrienne’s car rev up outside and she bolted for the front door. She reached the entrance just in time to see her companion grappling for control of her car with a man in ratty clothes and a pigskin mask. Jamie shrieked and ran to assist Adrienne, but fighting over the car led to Adrienne slamming her foot on the gas and squealing up the front porch—straight at Jamie. There was only a second for Jamie to get back inside, and she threw herself past the door just as the Camaro jumped the porch and slammed into the front of the house. Jamie spun around on the floor and watched in mute horror as Pig Face wrenched Adrienne out of the car. She reached out a hand to her companion before the shock of everything overtook her and she fainted into oblivion… flyer33, venusderuebens, xandercroft and 3 others 4 1 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
>_< 0_0 Posted October 18, 2021 Share Posted October 18, 2021 Been trying to imagine what a hunger like that would feel like. It’s hard to imagine a lust you can’t resist… but then I thought of the times I got pepper-sprayed. Very hard to keep the eyes open even though you have to. Maybe the yellow serum is more of a pained effect than a lustful one. Also, did pig-man just allude to seven angels giving him seven needles or something? Now I wonder if he’s some sort of angel Cyril Figgis and xandercroft 1 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted October 18, 2021 Author Share Posted October 18, 2021 38 minutes ago, >_< 0_0 said: Been trying to imagine what a hunger like that would feel like. It’s hard to imagine a lust you can’t resist… but then I thought of the times I got pepper-sprayed. Very hard to keep the eyes open even though you have to. Maybe the yellow serum is more of a pained effect than a lustful one. Also, did pig-man just allude to seven angels giving him seven needles or something? Now I wonder if he’s some sort of angel That's the general idea with the serum. It heightens sensations to a painful degree, where you would do anything to make it stop. And he was quoting the Book of Revelations at the end - specifically the part that references the Whore of Babylon. But whoever or whatever he is will come up before long... >_< 0_0 and xandercroft 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted October 19, 2021 Share Posted October 19, 2021 oh man all to her ass, and here I was thinking her boobs would get bigger lol. Part of me thinks that they'd honestly prefer death to a lifetime of fat given how vain they are. Cyril Figgis 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted October 19, 2021 Author Share Posted October 19, 2021 2 hours ago, Batman76 said: oh man all to her ass, and here I was thinking her boobs would get bigger lol. Part of me thinks that they'd honestly prefer death to a lifetime of fat given how vain they are. It's a fate worse than death for girls like this. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted October 23, 2021 Author Share Posted October 23, 2021 CHAPTER 5 When Jamie finally came to, it was in a spare bed at the Lovett residence and a paramedic knelt down beside her to check her vitals. She used her free hand to rub the sleep from her eyes and groaned, “What happened?” “Try not to sit up too quick, ma’am—you fell pretty hard,” the paramedic cautioned her as he helped prop her up a little higher. “Do you remember the last thing that happened before you passed out? Anything at all?” “I was…I was in Marilyn’s house to see if she was okay,” Jamie murmured before her memory returned to her and she bolted upright in bed. Marilyn was wedged in a doorway, Adrienne had been taken by Pig Face, and she just managed to avoid getting run over by an out-of-control Camaro. “Oh my god, Adrienne! We need to find her,” the panicking girl told the paramedic. She reached out for his shoulder but fell short as a sudden wave of lightheadedness came over her, bringing her back down to the mattress. The mustachioed man patted her hand and explained, “The police are already looking for her, but any help you can give them in finding who took her would be a big help. I’ll let them know you’re up and about, but try not to move around too much, okay?” Jamie nodded weakly and lay back in the bed as the paramedic left her to piece together everything that had transpired. In the span of a single day, two of her old clique members had been brutally murdered by a masked killer, who had succeeded in stealing away a third in Adrienne Fitzgerald. It felt like something out of a nightmare, but the sounds of Mrs. Lovett sobbing at the foot of the stairs were all too real. Dread and panic filled her stomach, and her eyes darted around the room as if Pig Face might leap out at her any second. More than anything though, she wished she had a big bowl of ice cream she could drown her fears in and forget about the horrific turn her life had taken. “That can be arranged, you know,” came a thick, husky voice from the closet near the bed. The door creaked open, revealing the bloated body of Heather Buchanan looking as slovenly as she was when she died. Her massive gut, ringed with jagged stretch marks, rippled as she squeezed her way out of the closet and waddled towards Jamie, and she licked away some of the stains that covered her plump cheeks and fingers. What sickened Jamie most was how Heather’s skin had turned a deathly pale and her face a grotesque shade of purple—the same as when her heart stopped at the mall. “Oh God, not you too,” Jamie groaned covering her face with her hands until Heather’s clammy fingers ripped them away. A heavy lump formed in Jamie’s throat as she whimpered, “Heather, please, I did everything I could. How was I supposed to know this would happen to you?” “What was it you told me before I begged for your help—‘choke and die on your own vomit’? That’s not very nice of you,” Heather sneered at her former compatriot. “I know why you took so long to get to the mall: you were too busy stuffing those chubby cheeks with snacks; maybe if you’d put the fork down, you’d have been able to pick me up before I ate myself to death.” “I got there as soon as I could, I swear,” Jamie squealed as Heather dug her nails into her wrists. “And I’m not even that fat! Why do you people keep calling me that?” “If the shoe fits,” came the all too familiar voice of Peggy from the bedroom door. When Peggy appeared in the doorway with a tub of ice cream in hand and half her face missing, Jamie’s escape efforts only increased and she thrashed around on the bed to try getting out of Heather’s clutches. Unfortunately, not only did her deceased companion not release her, but she only increased her hold on Jamie by climbing onto the bed and planting herself on Jamie’s legs. Jamie winced at the immense weight seated on her lower body, but no force on Earth could have moved Heather from her spot. All she could do was make another plea to the visions for mercy; given the hateful look in their eyes though, that seemed out of the question. “What do you want me to do, beg?” asked Jamie as the two specters leered at her. “I’ll beg all you want, just stop this—please!” Peggy shook what was left of her head and answered, “Why would we ever stop now? I went through a lot of trouble to get this much ice cream this late at night, and you’re still far too thin to have learned a lesson yet. So, what I want you to do is open wide and take your medicine. Won’t you do that for an old friend, Jamie?” Even though there was a part of Jamie that was more than happy to wolf down some ice cream to stifle her guilty feelings, the rational part of her mind won out and she clamped her mouth shut. The ghouls saw this act of defiance and smirked, for all it took to undermine her was for Peggy to pinch her nose and cut off Jamie’s air. Heather chortled as her old companion’s eyes went wide and her face turned pink, red, then blue as she held out as long as she could. “What’s the use of holding your breath, Jamie? You know you’ve got to come up for air at some point,” Heather reminded Jamie, her lungs already fighting for air as the blob sitting atop her squeezed the air from her body like a tube of toothpaste. “Besides, what’s the point of fighting it? At the rate you’re going, you’d be a prize-winning porker by the end of college. This is just picking up the pace.” Jamie’s eyes watered from the combined pressure on her body, the burning in her lungs, and the needling words jabbing at her mind. She wanted desperately for something to break her out of this hellish hallucination, but there was no aid in sight. When she could finally hold her breath no longer, she opened her mouth and took a big gulp of air, which gave Peggy the chance to shovel a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. It was a sweet relief to the agonizing pain before, even though she knew what all those calories and sugar would do to her already soft frame. “See? Isn’t this so much better than fighting your fate?” asked Peggy as she delivered spoonful after spoonful of rocky road into Jamie’s mouth. “Better to just let it happen and accept that you’re a fat girl at heart.” Heather nodded in agreement and purred like a jungle cat. “That’s right. We always knew there was something about you that said you didn’t belong, but I guess we know now—as soon as you broke things off with Nancy, you let yourself go. I’ll bet this is something you were looking forward to, isn’t it? You probably wanted to be a fat ass all along, didn’t you?” Jamie shook her head and tried to reply, but Peggy kept her too busy eating to give an answer—not that it would have helped anyway. Whatever this was—a trick of her diseased mind or a visit from vengeful spirits—they were not willing to listen to what she had to say. The only option she had was to eat as much as they wanted and pray that she did not go the same way as Heather or Marilyn. If she survived this nightmare, she would have to get her life back on track. She did not know how much ice cream she was forced to eat, only that she grew numb to the taste after a while and her stomach felt like it was about to burst. She did not know when her visions had left her, only that they were replaced by the paramedic from before and a policeman when she blinked. And the emergency responders did not know how Jamie Myers had gotten ahold of a gallon tub of ice cream, only that the girl had ice cream on her lips and a pregnant-looking belly. *** Molly Myers tried to put up a cool, unaffected atmosphere at all times, but the truth was that she was a nervous wreck held together by Botox and duct tape. Her real estate firm was in hot water after one of her best agents was discovered to be embezzling funds for the last ten years, her husband was having an affair with his latest bimbo secretary, and her daughter had been a hellion ever since she turned 11. But she refused to let any of that anxiety peek through, and she buried it under medication, booze, and frequent trips to the spa, which all helped her maintain some semblance of stability. Jamie’s turn to a calmer and quieter lifestyle had eased some of the worry from her mind, but the events of the last day had brought them all back in spades. She was glued to the couch as an emergency broadcast interrupted Dynasty and displayed a crime scene at the Lovett residence—the second such that day, after what happened at the mall. Jamie had not yet returned home, and Molly was on the edge of her seat as she wondered whether her daughter was caught up in another mess. Her fears were proven correct when she got a call from the police that confirmed Jamie was in the house; confirmation that she was unharmed was a small silver lining as her mind drifted to the gruesome news. First, Heather Buchanan died at the mall after turning into a fat blob; now, Marilyn Lovett had suffered the same fate. If someone was targeting the girls, how long would it be until the same thing happened to her daughter? “Ms. Molly? Is everything all right?” Molly jumped in her seat, even though it was just her matronly housekeeper. She quickly put out the smoldering cigarette in her hand and tried to smooth out her hair as best she could before answering, “Yes, Luisa, I’m fine. I just…I was caught up in the news.” Luisa glanced over to the TV and performed the Sign of the Cross as she whispered, “Que horrible. Mr. Harold wanted to tell you he was leaving to pick up Miss Jamie and would be back as soon as he could. Is there anything I can get for you?” “No, I’m fine, thank you,” Molly replied before her stomach growled. No one knew this—not even her husband and daughter—but the rail thin mother was a nervous eater that once popped a button while studying for her finals in college. She had kept her vice under wraps for the last couple decades, but without Harold around and all this talk of death, she was willing to relent just once. “Actually, Luisa, do you mind fixing me a snack? I’m feeling a bit peckish,” the dyed blonde woman requested. “Do you have anything left over from dinner?” “I’ll have something ready for you in just a few minutes, Ms. Molly,” Luisa nodded before toddling back to the kitchen. Molly nodded and returned her attention to the television as the news broadcast ended and Linda Evans returned to the screen. For the last several months, she thought that she had regained some control of her life thanks to Jamie’s change in attitude, but that sense of control went right out the window in the face of this latest tragedy. This was fast becoming a pattern, and with news that Adrienne Fitzgerald could not be found, she worried how long it would be before it was her daughter’s turn to fear for her life. The only comfort she had came at the end of a fork as she tried crushing her nerves with chicken mole. *** Adrienne woke to a throbbing pain in her head, but found that she could not touch the sore spot thanks to her wrists being restrained. As consciousness returned and the blur cleared from her eyes, she looked down and realized that she had been strapped to wheelchair—her hands tied to the arms and her feet to the legs. She felt something sticky on her face, and a quick whiff brought an iron scent while her tongue tasted salt when she licked her lips. Her head lolled from side to side as she felt her body slowly waking up, feeling returning to her extremities minute by minute. “Hello?” she groaned. “Is anybody there?” Her question was only met with silence, and as she woke up more and more, the silence became absolutely deafening to Adrienne. With consciousness came recollection, and the last thing she could remember before passing out was sitting in her car and waiting for Jamie. She kept her eyes on the front door for what felt like an eternity, which was why she missed the masked man run up to her door and yank it open. It was the man in the pig mask that stalked around her house the night before, and he was even more terrifying up close, where she could see that the mask was made from real pig. They fought for control of the car for a moment before it slipped out of parking and she floored the car right onto Marilyn’s porch, just missing Jamie in the process. That was the last thing Adrienne remembered, and fear boiled inside her now that she realized she was in the same trouble Heather and Marilyn had been in. She screamed, “Help! Somebody help me! Get me out of here!” “No one’s coming to save you, cow,” came a gruff voice from behind. Adrienne whipped her head around and saw the pig-faced man walk out of the shadows to stand in front of her. He towered over her like some great monster, and she found it impossible to meet the anger in his eyes. She bowed her head and whimpered, “Oh God, please don’t kill me. Please, please, just let me go.” “That’s what they all say,” Pig Face grunted as he crouched down and glared holes through Adrienne. “I already went this far—do you really think I would stop just because you asked me to? No, I still have for more in plan for you.” He walked behind her again, only to unlock the brakes on the chair and roll Adrienne out of the dimly lit room. They started out in a hallway, where the captured girl smelled something that made her stomach turn, though she could not identify it. She had no idea where she was, but even if she was at home, it would not have made a difference; she was at the mercy of Pig Face and could only hope that the police were coming. After rolling down the hall in stony silence, save for her quiet sobs and the squeak of the wheels, Adrienne was brought to an office, where she found the source of the foul odor. Laid out on the desk was a large T-bone steak, sausages, bacon, and a roasted chicken, all laid out on foil and wax paper. It might have looked delicious to some people, even in this situation, but for a vegan like Adrienne, it was absolutely vile. She did not advertise it like the hippies in school, but she had gone strictly meatless several years ago and even wore faux fur, despite Nancy taunting her about it. As she tried not to vomit from the stink of cooked meat, a grim thought came to her mind and she wheeled around to Pig Face. She asked, “It was you that made Heather eat herself to death, isn’t it? You’re not…you’re not going to make me eat that, are you?” “I’m not going to feed you a single bite,” Pig Face answered as he fished around in his pocket. When he pulled out a syringe, he added, “You’re going to eat everything I put in front of you though.” “No! No, you can’t make me! I swore I’d never touch a piece of meat ever again,” Adrienne squealed, struggling fruitlessly against her restraints. “Please, I’ll eat anything you want, just not meat! Cake, ice cream, whatever—just none of this!” “I don’t see why you’d be so against this. After all, you led so many lambs to the slaughter yourself, didn’t you?” asked her captor as he tapped the needle and flicked drops of the yellow liquid inside onto Adrienne’s thigh. “You’re an absolute carnivore inside, but of the social kind; you devour the innocent and meek for your own satisfaction. What does it matter if you don’t eat any cooked meat? You already glut yourself plenty on the good people of this town.” Despite her best efforts, Adrienne could not free herself before Pig Face jabbed her in the neck with the syringe, filling her body with whatever was inside. Her heart rate, already beating a mile a minute, skyrocketed to the point that she thought it might pop. Sweat beaded on her brow and her lips felt dry as a bone as she felt the poison in the syringe course through her body. It was as sweet a drug as any, but like any high, it came with a terrible feeling—this time, one of hunger. What had once been disgusting now seemed absolutely tantalizing, and even though she tried to remind herself of the trauma those animals had suffered in being prepared for eating, Adrienne’s mouth watered at the aromas. There was a sweet maple scent that came from the sausages and bacon, garlic and herbs on the chicken, and a smoky tang wafting from the steak. She felt like vomiting mere moments prior, but as an unnatural hunger set in, all she wanted to do was eat the delectable dishes arranged for her. “Smells good, doesn’t it?” Pig Face asked as he watched Adrienne lick her lips. “There’s plenty more where that came from too—all you have to do is ask.” Adrienne tried to swallow the words, but they were caught in her throat and refused to go down. Instead, she looked up to her captor like a puppy and begged, “Please…please let me eat it.” A snort came from Pig Face as he asked, “Are you sure? After all, just think of what these animals went through to get here.” “I don’t care! I’ll eat a lamb’s brain if you have it—just let me eat!” Adrienne growled, foam bubbling at her lips. Her sense of decorum was lost as Pig Face cut her free from her restraints, and she tore a huge chunk from the steak as soon as she was loose. “One little piggy had roast beef,” the masked man sneered. >_< 0_0, lyle81992, Batman76 and 1 other 1 1 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted October 24, 2021 Share Posted October 24, 2021 Wow, this is getting creepy... xandercroft, >_< 0_0 and Cyril Figgis 2 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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