The Smoke of Their Torment

Mama,

I’m so sorry. I’m so damned sorry. I tried to wash up but in this poor lamplight I can hardly tell whats ink and whats his blood. I ain’t bad, mama. I swear I aint. And I’ll always be your boy. Remember that time I caught us that whopper of a catfish. You and daddy was so proud, we was all so hungry.

I’m always hungry now, mama.

There’s so much I need to say, but I can see the sun comin over the ridge. I know the sheriff’ll set the dogs soon as they seent what I done. You and Granny always told us about whistlin’ in the forest but you never told us about that.. that thing. It aint been a month since it took after me, since it tore my throat out and left me to die in them woods. When I woke up, I thought god spared me. This aint no blessing. Its curse from the devil himself.

But I’m still good, mama. I’m still good. You and sissy and pa. Ya’ll gotta believe. I didn’t mean to do it.

I was just so. God. Damn. Hungry, mama.

Last night I went to the preacher. I begged him to drive out this curse with the Good Book, to make me stop fearin the moon, stop turnin into hell’s own wrath every time I see her.

We started out prayin. My knees on that hardwood floor, our lord and savior starin’ down at me from that cross. I heard the preacher recite genesis, then Revelations.

“And the smoke of their torment ascendeth up for ever and ever: and they have no rest day nor night.”

He held that book high over his head. Shook it with more righteous hellfire and spittle than any Sunday sermon. He sprayed me with holy water. Little wet pearls glinting silver on my skin. Silver pearls my body cast off as I felt my frame stretch, my bones break, my teeth grow long and jagged and hungry.

That god damn creature from the forest, mama. Like the devil playing god it remade me in his image.

I remember the preacher fallin' to his knees, holdin' that book like his little papers could save him. I remember the smell of him—salt, sweat, fear—and then… the snap.

He was prayin while I tore at him, words bubbling up with the blood.

His ribs gave way with a sound like kindling. Every time he shuddered, I felt it in my teeth, through my jaw, through the bones of my face. I wanted to let go. I tried to, I swear I tried.

When I had my fill it was just me in that church. Breathin’, pantin, loud and wet. I could taste his life still on my tongue, mama. It filled me up in a way no food ever did. I swear, for a moment, it felt like I had taken a dark sacrament. Like the world had gone still just to watch me sin. Then the smell turned foul, and I knew what I’d done. I looked down and couldn’t tell where he ended and I began.

Remember me for who I was, mama. Remember me fishin' by the old mill. Remember me when our hounds start barking and bar the doors. I don’t ever want to hurt you all.

But I’m just so hungry.

Silas

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Thank you for taking the time to give this a read and I hope you enjoyed it! This is my submission to Sam Spinelli's "More Howls for Halloween" challenge.

https://vocal.media/writers/unofficial-challenge-more-howls-for-halloween

If you aren't familiar with Sam, he has quite a few incredible stories and poems. I'd recommend "On the Operating Table", "The Third Man Factor", or my personal favorite "Burning the Pages of the Book of Life."