venator

originally written: 9th april 2023

characters: unnamed male character, unnamed female character

relationships: none

additional notes: stalking, murder, gore, cannibalism, breaking and entering, violence against women, short one shot, horror, this is fucked up so be careful

summary: venator: the latin translation of hunter

hunter: a person or animal that hunts

similar to: huntsman, stalker, trapper, predator

finished, 1/1 chapters, word count: 1,022

There is a man outside a window. It is not his window nor his house. He should be at home, a flat full of non-fiction books and dirty laundry and a cat he recently adopted. He is at a window instead. The darkness makes it difficult to see past his reflection, but he knows what’s on the other side. The girl.

It’s easier to get in than he expected, the door is already open. He didn’t wear shoes for this exact reason; his footsteps stay silent. The door is left ajar, no need to alert her to the game just yet, she will know soon, what’s a little surprise between predator and prey. Winner and loser. It’s all already predetermined, he has no reason to fear.

He walks to her room. It’s on the first floor, lucky for him. No stairs to creak. The tiles are his friends, they do not give him away. It’s easy to manoeuvre with nothing impeding him. Nothing but the coil of rope he carries, though that makes little sound. He will not let anything get in his way.

At last, all that separates them is the door. Light, both in colour and material. He can hear her. She’s humming. He can almost imagine her, the dark curls, smooth skin, that sweet smile. How he wishes to mar it, break it, make it rot from the inside out. How he wishes to rip her throat out with his teeth til she stops humming. To tear and claw and bite and chew, then spit her out corrupt and raw. He has lasted so long, waited so patiently and finally here is his reward, one push of the door and she is his. His heart pounds with excitement. He’s shaking with it, really. If he looked in a mirror, his pupils would be blown, his face flushed, his mouth dripping drool like a sick beast.

There is nothing that can stop this. This was a car crash in the making since the day he saw her. Everyone watched as it happened but no one saw.

And now no one will ever see.

He pushes open the door.

She’s sitting on the floor, headphones on, not even paying attention. So young. So tearable.

He uncoils the rope slowly. Carefully. Takes a step. Two.

He slings the rope around her neck and pulls her back. She kicks and claws and each time she does his grip tightens and tightens yet she won’t stop moving, stop gasping. Her headphones are across the floor, her phone out of reach yet she won’t stop moving. Does she not see? The game has begun and she has already lost, there is nothing to struggle for anymore. No prize, no tomorrow, no victory. Why can’t she stop? Why can’t she realise?

“Move one more time and I will claw your eyes out.” He hisses. If she knows the rules, maybe she will understand. Maybe.

She stops. Considers. Lets her hands fall limp. Her nails got chipped in the struggle against the rope. A shame, he wanted to ruin her alone. Letting her ruin herself isn’t as appealing.

“Good girl.”

He ties her hands together. Her feet too. Stuffs a random shirt from her chair in her mouth. He would have usually wanted to listen, but this is a two player game, no need to attract more.

Standing back, he admires her. Helpless under his hands, she looks at him with pleading eyes. Like a doe. Wide and glossy and an animal.

He kneels next to her, pulls her shirt up. Reveals her stomach. He can feel her tense as he runs a hand over it.

He leans down.

He bites.

The girl’s flesh comes easily away as he rips in. The meat is warm, bloody. The copper taste, the rawness, her screams, they come together to create the perfect meal. The blood mixes with drool, soaks his shirt. His teeth tear into her and once he has her opened he sits up, digs in with his hands, claws out flesh and feasts like a wild animal, a starved wolf, a rabid dog. She screams still, cries and doesn’t move. Her blood flows freely onto her floor, stains and splatters and is smeared in his wild lunge for more. For this. For her.

He claws open her body, feasts on the meat, drinks her blood. Indulges in desperation, licks up her tears, leaving smears of red and leftover meat on her face. In this way, she is ruined. In this way, she is beautiful. Eventually he reaches the organs, stomach and intestines and all the pieces that help her function. He picks out the intestines, pulls and rips and tears them out, stares into her lifeless eyes as he chokes on the meat, the fat.

He stays there for hours. His meals are not peaceful nor are they quick. He isn’t here to snack, to nibble on her beauty. He wishes to consume her wholly and completely. Let them become one, he prays. Let the boundaries between rabbit and wolf blur and bend. Make her blood his lifesource, her flesh his energy.

When he has finished, she has been stripped of herself. He licks her from his fingers, feels her soak into his socks, lets her become a part of him. The chunks of meat stuck between his teeth are more her than the leftovers on the floor.

He stands, towering over the plate his meal was delivered on. Spits out a bone fragment that was stuck under his tongue.

He leaves the way he came, the image of her body still stuck in his head and her actual body stuck in his stomach.

Closing the front door behind him, he’s grateful that the darkness is his cover, that it welcomes him easily. The cool wind is a gentle reprieve from the frenzy of dinner, a break from the corrupting force of his mouth, his hands.

He walks home, this messy eater, covered in his most recent prey, and wonders if there’s any cat food left at home or if he’ll have to buy some more tomorrow.