Chris had recently been contacted by a friend named Mike who's been quiet for years, suddenly asking if Chris could come over and "catch up" since it's been so long. Even though the request seemed absurd, the faint memories of their times together inclined him to at least pay a visit. A quick drop by and a small chat, no problem right?
The address attached to the text message brought him to what he considered as a pretty shady motel in the middle of the woods. The lights seemed to flicker constantly, half of the letters on the sign were out, and he didn't know what it was, but a ghastly stench loomed in the air like a thick miasma. It didn't seem like there were many people booked either, only two other cars were parked in the vacant lot. Figures, who'd want to stay in a garbage heap?
Chris was already regretting his decision to swing by, was contracting some mystery disease really worth it? Besides, was his friend still the person who he once was...? He wanted to leave, his head blared with warnings, urging him to turn back. Yet the ache that came from his unsatiated curiosity led him to disregard the feeling within his gut. He left his car, stepping out onto the cold trashed littered pavement. The wind was fierce, yet quiet, only the sounds of trash being blown around the lot and creaks of the dilapidated motel could be heard.
Chris checked his texts, "My room number is 11, knock, but do it quietly." Considering how it seemed almost no one was there, his request to be quiet was odd. He strolled to the stairs, his friends room was on the second floor. He was surprised he didn't fall through the stairs, the metal was rusted and the wood was rotted. How did his old friend end up here? Luckly, his friend's room was right next to stairs, any farther and he probably would have left, he wouldn't take chances considering how the floor was sunken in. As asked, he knocked on the door in a way where you could still hear it, but it wasn't overly loud.
Chris stood for a couple minutes, patiently waiting outside the door. Inside he could hear movement, and eventually his friend fumbling with the lock. The door opened up to a small sliver, "Chr-Chris?" Mike stuttered, their voice quiet and raspy. "Yo, It's been a while." Chris tried to remain nonchalant, but he could tell something was definitely wrong. The door opened more, their thin pale fingers wrapping around, in the darkness of the room behind he could see the glare of an eye staring right at him. It was like a horror scene, he didn't want to be rude but he thought Mike looked like a monster. His fingers long and spindly, the skin seemed to wrap around the bone. The nails were uneven, as if he gnawed on them. His eye didn't help either, the blue had become a dull grey, it almost blended in with his sclera. "Do you want me to... uh... come, in?" He was uncomfortable, this was already weird but now he had to commit to it, he can't just leave now.
The door fully opened, revealing what he could best describe as a shell of a man. Mike was tall yet slouched over, his skin was thin and pale, Chris wondered if there was even any blood under there. Mike's face was gaunt, eyes dead and empty, hair thin and colorless. He only lost contact a couple years ago, which meant the zombie that stood before him was not even in his thirties. A smile cracked across Mike's face, you'd think with the condition he's in his teeth would be messed up too, but to Chris's surprise Mike's teeth were perfectly white. In fact, they were the only thing that looked normal. "You-you came! You don't know how long I-I've been waiting..." Mike exclaimed happily, then ushered Chris in. "Come in, I-I don't bite." Chris nodded and gave an awkward smile, he followed Mike into the depths of his home.
Upon entering, he was greeted by the pleasant smell of air freshener. His nose was saved from the stench outside. His friends motel room was clean, though the room itself was still slightly falling apart. "Yo-you can sit in the arm chair if-if you want." Chris looked at the armchair, then looked for other seating options. There was only one chair in the room, "Mike, are you sure you don't want it? I can stand, I also can't stay long so there's no point in getting comfy." Chris let out a small chuckle, trying to keep the mood light. But Mike didn't seem to care for his answer, "I Insist." he replied in a somewhat irritated tone, was it because he didn't take his offer or because he couldn't stay for long? Chris didn't know, but what he did know is that the feeling within his gut run is only growing stronger.
He felt like if he tried to leave it would only make the situation more tense, he'd have to wait for an opportunity. He sat in the arm chair, it was actually pretty comfy. "Wa-Water?" Mike asked as he walked over to the small kitchen area in his room, reaching for the cabinet to grab a glass. "Sure, I'll take some water." Chris accepted the offer, thinking nothing of it. Mike filled it with some filtered water that came from a pitcher from inside his fridge. Also noticing that there was no food within. "Mike, do you have any food?" Chris asked, was he starving...? "N-no, I just... ate what I had left." he replied, but Chris could see his mouth salivating. He walked over and handed Chris his glass of water, his hand shaking from the little weight of the glass. Then he returned to the kitchen, and once again began to rummage through the cabinets. "Thanks." Chris took a sip, the water tasted a little off, like it was sweet? Mike didn't respond, just continued to search through the cabinets, looking for something. "So... how has life been...?" Chris asked to see if he would answer, the whole point of him coming here was to catch up right...? Chris suddenly felt off, the world began to spin. "Mike... what... what did you give me...?"
Mike stopped going through the cabinets, seemingly finding what he was looking for. Chris looked up at him dazed, only to see what appeared to be a cleaver in his hand. Chris's eyes widened, the adrenaline pumped through his veins as well as fear. He sprung up from the chair, "Mike?! Mike what's going on?!" Mike didn't answer, he just silently began to walk over to Chris. Ah hell no, he's not dying tonight. Chris tried to make a dash for the door, but the dizziness caused him to ram into the wall. His nose gushed with blood, splattering thick runny blood over all his face and the wall. He stumbled from side to side, the blood dripping from his face to the floor. He used the wall to guide himself to the door, but he was already too late. From behind he was grabbed by the hair and slammed to the ground. "Mike-!" he yelped before a cleaver was dug straight into his face, the blade cutting through his flesh like butter. Blood poured from the cut, filling his open mouth full of his own blood. Despite the wound to his head, he was still alive, but barely.
Mike dragged him from the door and into the kitchen, laying him sprawled out over the floor. He looked up at Mike's face, his eyes were filled with hunger, his mouth pouring with drool. And as he went unconscious, It was then he understood the whole purpose of his visit. Mike bent down and grabbed his leg, putting the cleaver right in between his thigh and pelvis. He sliced down into the flesh, the skin split apart, blood and globs of fat began to pour out from the open laceration. When he hit the bone, he ripped the cleaver from inside his leg, then began to hack away at the bone within. Blood splattered all over the kitchen, running down the sides of the cabinets and joining the pool of blood on the floor. Mike tore Chris apart from limb to limb, leaving his torso for second and his head for last. Mike made a medial cut from the superior part of Chris's torso, to the inferior. Cutting through the layers of muscle and fat like tender meat, leaving the flaps of skin laid open. The whole inside of Chris's body was exposed, Mike set down the cleaver and stuck his hand under Chris's rib cage, the organs squelching as he ripped out his heart and lungs. Blood and bodily fluids spurted all over, covering Mike's clothes and arms with thick liquids.
He moved from the top and began to remove the organs at the bottom. Pulling out Chris's intestines like a long line of rope, sometimes letting them go from how slippery they were in his hand. He threw each organ he removed into the sink, blood and parts of the organs slipped into the drain. His stomach growled as he watched the juicy organs slide out from within. But his favorite treat of them all was the brain and the tender flesh, that came from the abdomen. He sliced the skin flaps from the sides of the torso, disconnecting the large slices of skin for consumption. All that was left of Chris's body was an open bloody crater with blood covered bones, that went from his neck to his hips and... his head. Mike grabbed Chris's body by the ribs and slid him over, dragging the thick coagulated blood with him. Before him was Chris's pale lifeless face, so much blood had drained that there was nothing left. Mike reached out with bony fingers, and plucked out Chris's eyes.
He was so hungry, it felt like his stomach was eating him alive, so he swallowed Chris's eyes. The slimy eyeballs slid down his open drooling open maw, popping like boba as he crushed them under his teeth. Yet eating only made him hungrier, he craved the brain. He picked up his cleaver and hacked away at Chris's skull, opening it like a coconut. Fluids from inside the brain sprayed out as he pulled the skull in half. He snatched the brain from inside its cradle, his hand shaking as he tried to resist eating the whole thing in one go... but gluttony is a terrible sin. He couldn't resist the delectable hunk of muscle that he held is hand, and so, he devoured the brain. Horking it down like a monster, pieces of it dropped to the ground, but even those could not escape his hunger as he grasped for the loose scraps. Gorging on the remains of someone he once considered as a friend, but now is just another meal.
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