Mama's Boy

A short horror story

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains graphic and disturbing content, including scenes of violence, gore, cannibalism, and explicit drug use. There are depictions of injections and drug addiction that may be unsettling to some readers. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Smudge grabbed Jimmy by the soaking wet shirt, hauling him off the road and into the bushes. “Get down.” he said, crouching in the shadows.

Jimmy threw himself to the ground, his hands and knees sinking deep into the thick mud. And not a moment too soon. The squad car tore past, siren blaring, red lights illuminating them for half a heartbeat, but it never stopped.

He cursed, gasping for air as the siren faded into the distance.

Smudge looked at him and let out a mocking laugh. “I told you to get down, not roll around in shit.”

Jimmy spat; his face freckled with specks of dirt. “It’s not funny. I’m done, honestly. Fuck this.”

Smudge stood up. “I’ve heard that before.” he said, his voice slurred and lazy.

“Well this time I mean it.”

“I’ve heard that before too.” He held out a bony hand. “Come on, let’s go before they come back.”

Jimmy took Smudge’s hand and stood with a groan. His whole body ached in a way that was all too familiar. He fought the urge to vomit, not that there was anything in his stomach to throw up.

He could tell Smudge was feeling it too. His eyes were as wide as saucers, and, as they walked through the bushes and into the adjacent field (they both knew that the main road was no longer an option), he lost count of how many times he had sniffed and wiped his nose up his bare arm.

They needed to score soon.

The fine rain persisted as they trudged through the field, the moonlight dull behind a thin veil of cloud. The ground was wet and heavy. The field, with its knee-high grass, had a slight upward gradient. To Jimmy, each step was like climbing stairs two at a time.

He gritted his teeth and began to slow. He was running on fumes and missed the ache of his legs from a few minutes ago; now it was as though they were made of dough. All he could feel from the waist down were his feet sloshing in his beat-up canvas sneakers.

“Where the fuck are we?” he asked, pulling at his soaked shirt, which was now clinging to his ribs.

Smudge was wearing that cocky smile that Jimmy had contemplated slapping off his face on multiple occasions. “We’re in the fields, of course.”

“And where’s that?”

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Who cares? At least we’re not back in the town, with everyone staring at us like we’re crooks –”

“We are crooks.”

“Or the last village, where that bitch started screaming at me for no reason.”

“You tried to steal her purse.”

“And I’d have gotten away with it if you hadn’t started getting all twitchy, as usual.” Smudge stopped and turned to Jimmy and began flailing his arms around. “Standing right up my ass, shaking like a turkey on Thanksgiving.”

Jimmy’s temper flared. “Oh, so this is all my fault now?”

“Did I fucking say that?” Smudge sighed, running a hand through his mop of greasy, wet hair. “Let’s keeping walking. See what’s on the other side of this hill.”

The hill grew steeper as they approached the blind crest at the top. Breathless and fatigued, Jimmy was ready to turn back when he looked up and realized they’d reached the top.

“There we go.” said Smudge, barely out of breath. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Jimmy glared at his friend, envying his lung capacity. Smudge had always been the fitter of the two. As kids, he was a whippet, winning every race, making home run after home run without breaking a sweat. Now, he regularly left the cops in his dust, which was part of the reason why Jimmy had ended up with a lengthier rap sheet; he was always the one who got caught.

Catching his breath, Jimmy took in the view. The hill dropped even further on the other side, the grassy field sloping down and stretching out, undisturbed for miles.

Except for a lonely cluster of trees, right at the bottom of the hill.

And a thin sliver of light. A soft amber glow, warm and inviting.

“Hey, do you see that?” Jimmy asked, pointing at the trees.

Smudge squinted, then his crusted lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Yes.” he said, punching Jimmy on the arm with excitement “Yes I fucking do.” He broke into a walking-stumble, the way everyone does on a hill that’s too steep.

When Jimmy caught up, Smudge’s smile had grown into an excited grin. “Our luck’s finally changing, Jimmy-boy. I can feel it.”

“I hope you’re right.” Jimmy said, jamming his hands into his pockets in a desperate attempt to warm them. “Let’s be careful though.”

Smudge rolled his eyes. “Oh, here we go, Mr Careful here to ruin the fun as usual. You know that’s what Tony used to call you?”

“I wonder if he still calls me that from his jail cell.”

Smudge glowered at him and walked on ahead. Jimmy knew he’d hit a nerve, but he didn’t care. When they were young, Smudge’s big brother had seemed cool, but that was a long time ago. Jimmy had lost count of the trouble he’d gotten them into over the years.

Jimmy caught up with Smudge just as he entered the opening. He held his breath, leaves crunching and squelching underfoot. The crooked branches of the trees hung low, forming a crude tunnel, at the end of which was the source of the amber light.

The old house had seen better days. Paint peeled from the weathered wood cladding, and the thatched roof was patchy and balding in places. The porch was broken and splintered, with the swing hanging lop-sided on one chain and several of the rails missing.

The place gave Jimmy the creeps, and a sense of unease started to eat at him. Were it not for the light from one of the downstairs windows, he’d have sworn it was abandoned. What kind of person would want to live here?

“This looks promising.” said Smudge, charging forward with purpose.

Jimmy grabbed him by the arm. “Slow down a bit.”

Smudge stopped and tutted. “Relax, will you?” he said, pulling his arm free.

“We don’t know who’s in there.”

“You worry too much.”

“There could be a maniac farmer in there with a loaded shotgun who doesn’t take kindly to trespassers. I reckon that’s worth worrying about.”

Smudge smiled that cocky smile again. “There’s no farmer with a shotgun. Just a sweet old lady.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because” Smudge said, nodding at the house. “Look.”

That’s when Jimmy noticed her.

An old woman stood at the window, her head peering around the curtain. Her haggard face was framed with long straggles of shocking grey hair. Her smile was unnaturally wide as she waved at them, then she made a gesture for them to come closer.

A tightness formed in Jimmy’s chest, stretching through his whole body. He preferred when he was worried about a shotgun-wielding farmer. Why would a frail, defenceless old woman invite them, a pair of junkies, of all people, into her home? His instincts screamed at him that something wasn’t right.

If only he’d trusted them.

Smudge rubbed his palms together. “This is perfect! An old grandma with a few brain cells missing; too easy.”

Jimmy shook his head. “I don’t like this.”

Smudge frowned at him. “Are you stupid? What’s not to like?”

“You said it yourself, ‘too easy’. Something’s off here, I’ve got a bad feeling.”

Smudge gritted his teeth. “Well I’ve got a bad feeling too, Jimmy. More than one, in fact. I’m tired, starving, and if I don’t get a hit soon, I’m gonna fucking murder someone.”

“I hear you, but –”

“This demented old bitch could solve all our problems. She’s bound to have food in there, and money. Old people love keeping wads of cash at home. It’s a fact.”

Jimmy’s stomach growled and churned as he fought down another dry heave. The aches in his muscles hadn’t improved with hiking in the rain, and he knew it’d only get worse. When had he last slept?

“Come on, Jimmy. We’ll rob her blind and be halfway to the next town before she realizes.”

Jimmy closed his eyes, exhaustion and desperation getting the better of him. “Fine.”

Smudge’s face lit up. “That’s what I’m talking about. Wait till Tony hears about this one. Fucking legendary.”

The front door creaked open as they reached the porch. A frail hand curled wrapped around the edge of the chipped wood, and the old woman shuffled into view.

“Welcome, welcome.” she croaked, her rheumy eyes staring down at them. “Come in, come in, you sorry pair. Come out of this frightful weather. You look like you could use a hot meal.”

“Fucking right we could.” said Smudge, before putting his hand over his mouth. “Oh, excuse the language… ma’am.”

The old woman laughed. “Oh that’s quite alright, dear, I’ve heard far worse.” She held out her hand as Smudge climbed the porch stairs. “And, please, call me Hildy.”

Smudge took her hand. “I’m Smudge. This big sad sack here is Jimmy.”

Hildy turned to Jimmy. “You must be the shy one, Jimmy. Aren’t you coming in?”

“Yeah, Jimmy,” said Smudge, making shifty eyes at him. “Aren’t you coming in?”

Jimmy was rooted to the foot of the porch, discomfort growing in him. That smile of hers, it didn’t belong on the face of an old woman. It was nothing like the loving smile his grandma used to give him on a Sunday. No, this was more like a wolf smiling at a sheep. She wasn’t to be trusted; how could Smudge not see that?

Then he smelt it. A delightful concoction of irresistible scents wafting from the open door. What was that, a roast? And some sort of sweet home baking? His tongue danced in his mouth.

That made his mind up. He almost floated up the porch stairs, the heavenly aroma carrying him by the nose like he was a Looney Tunes character.

When he reached the top of the porch, Hildy grabbed at his hand with both of hers. “Oh, you poor thing,” she said, squeezing and pinching each of his fingers like she was inspecting them. “You’re frozen stiff.”

Jimmy snatched his hand back more quickly than he had intended, and for the briefest of moments, Hildy’s smile flickered, and her eyes narrowed; her face morphing into something less inviting, something malevolent. In a heartbeat, Jimmy’s discomfort turned to fear.

Then just like that, her friendly demeanour returned as she stepped aside. “Let’s get inside, boys. Dinner’s almost ready.”

*****

The dining table was filthy, covered in a thick film of grease that would have needed a chisel to remove. Then there was the grubby cutlery, which looked like it had been hastily cleaned on the sleeve of Hildy’s cardigan.

Jimmy sat at the edge of his chair, reluctantly patting his hair dry with the mouldy dish towel she’d offered him, trying not to inhale the fustiness that lingered in the air; the place needed fumigation. Whatever Hildy was cooking didn’t seem to smell so good to him now, and he’d suddenly lost his appetite.

Smudge, on the other hand, was slouched in his chair and leaning across the table like he owned the place. His towel hung around his neck, and he wore a cheeky glint in his eye. “So, what’s for dinner, exactly?” he said, drawing a scowl from Jimmy.

Hildy was shuffling around the kitchen, removing sizzling pots from the hob and fanning black smoke from the rusty old oven, before presenting an enormous roast. “Roasted lamb. I hope you like it.”

Hanging from a cobwebbed wall was a rack filled with curious-looking spices – bright blue powders, whimsical pastel-coloured grains, obscure seeds, and leaves and pods that would have looked more at home in a pharmacy than a kitchen. Jimmy squinted but couldn’t make out the labels. What exactly had she put in this meal? And why was there so much food? Had she been expecting them?

“Do you always go to this much effort?” asked Jimmy.

Hildy served the well-fired lamb on a wooden board in the middle of the table. “Not always,” she said, setting down a large carving knife. “But it’s not often we have guests.”

Jimmy tensed in his chair. “Sorry, did you say ‘we’?”

She ignored him and brought over the accompanying dishes; fried portobello mushrooms, sliced beetroot, black garlic bread, burnt roast potatoes. “Make sure to leave room for dessert.” she said, gesturing to a towering chocolate cake on the counter.

“Don’t you worry about that, Hildy.” said Smudge, already loading his plate up with potatoes. “None of this is going to waste.”

*****

Jimmy didn’t know whether he was disgusted or impressed. Out of politeness, he picked at the measly portion on his plate, watching Smudge gorge himself on two helpings of lamb, enough potatoes to fill a sack, and a wedge of chocolate cake without stopping for breath. Now he’d be able to catch Smudge’s eye and silently ask him what the fuck their plan was.

“Hildy, you sure know the way to a man’s heart.” said Smudge, tossing his napkin onto the table in submission.

“One man’s, at least.” she replied, eyeing Jimmy’s untouched plate. “Lost your appetite, dear?”

Jimmy placed his fork on the table. “Afraid so.”

“Well, no matter.” Hildy began clearing the plates from the table, placing them on the counter.

As soon as she had her back turned, Jimmy kicked Smudge under the table.

Smudge scowled. “What the fuck?” he mouthed.

Jimmy’s contorted face conveyed his growing impatience. He nodded towards Hildy, then pointed at the invisible watch on his wrist. Whatever Smudge’s plan was, it was time to get on with it and then leave.

But Smudge didn’t share Jimmy’s sense of urgency. He just yawned and held up his index finger, signalling for more time.

Jimmy kicked him again, harder this time, making him jump in his chair just as Hildy returned to the table.

“Perhaps you’d like something else, boys?” her sweet voice laced with something sinister.

Smudge rubbed his bloated belly. “Nothing more for me, Hildy. I’m stuffed.”

“Oh I wasn’t talking about food.” she said, using a crooked finger to trace the track marks on Smudge’s arms.

Smudge’s eyes widened. “You’re fucking kidding me. You have smack here?”

Hildy shook her head, a coy smile playing on her lips. “No, dear. Something much better.”

Hildy opened a cupboard, producing a small metal tray, which she placed on the table. It contained a glass jar filled with a crimson powder, flecked with black that almost seemed to twinkle. The tray also held a small steel bowl and a box of matches.

And two syringes.

Hildy emptied a small amount of the crimson powder into the bowl. “This is my special recipe, reserved for my favourite guests.”

Jimmy swallowed and tried to exchange a worried glance with Smudge, but Smudge was in a trance, his eyes fixated on the powder in the bowl.

Hildy struck a match and dropped it into the bowl.

Whoosh.

A dark red flame shot from the bowl, nearly licking the ceiling. Jimmy shouted, turning away and shielding his face from the scorching heat.

Hildy cackled when the flame died as quickly as it appeared. “Everyone jumps at that.”

The bowl emitted a pungent odour, a sickly-sweet smell of burnt sugar and rotten fruit. Hildy dipped a syringe into it.

The syringe filled with a thick tar-like substance. Almost jet black, but when the light caught it, Jimmy saw a crimson hue worming through it.

“Now,” said Hildy, a flash of malice in her eyes. “Who wants to go first?”

Smudge raised his hand like he was the teacher’s pet in school. “Me, please.”

“Very well.” said Hildy. “Give me your arm.”

Smudge shook his head. “It’ll be easier in my foot.”

Hildy shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Smudge removed his shoe and sock. Turning to face Hildy, he placed his foot flat on the floor. Hildy took the syringe, carefully aiming at the fattest vein in Smudge’s foot, gently breaking the skin, then –

“Wait a minute.” said Jimmy, his voice shaky and panicked.

Smudge sighed, “What is it now?”

“Smudge, you don’t even know what that shit is.”

Smudge scoffed. “Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ve stuck worse up my veins.”

Hildy squeezed the syringe, its contents vanishing into Smudge’s foot.

Smudge groaned, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he sagged in his chair. “Jimmy, Jimmy-boy,” he whispered, his voice quivering. “This… this is beautiful.”

Hildy gave Smudge’s cheek a playful slap. “What did I tell you? My special recipe beats anything you’ll find on the streets.”

Then she turned to Jimmy. “Now, what about you?” she said, filling the other syringe.

The fluid seemed to swirl and shimmer, like liquid velvet. Jimmy imagined touching it, sinking into a bathtub full of it, enveloping him like a warm embrace. He reached out a hand for the syringe…

“No.” he said, pulling back.

Hildy held out the syringe.

Jimmy wiped the sweat from his brow with a trembling hand. Was it boiling hot, or freezing cold in here? He couldn’t decide.

The aches were back, creeping over him, everywhere and nowhere at the same time. His stomach twisted itself into an unbearable knot.

He wanted to hide. Curl up in a dark corner with a blanket, ride it out till his symptoms eventually passed. It would be tough, but others have done it, so why not him?

Of course, it would get worse, much worse, before it got better.

How much worse though? That’s what terrified him.

Or…

He could solve all his problems now. Right now. Escape this hell, even just for a little while.

Jimmy nodded.

Hildy pulled a rag from her apron, tying it tightly around Jimmy’s upper arm with practiced ease. His veins quickly bulged, ready for injection.

The needle pierced his skin, a trickle of blood running down his arm.

“Sweet dreams.” said Hildy, pushing on the syringe.

Jimmy gasped. Then he smiled.

All of it was gone. The pain, the sweats, the shivers, the fear, all vanishing so quickly, like they’d never existed.

Nothing was left, at least nothing worth worrying about. Blissful content swept through him, carrying him out of his chair, cradling him, stroking his forehead, telling him everything was fine. Better than fine, actually.

Everything was just… peaceful.

He was as light as feather, yet so relaxed that he could barely hold himself up, his head nodding and swaying. It didn’t matter though. In fact, he loved it.

The harshness of the room softened, blurring among a beautiful cloud of red haze.

“That’s it, dear.” said Hildy’s muffled voice, her face swimming into focus. “Let it all go, embrace the love.”

“I love it.” said Jimmy. Or he may have just thought it.

“How do you feel now?” asked Hildy. “Hungry, by any chance?”

Now that she mentioned it, he was hungry. Starving actually. “Mmmm-hmmm.”

“Not to worry.” Hildy said, sliding a fork full of food into his mouth. “We can take care of that.”

Jimmy chewed… and swallowed. He didn’t know how it tasted, but he knew he wanted more.

Cutlery clinked against a plate. “More?” asked Hildy.

“Yes.” he mouthed.

Chew. Swallow.

Chew. Swallow.

Chew. Swallow.

His stomach began to swell, but that didn’t stop him. Hildy kept offering him food, and he kept eating it.

Then the red haze began to fade.

Far off, his bones began to ache, the pain amplifying as it drew nearer.

Jimmy groaned as his stomach churned. I’m gonna be sick.

Whoosh. A flash of heat hit his face, followed by that sickly sweet smell, then a sharp scratch in his arm.

Jimmy smiled as the cloud of red haze returned, and everything softened.

Chew. Swallow.

Chew. Swallow.

Chew… Swallow.

*****

A familiar voice shouted in the distance. “Jimmy? Jimmy, wake up!”

Jimmy opened his eyes. A man leaned over him. “Jimmy,” he said, terror in his breathy voice. “Jimmy, what the fuck’s going on?”

Jimmy blinked, studying the man’s face. It was round, red and puffy, with big drooping jowls that rippled with each laboured breath. The bags under his eyes hung low, almost touching his patchy beard. But there was something familiar about him.

Jimmy’s heart sank. No.

“Smudge?”

“I know, I know!” Smudge stood with a grunt and grabbed a handful of fat from his sagging belly. “Look at us, man. We’ve got love handles and fucking tits!”

Jimmy’s head pounded, his mind a thick fog. He glanced down at himself. Like Smudge, he was dressed in clothes that weren’t his; oversized pyjamas, a colour that used to be white, covered with questionable dark brown stains. The sleeves and legs had been rolled up several times to fit him better. They hung loose everywhere except the stomach, which bulged and strained at the buttons.

Vague memories flickered through his mind like the images in a flip book. The house in the woods, the creepy old woman, what was her name again? Helga? No, Hildy.

That strange dark liquid with streams of crimson.

He’d been eating. Chewing and swallowing, chewing and swallowing. It seemed to go on forever.

Smudge let out a desperate sob. “What the fuck are we gonna do, man?” He gasped for air, his swollen hands running through his overgrown hair. “We need to get out of here, we need to get out of here!”

Smudge broke into a fit of coughing as he collapsed to his hands and knees. Then, with a deathly wretch, covered the floor in thick chunks of half-digested food, splashes of bile spraying Jimmy’s legs, a putrid smell filling the air.

That’s when Jimmy noticed the thick bars surrounding them.

The cage was spacious enough to hold a tiger but cramped enough for it to be considered animal cruelty. The wooden floor was littered with breadcrumbs and other bits of food, as well as little black pellets which could have been mouse droppings. Flies buzzed around a bucket in the corner.

Jimmy’s heart pounded faster than a washing machine on a spin cycle. Inside, he was trembling, screaming, wavering on the edge a breakdown. But if they had any chance of getting out of here, then one of them would have to keep it together. Given the state of Smudge, that would have to be him.

He pushed himself to his feet and gripped the rusted bars of the cage with both hands. The metal was cold and rough under his fingers. With every ounce of strength he had, he shook the bars. They groaned and vibrated as they rattled in their sockets, the hollow sound reverberating through the room.

“It’s no good,” Jimmy said, still blubbering on the floor. “I tried that already.”

Out of breath after mere seconds, Jimmy stopped. His chest cramped, his limbs stiff and slow, as if his blood had turned to syrup.

He wiped his sweaty palms on the pyjamas and looked beyond the cage. Maybe the key to the cage door was close-by, or something he could use to break through it – a crowbar, a file, a shovel, even. There had to be something, anything, that could aid their escape.

But there wasn’t.

A dull shaft of light crept in from a solitary slit window near the ceiling, revealing bare walls of cracked and crumbling bricks. An old rocking chair sat near the cage, beside a long, sturdy wooden cabinet against the wall on the left. The wall on the right had a metal ring bolted into it, the type that could be used to chain someone up in a dungeon. At the far end of the room was a closed door. Apart from that, the room was empty.

In spite of the stuffy warmth, Jimmy shuddered. He should have trusted his instincts; he knew something was off about Hildy when he saw her at the window, gesturing for them to come in. Why the fuck did he listen to an idiot like Smudge?

With his face in his hands, he leaned against the cage and sunk to the floor, the floorboards squeaking under his weight.

The floorboards. A glimmer of hope filled him. He turned and began digging his long, grime-filled fingernails into the spaces between each board, hoping to find a loose one and rip it off. He tried each one, crawling around the crumby, faeces and vomit-covered floor.

When that didn’t work, he kicked them. He jumped up and down, stamped his bare feet, slammed his heels into the floor. Pain seared through him as the wood began to crack, sending sharp splinters into the soles of his feet.

He stopped to catch his breath. “Are you gonna help, or what?”

But Smudge was in no condition to help. In a few short minutes, he had gone from sobbing and vomiting on the floor, to being curled up in the darkest corner of the cage, shivering violently, like he was lying in the snow. A puddle of sweat had formed on the floor beneath him, and the look in his eyes was distant and fearful.

“I – I need it, Jimmy.” he muttered. “I need it.”

Jimmy’s jaw tightened as he clung to his last thread of patience. “Smudge, will you get up off your ass, and fucking help –”

The door burst open.

Both men jumped. Jimmy scrambled to stand over the damaged floorboards to hide them from their captor. He was still catching his breath when Hildy strolled in.

"Hello, boys." she said with a casual wave, smiling like she was the owner of a cosy B&B they were staying at. "Nice to see you on your feet, Jimmy. Smudge is looking a little green around the gills though."

Jimmy's head spun with a million questions for the old hag. He decided to start with the most obvious one. "What the fuck have you done to us?" he asked, trying, and failing, to sound more angry than fearful.

"I've taken care of you." she said, a hint of indignance in her voice. "And done a fine job of it, I might add. You boys were exhausted, malnourished and shaking like a pair of maracas when you arrived at my door to try and rob me."

She shuffled closer to the cage. "And now look at you; well-rested and very well-fed. You've also had plenty of my special recipe to keep your other craving at bay."

Then, from her apron, Hildy produced a syringe, filled with that magical dark liquid. "Although I'm guessing you're probably itching for some more by now." she said, a menacing glint in her eye.

Jimmy tensed. The high had been like nothing he'd ever felt; an unfathomable feeling of love, of carefree bliss, of acceptance.

He wanted it. Every morsel of him cried out for it, begged for him to take it. Just a little more, enough to ease the horror of this situation.

And it wanted him too. He could almost hear it speaking to him like a siren. A velvety voice whispering that it was okay, that it would help him get through this.

He clenched his fist to prevent himself from reaching for the syringe. "Shove it up your ass." he said through gritted teeth.

Hildy shrugged. "Suit yourself. How about you, Smudge? You look like you need it."

Smudge grunted, forcing himself up onto one hand. "More." he whispered. "Please... more."

The old woman beamed at him. "My little Smudgy-Wudgy, you've always been my favourite. Of course you can have more. But first, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

Hildy turned and shuffled back out the door, while Jimmy held his breath in anticipation.

A moment later, Hildy backed into the room, both hands pulling on a taut thick chain. "Come on, boy. That's it, this way. Good boy."

The entire doorway darkened as an enormous figure passed though it, ducking under the frame.

A silent scream escaped Jimmy's mouth.

He wore the same pyjamas as them, but his were too short, and almost bursting at seams from his hulking muscles. Around his neck was a thick iron collar, attached to the chain Hildy held. A faded brown leather mask hung over his head, loose and crudely stitched. It had three pitch-black circular holes; two for his eyes, and a wider, but equally dark, one for his mouth.

Then the man noticed them.

For a moment, he just stared, standing perfectly still, hunched, on-edge, like a wild animal who's just spotted a hunter. Then he began to plod forward a little quicker than Jimmy expected.

The chain clinked as Hildy pulled it, her feet skidding on the floor as tried in vain to slow him. "Steady, Huxley." she called, her voice strained.

But Huxley didn't listen. He grunted as his pace quickened, taking big clumsy steps till he was inches from the cage.

Jimmy jumped back, his heart racing once more. Then the rotten smell hit him, a mix of leather and stale body odour, almost knocking him out.

Huxley's broad shoulders rose and fell. His breathing was laboured, reminiscent of a stub-nosed dog with sinus trouble. Saliva sprayed from his mouth hole, coating the bars of the cage.

Jimmy couldn't see his face, but the way Huxley stared at him, there was an excitement, an eagerness to it, that filled him with dread. Suddenly, he was grateful for the cage.

Hildy clicked her fingers twice, and Huxley trotted over, kneeling by her side without hesitation. "Huxley here is my son." she said, patting his head while he nuzzled into her chest, still comfortably taller than her while kneeling. "Don't let the mask frighten you; he's just a little shy around strangers. It's his comfort blanket."

Hildy's voice briefly shifted to a sweeter, baby-like tone. "He's a big sweetheart, aren't you, my boy? Yes, you are.

"And just look at the size of him. As you can imagine, he has a large appetite. And a rather particular one, too. Speaking of which, it's almost time for his lunch."

Hildy took off her cardigan and hung it over the back of the rocking chair. Then she opened the cabinet.

And pulled out a meat cleaver.

The long, razor-sharp blade glinted in the dim light. Hildy gripped the thick wooden handle, her arm hanging low under its weight. "If either of you want another drop of my special recipe, you're going to have to help me feed my boy. For now, an arm should suffice.”

Jimmy's blood ran cold. He winced at the thought of the blade slicing through his skin, muscles, bones, sinew. "You're fucking insane."

"Just to the elbow," said Hildy. "The pain will be severe, but it won't last long. I'll give you another dose right after, and then you'll be in heaven."

Jimmy shook his head. “No. No fucking way.”

His eyes darted around, searching in vain for some miraculous escape route he may have somehow missed earlier. He stamped at the floorboards again, barged against the wall, shook the cage door, but nothing gave way. "Let us out of here!" he screamed, so loud his voice cracked.

Hildy raised a hand. "Calm yourself, Jimmy. You’re frightening my poor boy.”

Jimmy banged at the cage, his fear and desperation swelling. "You think you can just chop us up? Feed us to your retarded son? If either of you freaks come near us, we'll fucking kill –"

"I'll do it." muttered Smudge. He crawled from the back of the cage to the front, then slipped his arm through the bars.

Jimmy's insides plummeted. "Smudge." he said, his breathing ragged. “Don't be fucking stupid."

Smudge looked up at him, his bloodshot eyes swimming with tears. "I need it, Jimmy." he whispered. Then he turned to Hildy. "Please. Make it quick."

Hildy grinned. "That's the spirit, Smudge."

She stroked her son's masked face, switching to her baby-like tone. "Did you hear that, my dear? Smudge is going to help fill that empty tummy of yours, yes he is."

Hildy knelt in front of Smudge. Then, with her free hand, she grabbed his wrist, pinning it against the floor.

"Leave him alone!" shouted Jimmy. He moved to drag Smudge away from her, but a thick arm wrapped around his neck.

Jimmy thrashed his legs as they lifted off the floor. He punched and scratched and bit at Huxley's arm, but the big man didn’t even flinch.

Jimmy’s throat closed tighter, till only a thin whisp of air reached his lungs.

The last thing he heard was a dull thud, and then Smudge screaming.

*****

Jimmy woke with a splitting headache, made worse by sitting up too quickly. His thoughts were swimming in muddy water. How long had he been out for?

He rubbed his eyes, bringing the room into focus. When he saw Smudge, a lump formed in his throat.

He was slumped against the opposite wall. The stump of his arm was bandaged in filthy rags, and only the whites of his eyes were visible. Half-dried blood stained most of the floor around the cage. It was smeared in parts, presumably where Hildy had tried to mop it up. Jimmy swallowed. How could anyone lose that much blood and still be alive?

He crawled over and sat in front of his friend. "Jesus, Smudge.” he said, breaking into a quiet sob.

Smudge didn’t respond, at least not with words. His head swayed from side to side, sighing with an eerie pleasure, the pain of his injury forgotten.

Jimmy turned at the sound of a clinking chain.

Huxley knelt close to the cage. The chain attached to his iron collar was now looped through the metal ring in the wall, securing him in place. He watched them from his dark eye holes, his breath muffled by the leather mask.

Jimmy’s temper flared. “What the fuck are you looking at?”

Huxley said nothing, his silence more unnerving than words.

The door scraped open. Hildy entered, carrying a huge plate of steaming food. The savoury smell of roasted meat wafted into the room, rich and smoky.

Jimmy salivated, his stomach growling low and long. His body was weak, famished with hunger. He couldn’t remember when Hildy had last fed them; it had been too long.

His mind drifted to Sunday dinner at his grandma’s house as a kid. The whole family would be there: Mom and Dad, aunts and uncles, cousins, friends of the family. Even Smudge would come sometimes. And there’d always be enough food to feed the whole neighbourhood – Burgers and sausages, pork ribs, meatloaf, chicken wings…

Hildy placed the plate on the floor in front of Huxley. Suddenly, Jimmy’s appetite vanished, as the bile in his stomach curdled.

Smudge’s arm was a shining golden brown. The skin was blistered and crackling, peeling and curling up around the three large score marks along the top. The fingers were darker, charred and crispy, burnt black at the tips. It was garnished with leafy greens and served with a side of black bread and portobello mushrooms.

Huxley inspected the plate, then looked up at his mother and began to whine.

Hildy tilted her head. “What’s wrong, dear? Lost your appetite? That would be a first.”

Huxley whined louder, till he was crying like a starved puppy. Looking expectantly at his mother, he bobbed up and down till he was almost shaking.

“Oh!” Hildy’s mouth opened wide as she slapped herself on the forehead. “Sorry, my love. I completely forgot.”

She opened the cabinet and rummaged around. Then produced a glass jar.

Jimmy recognised the jar’s contents instantly; a twinkling crimson powder, flecked with black. His heartbeat quickened.

“Huxley has similar tastes to you.” said Hildy. “His method of ingestion is a little different though.”

Holding the jar and a tablespoon, Hildy turned back to Huxley. As soon as Huxley saw the jar, he went ballistic. Letting out a guttural cry, he jumped up and dived at his mother, swinging an arm and trying to snatch the jar from her.

Hildy stepped back as the chain around Huxley’s neck became taut, stopping him inches from her. “Enough.” she said, raising her hand so the jar was even further out of his reach.

Huxley lunged at her again, his fingers brushing against the jar this time. The metal ring gave way just a little, dust seeping from the wall.

“Huxley!” Hildy shouted, her face flashing with anger. “You stop that this instant, or you’re getting none at all.”

Whimpering in shame, Huxley knelt again, his head hung low.

“That’s better. Good boy.” Using the spoon, Hildy sprinkled some of the crimson powder over Huxley’s meal. Huxley barely gave the powder time to settle before he started eating.

Jimmy looked on in horror. Huxley had Smudge’s arm pressed against the mouth hole of his mask and was devouring it. Crunching through skin, tearing through muscle and tendon, snapping fingers clean off and slurping at them till all that was left were the bones. All the while moaning and groaning in delight. Juices poured down his chin and onto his pyjamas.

The room grew darker, the light from the window fading to a dull orange. Hildy placed the jar back in the cabinet, then sat in the rocking chair, ironing out her apron with her hands. She looked at Huxley, then turned to Jimmy. “I don’t expect you to understand. No one understands my boy like I do. No one ever has.”

A small, wistful appeared on her lips, and her gaze softened. “You know, from the moment I held him in my arms, nothing else mattered. He was my boy, no matter what.”

Her eyes narrowed, her voice growing bitter. “His father had no love for him. Thought there was something wrong with him from the moment he was born, never made any effort to get to know his own son. And his sister, she hated him. Said he gave her ‘the creeps’”. She was always tormenting him, calling him a freak, hiding his toys till he cried. I warned her that she needed to be nicer to him.”

Then she looked at floor, her eyes losing focus. “One day, she went missing. We searched high and low for her till night, but there was no sign of her. Then I found her under Huxley’s bed. What was left of her, at least.”

Hildy sat up straight. Her tone became cold and detached as she continued. “I knew his father would never understand. So I did what had to be done.”

Then she stood and walked to the door. “If you ever have a son of your own, which is highly unlikely now, then maybe you’ll understand.”

The door slammed shut behind her.

*****

After Huxley was done licking the bones of Smudge’s arm clean, he resumed his silent staring. Eventually, Jimmy had to turn away, unable to stand his frightful gaze any longer. He clasped his hands together like he was praying, his knuckles whitening as he fought to steady his trembling hands, and squeezed his eyes shut to fight back the tears.

I’m getting what I deserve. he thought. He’d done some bad things – shoplifting, burglary, muggings, assault. The shame of his deeds stayed with him always, hanging around at the back of his mind, the scared, tear-filled faces of his victims watching him.

Yet, despite numerous opportunities, countless last chances from his friends and family, he never stopped. And now he’d never see them again. They’d assume the worst of him as well; that he’d overdosed in a shithole den somewhere.

I’m gonna die in this place.

Smudge’s coughing broke the silence, the wet sound rattling through the room. “Jimmy.” he said, spluttering.

Jimmy crawled over and took his hand. “Smudge. Are you okay?”

“I’m fucking great.” he whispered, a tired smile forming on his lips. “Jimmy… wait till Tony hears about this one.”

Jimmy bit his trembling lip. Tony would never hear about this and would never find out what happened to his little brother. “Yeah. Just wait.”

“What… what do you think he’ll say?” he asked, struggling to clear his throat.

“He’ll say –” Jimmy sniffled and sobbed. “He’ll say you’re the fucking man.”

Smudge laughed, his eyes lighting up for a fleeting moment. “Yeah, he will. But it’s him who’s the man, really. Not me.”

Jimmy squeezed his hand. “Yeah. He’s the man.”

Smudge leaned his head against Jimmy’s shoulder and grew still. His breathing became slower, longer. His eyes widened, and eventually he stopped blinking.

Soon, the hand Jimmy was holding turned deathly cold.

Jimmy kept hold of Smudge’s cold hand and hugged him with his free arm. His heart was heavy and swollen, like someone was sitting on his chest. He let the pain flow through him, accepting that he needed to mourn, to forget about everything else for just a moment. Smudge might have been an idiot, but he’d been his friend – his best friend – all his life. Whatever he had been, he never deserved this.

Reality came crashing back when Huxley snored like a bull. The harsh noise shattered through his grief, reminding him of the immediate danger. Reluctantly, he laid Smudge on the floor, arranging his hands across his chest and closing his eyelids. Despair weighed him down again. He wondered how long he had before he ended up like Smudge.

Then a spark of hope ignited. If Jimmy had any chance of escape, it would be while Huxley was asleep. His odds were far from favourable, but he couldn’t give up now. He owed it to himself, and to Smudge, to keep trying. If that big bastard really was going to eat him, then Jimmy wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

But how was going to get out of the cage? His earlier plan of tearing up the floorboards would surely wake Huxley. He scanned the room once more, searching for another plan.

Then something glistened faintly, catching his eye. Hildy’s cardigan was still draped over the back of the rocking chair, and something was hanging out of the pocket.

A key.

Jimmy’s heart fluttered. He took a quick glance at Huxley; he was still fast asleep. Then he crawled to edge of the cage and lay flat on his stomach, extending his arm out as far as he could through the bars. His fingertips grazed against the wooden rockers, but no matter how much he stretched, he couldn’t reach far enough to pull the chair towards him.

He pulled his arm back, swearing under his breath. He needed something to help him reach it, but there was nothing…

Except Smudge’s arm bones.

Jimmy hesitated, his stomach lurching. The thought of even touching the bones felt so wrong, but what other choice did he have? He crawled to where Huxley slept just a few feet away on the other side of the bars and carefully reached for one of the long bones lying beside him.

Trying not to think of the warm, slippery feel, he pulled it back through the cage, taking care not to rattle the bars. Then he moved to the other side and, with a deep breath, reached for the chair again.

The chair wobbled and creaked as Jimmy nudged at it. He froze, holding his breath. Huxley stirred, snorting like a pig and rolling over, but never woke.

Jimmy tightened his grip on the bone and nudged at the chair again. It scratched across the crumby wooden floor, but soon it was close enough for Jimmy to reach the key in the pocket.

Elation filled him as his hand wrapped around the key. Standing, he fiddled to get it in the lock as quick as he could.

Click. With a low, metal-on-metal groan, the cage door opened just enough for Jimmy to squeeze out. He crept past Huxley, stepping over his tree-trunk legs, to the door at the end of the room, hoping that he didn’t need another key to open it.

He turned the handle and pulled. To his relief, the door opened.

And Hildy stood in front of him.

The old woman let out a wicked, piercing scream. Jimmy hesitated, terror freezing him in place. Then a growl told him that Huxley was awake.

Hildy lunged at him over the sound of metal clinking and straining. He pushed her to the ground and ran, sprinting up the stairs in front of him.

Till a hand clamped around his ankle.

His face hit a step with a crack, his nose swollen and wet. Blood trickled into his mouth as he shouted and screamed, kicking as Huxley hauled him back down the stairs.

“Put him up there.” Hildy barked. Huxley scooped Jimmy up and slammed him down on top of the wooden cabinet, taking the air out of him.

Hildy grabbed his face, her nails digging into his cheeks. “I knew you would be trouble; why couldn’t you be more like your friend over there? I should have killed you the night you arrived.”

She leaned in closer, showing him a vicious grin. “And now you’re going to wish I had. You could have had an easy death. It would have been painless, euphoric. But now Huxley is going to eat you alive. Isn’t that right, my boy?”

Huxley seemed to purr with excitement.

Jimmy yelled as he tried to struggle free, but it was pointless. Huxley had pinned down both his arms, leaning his full weight on him, almost cracking his ribs. The rotten smell of cooked flesh and leather choked him.

Hildy disappeared out of sight for a moment, reappearing with the glass jar of crimson powder in her hand. “How about a little seasoning first, Huxley?”

She twisted the lid, and it popped open. “I’m just going to free-pour it.” she said, her smile wide and sadistic as she held the jar over Jimmy.

Huxley turned, his eyes fixated on the jar, briefly loosening his grip on Jimmy’s arms.

That was just the moment Jimmy needed. With a quick twist, he managed to free an arm and knock the jar out of Hildy’s hands, the crimson contents covering her head to toe.

Hildy cursed. “You fucking idiot! Do you know how long it takes to even a small batch of –”

Her voice trailed off as Huxley grabbed her, sinking his teeth into her neck.

Hildy choked and gasped, collapsing to the ground under her son’s weight. Huxley landed on her, continuing his feast, tearing and chewing through her flesh. Hildy thrashed, twitched, and eventually stopped moving.

Jimmy leapt from the cabinet and ran up the stairs, bursting through the front door and into the night. He ran down the path, past the crooked trees which were now budding with new leaves. He ran over the field, his legs burning, his thighs rubbing together. He ran down the main road, his lungs like burst balloons.

He ran till he collapsed.

ONE MONTH LATER

“Thank you.” The woman gave a shy wave and took her seat, receiving thanks and supportive nods from the others in the group.

The chairperson smiled. “That was wonderful, Pauline. Thank you for sharing. And now I think we’re going to hear from one of our new faces here.”

A man stood up from his chair, the circle of friendly faces looking up at him. He cleared his throat. “Hi. I’m Jimmy, and I’m an addict.”

“Hi Jimmy.” the group replied.