Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

A Bile of Another Name

It convulses, moving back and forth, its lips clamped over the child’s fragile frame, sucking the life dry as though the child were a straw plunged into a slushy. Dale gasps, biting down on his fist to stifle his own pathetic cries.

The child goes limp, and the parasitic leech of a creature straddles the body, beginning to feed in earnest. Then, it freezes. Tentacle-like arms protrude from its mouth, tugging at the flesh suit that had been the small child, stretching the gash in its throat into a gaping hole. It regurgitates a crude, green liquid back into the body, and the reaction is almost immediate.

It latches on and feeds anew, the corrosive liquid breaking down bone and sinew, which it drinks with greedy delight. But as it empties the cup that was the small child, its hunger grows desperate, insatiable. With a frantic shudder, it sinks deeper into the empty, hollowed-out flesh sack, devouring it whole in one grotesque gulp. Dale’s stomach heaves as he watches, his eyes wide with disbelief as it consumes every inch, every morsel of what, just moments earlier, had been a small teenager.

Dale stumbles from his hiding spot, gasping desperately for a breath. A sound behind him—a scuff against the cold stone floor—forces him to spin around in surprise. A tall, shadowed figure stands in the doorway, its gaze locked on him, a million eyes watching, studying. The world spins in every direction, and Dale can’t hold it back any longer. Bile rushes up from his stomach, exploding out in a volatile sea of vomit, splashing across the floor in a grand display. The figure stands, watching, unmoving.

Dale drags an arm across his mouth and sneers. “F-F-Fuck you!” he stammers through trembling lips.

The creature’s head twists a full three hundred and sixty degrees, its focus singularly fixed on Dale, as if scenting his fear. With a sickening cry, it straightens, slowly circling him, strings of green-tinged saliva dripping from its gaping mouth. Dale stumbles backward, a strangled scream clawing its way up his throat as the thing lunges. It moves with horrifying speed, limbs writhing, slick and snake-like, covering the distance between them in an instant. It seizes Dale with precision and skill, the mark of a seasoned predator. His scream is swallowed in the wet crush of its grip, its mouth pressing over his face, suffocating the life from him. With ravenous hunger, it bites down on his throat and begins to feed.

Dale’s mouth opens and closes, like a fish desperate for water, his eyes wide, pleading for mercy. The room spins as darkness draws near, pressing in as the creature drains the life from his withered frame. He feels himself unravel, pulled thread by thread into its endless hunger. Then, suddenly, it lets go, recoiling, screaming, scrambling away from Dale, staring at him in pure terror.

Dale grins through bloodied teeth, forcing his battered frame to his feet as the creature cowers before him.

“T-That fucked you up, d-didn’t it?” he grunts, dropping to his knees again as a growing sea of red spreads beneath him. He slaps a hand against his throat, but nothing will stop the river flowing. He laughs, a strangled, wet sound. “Guess I killed us both,” he mutters.

The creature slithers out from its hiding place, hissing toward him as if trying to communicate. Dale laughs again, weak but defiant. “Y-Yeah, fuck you too!” he quips as the creature raises its head, its mouth stretching wide, rows of jagged teeth glistening, tendrils writhing in the air. Then, with a sickening lurch, it spews a sea of bile that splashes over Dale.

He screams as the acidic liquid begins eating through his flesh and bone, unraveling him from the outside in.