"Another Hungry Mouth" -- A Creepypasta Read
You. You. Constance. Would not tell anyone, who the father was not. When, her mother cried, nor, when her father yelled. Not. Even when her older sister, Emily, sat. On the bed and held her in her arms. Rocking. Her gently. Constance. Was four months pregnant when she told her family and. Was. Already beginning to show. Emily. Was furious, at herself for not picking up on the signs earlier. The. Backi closed Constance, was preferring, over her usual tailored. Book her. Out of control, appetite, her. Strange, secretiveness. It. All seems so obvious now. Still. How. Could anyone have been expected, to guess this. This. Was Constance, after all. Constants. The. Meekly obedient. Constance. The prim and proper. Constance. The chronically, shy. She. Was supposed to be the good daughter. And. Then. Of course. There. Was that other, thing. But. I thought you didn't even like boys. Emily. Breasts. Constance. Wrinkled her nose and distaste, I, don't. She. Replied empathetically. But. I wouldn't exactly call, him a boy, she. Added with a sly smile. Emily. Jerked away in shock. What. She. Cried. Constance. Lifted a hand up to her mouth to. Stifle a giggle. How. Old is this guy Emily. Asked, unable, to keep the stern edge out of her voice I. I. Don't, know, Constance. Confessed, and her. Smile suddenly fading, began. To ring her hands. Pretty. Old I think. You. Think. Constance. Shrugged. Connie. Who, no, Constance. Yelled so suddenly and so loud that Emily, gave a startled, jump. Constance. Reached out and clasped, Emily's hands tightly in her own. Emily. She, pleaded don't, ask me that please. I swore, I'd never tell. Emily. Snatched her hands away. She, could feel anger, rising, in our throats like vile. Connie, if you're protecting some creep. Constance. Laughed. Emily. Didn't see what was so funny. It's. Not like that she insisted, but her fit difficut goals subsided. It's. More like. She. Paused and stared off somewhere, into the middle distance over, Emily shoulder. That's. Like, have. You ever had a secret that you didn't want to tell anyone because. It. Would make it less. Special. Less. Yours. Emily. Nodded slowly although, she wasn't at all sure that she had. Wasn't. Part of the fun of having a secret and telling it to somebody. It's. Like that, Constance continued, this. Belongs to me and I don't want to share it with anybody. Not. Even me, Emily. Wheedled but, Constance, just continued to stare at nothing a small. Smile playing, at the corners of her mouth. The. Last few months leading up to Constance, his confinement or tense to. Say the least. Constance. His condition, could not be kept a secret for, long and, in the. Way of small towns. Once. One in person found out the. News spread like a virus. Persistent. And insidious. Rumors. Abounded, about the identity, of the father and it seemed that no mail with any link to Constance, was exempted from. Having gleefully, accusatory. Fingers, pointed, in his direction. Her. Schoolmates, her. Teachers, and even her doctor. One. Particularly. Malicious. Gossip, suggested. That the reason Constance, would not talk about the father was that it was her own father. When. Emily heard the rumor she tracked it back to its source a pimply. Little boy in year 8 and delivered. One devastating. Punch to his blemished features. Burning. Herself a week suspension, and the boy a bloodied nose and split lip. Things. Were even more strained, at home. Dinners. Had become a silent affair, with, neither of her parents so much as glancing, up from their plates to look at Constance. Emily. Had to grit her teeth and, rage that, the familial, bond that linked parents, and daughters could have proven to be so. Weak. What. Surprised, emily more than anything though was how unfazed, Constance. Seemed to be by all of this. Where. Every whispered, slur or raised eyebrow, caused Emily, to bristle, Constance. Breezed through her days with her head held high as though. Completely, oblivious to the shame that her family felt. That. People expected. Her to feel. Amidst. All the murk and mire and casual, cruelty Constance. Loved. Emily. Had never loved her sister more. When. The child arrived, and Emily was finally, allowed in to visit, she. Was dumbstruck. There. Was Constance, sweaty. And tired ID but beaming, and. In. Her arms, a tiny. Wrinkled. Form. Constance. As son. James. Constance. Informed, her without looking, at. The. Fact that her, little sister, her. Own Connie. Had. Created, this tiny person, as though from nothing, filled Emily, with a quiet. Aw. When. Constance, finally, tore her lovestruck, gaze from her new baby and looked at, Emily. Saw that her sister's eyes were filmed, with tears and she felt. A love rise in her own throat. The. Sisters eyes laughed and they, were both overcome, the joy so bright, and intense, that it seemed like it would last forever. It. Did not. Failure. To thrive was, the term the pediatrician. Used and, what. It amounted, to was that despite.
Apparently. Feeding, normally, James. Was not putting on any weight in. Fact. Over, the next 12, weeks James dropped down to almost 200, grams. Below, his birth weight. They. Ran all kinds of, tests. Emily, accompanied, her sister and nephew to what seemed like an endless cycle of doctors offices and waiting, rooms and consulting, suites were. Sympathetic, people, with stethoscopes, about their necks spoke in hushed tones of things like calorie. Retention, and metabolic, demand. All. Constants. Ever seemed, able to say in response was, Oh. As. Days. Passed, all, Emily could do was watch as her sister grew paler, and more, anxious as. James. Lost weight Constance. Too seemed to diminish. She. Became absent-minded. And fake forgetting. Tasks, part way through and often trailing, off mid-sentence. She. Drew in on herself until, she had little more substance than her own shadow. Emily. Wanted to help Constance, but it was like she could no longer reach, her. With. Everyday constant. Sank deeper, and deeper into some dark pit and. However. Hard she tried. Emily. Just. Couldn't. Follow her. All. The tests, came back negative, and with. Every result Emily, saw relief, fighting, with anxiety, in her sister's drawing face. So. James didn't, have cystic fibrosis or. Diabetes. Or hyperthyroidism. But. What was wrong with him. Emily. Was not sure, what had woken her up. She. Lay there for some time in the early morning chill, staring. Blankly at, the ceiling, lost sense of dread slowly, crept up on her starting. As a feeling of discomfort in her belly and culminating, as a dull thudding in her breast. It. Was then that she noticed the sickly yellow light seeping, in under her bedroom door. She. Rolled over to face the glow and noticed, as she did that her alarm clock displayed. 2:15. A.m.. To. Wait for her parents, and too early for Constance, shortly. Reluctantly. Emily, dragged her sleep heavy body out of bed and shuffled, toward her bedroom door. When. She opened it she saw that the source of the light was not one of the other bedrooms but rather. The. Kitchen across the hallway. Grumbling. To herself Emily made her shambling, progress, towards the kitchen where she found the fridge door wide open and, humming slightly. Still. Groggy she, vaguely noticed, that the fridges contents, were in a greater state of disarray than, usual, before. Closing the door and making her way back to her bedroom. Halfway. Down the hallway emily, halted, as she heard a noise coming, from Constans, room a, soft. Cessation. She. Recognized, her sisters voice but the pitch was too low for her to make out the words. Emily. Began to move again, but. Something in the tone of the voice emanating. From the darkness of consciousness, room stayed her a wee, dueling note edged with, a quiet urgency. And brought. Back that creeping, dread that first drugged her from her slumber. Connie. Emily. Asked, anxiously as, she opened the door. When. She heard no response just. A continuation of Constance, as hushed whispers. Emily. Flipped. On the, night. Constance. Was bent over James's, crib and it. Took several moments before she straightened, up and blinking. At the light turned, to face her, sister. Emily. Stifled. Her own cry of surprise when, she saw a constant, his face. The. Young girl's eyes were bloodshot from, lack of sleep and dark, rings hung below them. It. Was not this that took Emily aback however. But. The expression, in those strained eyes a. Startled. Trapped, look almost feral. And its intensity, flickered, across Constance's eyes rendering, the familiar, features aliens. Emily. It. Was Constance. Who broke the silence. He. Won't eat she. Said to Emily her tone desperate. I don't. Know what he eats. Emily's. Eyes darted, down and she saw that her sister was clutching something, tightly in her right hand a. Lumpy. Mass that dripped on the rug. So. Incongruous, was, the sight that Emily did not register what, it was a. Raw. Steak. Emily's. Stared and mute shocked while her mind reeled. What. Was Constance, doing with that meat. What. Was she thinking. Emily. Swallowed, a lump in her throat and, then began slowly. And with soothing noises to. Advance on Constance. Connie. She. Crooned gently, Shh. When. Emily reached her younger sister she took her hands, which. She saw then were trembling, violently in, her own. Surreptitiously. Removing, the slab of meat and placing, it on the changing table. She. Glanced down into the crib and noted that James seemed to be sleeping, soundly. Gently. She guided Constance, back to her bed and persuaded, her to lie down. Once. She was beneath the covers Constance, began to weep softly.
She. Choked out between, sobs. Emily's. Stayed seated on the edge of her sister's bed and. Stroked. Her long dark hair. Until. She fell asleep. The. Feeling of uneasiness stayed, with Emily all through, the next day. It. Was Saturday, and her friends wanted to go to the movies but she, blew them off. Her. Parents were both away for the weekend, and the idea of sitting there in the dark while Constance stayed home alone with James was. Intolerable. Emily. Instead. She. Spent the entire, day just hanging, around the house, unable. To commit herself to any activity for more than a few minutes. She. Found herself hovering, around Constance, and watching her critically. She. Couldn't seem to get out of her head that image, of Constance standing, over James's crib with the lights out. Clutching. A chunk of meat. For, her part Constance, behaved as if the previous night had not happened at all. She. Changed, James and bathed him. She. Gave him his formula, and even played with him on the lounge room floor, tickling. His feet and blowing raspberries, on his - flat dummy. She. Would lift him up in the air and kiss his middle almost as if, for. A moment at least, she. Did not notice the whirring, concave, of her son's belly. As. Emily. Watched Constance, however, she. Could not keep herself from thinking that her sister's smile looked strangely. Painted, on and that. There was something more than just fatigue behind, her red-rimmed, eyes. Emily. Slept fitfully. That night. Her. Sleep was disturbed, by strange nightmares, that although. She forgot, their content, almost immediately, after, she awoke. Left. Her feeling shaky and, disoriented. When. The sudden wail from James pierced, the night and, Willie immediately. Sat bolt upright then, propelled, herself out of bed almost before she had registered what the sound was. She. Had heard James's, cries often enough to be familiar with them. Could, even tune them out most nights but they were, different this time. These. Cries were much much. Louder, than normal but. Also strangely. Wet. It. Was as though the infant were choking on some sort of fluid. Emily, through the door to constancies, room open. Connie. What's wrong she gasped. Feeling, with each breath that she may choke on her own heart she, was, in such a rush she forgot to switch on the light as she charged through the door and towards her sister I heard. Oh came. Constance, as startled, cry as she dropped something to the floor a. Bloody. Kitchen knife. Emily. Whispered. She. Took a step toward, Constance, then. Turned and ran up for the career war James had suddenly stopped his piercing, wails. Emily. Shaking. Now stared, down, at her nephew. There. Was a red jagged. Line that ran along the child's belly, starting. At the base of his throat and running all the way down below his navel. -. Emily's horror the gash began, to gape exposing. A bloody red interior, out of which protruded, the shattered remnants of James's ribcage. Now. Just, jagged, fragments, of bone oh. My. God. Connie. What. Have you done. Emily. Braced herself against, the side of the crib as she fought off waves of nausea and disbelief. She. Felt her head to spin and her vision began to blur as a breath caught in her throat but. Still she could not tear her eyes away from her nephews twisted, form. After. What seemed an interminable amount, of time, Emily's, breath returned to her though it was shallow, and ragged, as. Her. Vision cleared and adjusted, to the faint light that filtered in through the open curtain she realized that she had made a mistake in. Her. Initial shock, Emily. Had thought the white shards and James's split torso, to be ribs. But. Now. She saw, that this was not the case at all. They, were teeth. Great. Jagged. Teeth set, in a crooked sideways. Mouth that ran most of the length of James's tiny body as. Emily. Watched that. Terrible, nether mouth began to gape again wider, this time and from out of it's impossible, depth snake to black slimy, tendril, that could. Only be a tongue. Letting. Out a strangled, cry Emily stumbled, backward, then, watched as the tongue rose up and out of the crib. Flailing. Back and forth as though tasting, the air.
The. Tongue reached all the way to the changing table in began to tap on its surface. Exploring. It. Was only then that Emily, saw the rat, a, fuzzy. Mound lying, on the changing table its head crudely, cut off as. Emily. Watched the. Tongue slowly, slid, towards the, inert rodent, and then, with horrible, deafness, wrapped around it and lifted it off of the table. Pulling. Its back towards the crib and the terrible waiting, ma. The. Tongue made a wet slurping, noise as it retreated back behind the, crooked fangs. From. Somewhere behind Emily, came a weak cry of. Emily. Had forgotten Constance, was even there. Emily. Turned and saw Constance, standing, there her. Hands clasped so tightly together that the knuckles were white. Her. Moist febrile, eyes, glittered. In the dim light. Emily. Saw that there, was no fear in those eyes. Only. Wonder, oh. Emily. Constant. Sighed again, then. Continued, rapturously. He. Looks just like, his father. You.