Mac and Gordy had been smoking marijuana since the age of thirteen. It was their favorite thing to do in the world besides chasing girls. They couldn’t wait until the three o’clock dismissal so they could go to their little corner of the woods behind the school. Mac would bring the bowl, and Gordy supplied the pot. Then, unseen by anybody, they would fire the bowl up and pass it back and forth. After two hits, the THC would hit them, and then began that magical ride: the numbness, the lightheadedness, the extreme hunger, and the uncontrollable giggling. They would often lie there, laughing at the most mundane things. Then, once they could laugh no more, Gordy would reach into his backpack and extract a bag of popcorn or Doritos and munch out. Mac always had two bottles of Coca-Cola in his bag to combat the cottonmouth.

Once they had eaten and drank their fill, the two would proceed to their homes and try to hide the fact they were stoned from their parents. This usually worked out fairly well; they were so used to it they knew how to hide it from their families. Usually when Gordy was out driving around, he would meet up with his cousin Timmy, who would give him a bag for fifty dollars. After school the next day, he would meet up with Mac and go up into the woods. Puff, pass, repeat.

One afternoon, during one of these sessions, Mac and Gordy were startled by the sudden appearance of a man in a green tie-die shirt and camouflage pants. With his attire, he could have been standing amongst the trees the whole time and they just hadn’t noticed.

“Whoa, who are you?” said Gordy.

“My name is Charlie. I’ve been watching you boys for many a month now,” the man replied.

“Are you a cop?” asked Mac in a slurred voice.

“Nah man. I happen to have some good shit here with me, and I wouldn’t mind sharing some,” said Charlie.

And a bong appeared out of nowhere at Charlie’s feet. Mac and Gordy were so wasted at this point that they didn’t even question the bong’s sudden appearance. They didn’t even question that a strange man who they didn’t know from a hole in the wall just offered them a free buzz. The boys looked at the bong. It was made from glass and was blood red in color. They could not see the liquid inside. Even the cannabis in the bowl seemed red.

“Go on, try it,” Charlie urged. Gordy scooped the bong off the ground and clicked his lighter. Mac put a hand on his arm.

“I don’t know about this. I mean, we don’t even know this guy,” he cautioned.

“You worry too much man,” said Gordy, as he lit the bowl. He inhaled sharply, making the liquid inside bubble. Not being able to see inside it, he had to guess when the bong was full with smoke. He pulled out the stopper and inhaled.

It was pure bliss. Gordy felt as though his feet had left the ground. He was flying high above the treetops, with nothing but the earth below him and the endless sky above him. “Holy shit, Mac, you have to try this!” he exclaimed. He handed the bong and his lighter to his friend.

Mac lit the bong and inhaled, then pulled out the stopper and inhaled again. He was floating in a vast sea, far away from land and his troubles. “Sweet crap this is amazing!” he cried. He made to pass the bong back to Gordy when he realized it was no longer in his hand. His friend’s hand was empty as well. Mac turned to Charlie and asked, “Hey man, where the b-“ but Charlie was no longer there.

“Yo, man, where you at?” Gordy called. No answer.

“This is fucking bullshit,” Mac snarled. “Give us a hit then disappear. What a wank.”

“Ah, who cares, I think one was enough. That shit will have me flying for hours. Come on, we better get home,’’ said Gordy.

They hastily returned home. Gordy’s mother was not home yet, and he had to get there before she realized he hadn’t been there. He was supposed come straight home after school. Mac had to watch his little sister, Meghan while his folks were out.

Gordy entered his house and locked the door behind him. He went to his room and stashed the remainder of the weed bag in a slit in the mattress. Then he proceeded downstairs to the kitchen to fix himself a snack. That was the one thing that he hated about smoking: the munchies. They had polished off the Doritos before the mysterious bong man showed up, so he was famished. He opened the refrigerator and began rifling through it. He saw a plate of leftover spaghetti.

Gordy carried the plate to the table and tore off the cellophane. He seized a fork from a drawer and began to shovel the spaghetti into his mouth without heating it. Within less than a minute the plate was clean. Gordy set the plate in the sink. He still wasn’t satisfied…

He opened the fridge again, grabbed a platter of cold cuts, and tore the top off. Ham, roast beef, turkey, and provolone cheese disappeared within minutes. Gordy threw the empty platter onto the floor.

But something was wrong…

He was accustomed to having the munchies, but never before had they been this intense. So far he had consumed a plate of spaghetti, a platter of cold cuts, and he wasn’t any less hungry than he had been five minutes before. On the contrary, he was even hungrier. This had never happened before. He reached into a cupboard and pulled out a box of Cap’n Crunch. He was about to retrieve a bowl from another cupboard but then he said, “Fuck it,” and tipped the contents of the box into his mouth.

Gordy chewed the cereal as fast as his gums would move. As soon as he swallowed a mouthful, another would follow. Soon there was cereal on his hoodie, and on the floor. Once he had emptied the box, he got down on all fours and began scooping the fallen pieces into his mouth. But still, the hunger pangs worsened. He tried everything: cookies, leftover scalloped potatoes, grapes, even raw hamburger.

Gordy slumped to the floor, his stomach burning. He felt empty, ravenous. So intense was his hunger that he felt as though he could eat anything. There was nothing, nothing at all except this ravenous hunger that refused to abate. He had eaten virtually everything in the fridge and many things from the cupboards, so how on earth was he this hungry? He moaned as a searing pain cut through his stomach. How much more of this could he stand?

As he lay there, he heard the sound of the front door being opened. Moments later, his mother entered the kitchen. “Gordy, are you ho-oh my goodness! What have you been doing in here!” she shrieked. Gordy slowly pulled himself from the floor. He turned to face his mother. Her eyes widened in terror at the sight of him. “Gordy! Your eyes, they’re really…really…”

Gordy wasn’t listening. Something else had caught his attention. He stood there, listening to it closely. He could hear the blood pumping through his mother’s veins. She looked different…appetizing. Her skin looked so pink and succulent. He could almost see the fat and muscle through it, waiting to be devoured. Gordy recalled the raw hamburger he had consumed earlier. It didn’t sate his hunger, but it tasted excellent, better in fact than anything else had. Perhaps his mother’s meat would ease his gluttony. He seized a bread knife from the holder on the counter and slowly approached his mother. Only one way to find out…

Mac had already consumed ten glasses of water before he moved on to the two-liter bottle of Pib in the fridge. He unscrewed the cap and began chugging the soda like it was his job. He then threw down the empty bottle, belched, then began rummaging around for something else to drink. His tongue felt like a fresh piece of sandpaper. He didn’t understand it; usually one bottle or glass of a beverage would assuage his thirst after smoking. Why then did he feel like an old prune? His skin even felt drier than usual. He had just emptied two bottles of Gatorade when his sister, Meghan, walked in.

“Mommy’s gonna be so mad, you drank all the pop and juice. I’m gonna tell her its all your fault!” she cackled upon seeing the depleted bottles on the floor. But Mac hardly heard her. He was looking at her closely. She had changed, or perhaps he was just seeing her in a different light, only just noticing her for the first time. He could see every vein in her body. He could see the blue blood pulsing through them. He could hear her little heart beating, circulating that delicious juice he knew would cure his cottonmouth. Its beats were now limited. Meghan was going to be the ultimate beverage. Mac grabbed a pair of scissors from the counter and lunged at this sister.

Meghan screamed as he collided with her, slamming her to the floor. “Mac! Let me go!” she cried. Mac took the scissors and rammed them into her jugular vein. He then got up, grabbed a funnel, and the empty two-liter bottle. Returning to his sister, he wrenched the scissors from her wound, lifted her head so her neck was over the funnel, and let the blood drain into the bottle. Meghan gargled feebly for a few seconds, then was silent. Once the bottle was full to the point of overflowing, Mac removed the funnel, and dropped his sister on the floor, leaving the rest of her blood to pool around her.

Mac put the bottle to his lips and drank. It was the most delectable thing he had ever tasted. The metallic taste of the blood was sweeter than iced tea, and more refreshing than the purest spring water. He felt as though he were a plant being watered for the first time in weeks. Mac could feel his body being rehydrated. His tongue and throat no longer felt dry, and he felt happy and refreshed. He dropped the bottle and sunk to the ground, his thirst finally satisfied.

Meanwhile, Gordy had just finished a magnificent feast. The raw muscle had more than satisfied his gluttony. His mother lay in front of him, her arms and legs gone. All there was left was a head and half of torso. The taste of blood was better than steak sauce. He loved the feeling of the meat slithering down his gullet. Gordy picked up one of his mother’s gouged eyeballs and popped it into his mouth like a marshmallow. He loved how it popped and snapped in his mouth. It went down so smoothly. Licking his lips, Gordy picked up the breadknife he used to dismember his mother and placed it in the sink, and cleaned his plates. Once he slept it off, he planned to return to the kitchen to clean everything up, and to process the rest of his mother. She might taste good cooked…

Gordy slept well, but his dreams were strange. Normally when he was in a pot-induced coma, he did not dream. But it was different this time, and one dream in particular stood out. He was staring down at the mangled corpse of his mother. Her arms and legs were missing, her blood was pooled out all around her, yet her head stirred feebly. “Mom?” he said shakily.

“Why, Gordy?” she croaked.

“Mom, I…” He watched in horror as her eyes rolled back in her head, then she was silent and still. "Mom, no!"

“Awe, man, that ain’t cool,” said a voice behind him. Gordy whipped around to see Charlie standing before him, red bong in his hand. “Ah well, shit happens, I guess. Want a hit?” he said, holding out the bong and smiling. As Gordy made to reach for it, the bong caught on fire and shattered. Charlie burst into laughter. Gordy screamed.

He jerked awake, sweating and screaming. All he could remember was the dream. He couldn’t remember the last four hours. Looking out his window, he saw that it was sunset. Gordy got out of bed and headed downstairs to the bathroom. “Man, that was freaky. I don’t even remember how I got there. Man that must’ve been some good shit that guy gave us,” he said to himself. “I wonder if the same thing happened to Mac.”

He was just thinking about texting him when it hit him. He was so freaked out by the dream that he didn’t notice the severe cramps in his stomach. A particularly severe cramp hit him, and he vomited in the doorway of the bathroom. He sank to the floor, heaving. As he sat slumped against the frame, he noticed his hands were both coated in a dry red substance. It looked a lot like…

Gordy pulled himself up from the floor and staggered to the mirror. His eyes were both blood red. Even the irises seemed to be red. There was more of the red substance on his face and lips. Then he recalled the dream, and the memories of the past few hours him like a tidal wave. “No…” he mumbled in disbelief.

He ran to the kitchen as fast as his staggering legs would allow. He reached the kitchen, and slipped in something wet on the floor. Regaining his balance, he took a closer look at the substance. It was blood. And, it was on his hands and face. Gordy followed the pool cautiously. And as he went around the kitchen table he saw it. It was just like the dream, except his mother spoke not a word, and there was no Charlie. He now knew why his stomach pained him so. And once again, he vomited, adding chunks of flesh, cold cuts, and Cap’n Crunch to the blood pool.

Gordy stood there, staring at his mother. He felt trapped in his own head. He was scared beyond all reason, and an all-consuming insanity was ingulfing his mind. The house seemed to be closing in around him. Gordy wanted to run as far away as he could. And then the enormity of the situation crashed down on him like a cold wave of reality.

“I ate my mom…I ate my mom…I ATE MY MOM!” he shrieked, running from the room. He dashed out the front door just as Mac was exiting his own. “Dude, I ate my mom!” he screamed. Mac was sobbing, blood around his lips and down his shirt. His eyes were as red as Gordy's.

“Dude, Gordy, I killed Meghan! I think I drank her blood!” he bawled.

“Aw, man, what’re we gonna do!”

“I don’t know!’’

“What the fuck was in that shit that dude gave us?”


Both boys were so consumed by their own insanity, that they didn't register the fact they were in the middle of a suburban street, screaming their crimes for all to hear. A crowd began to collect around the boys as neighbors dashed from their houses to see what all the hubbub was. And nestled unseen in a tree at the end of the street was Charlie. He was observing the scene with a look of grim amusement on his face. He snorted. Stoners these days. They make my job too easy. Almost takes the fun out of it. A siren wailed in the distance as the boys continued to sob. Charlie smiled. Almost. He snorted again and took one last hit from his joint, then flicked away the roach. Still smiling, he hopped down from the tree, turned his back on the scene, and walked away chuckling to himself. Stupid kids.

Written by DarthWeezer1994
Content is available under CC BY-SA