The Sin Eaters

I did not feed the following night or the next. I remained in my hoar frosted tomb for days. I dwindled. Pain ravaged my body, twisting it into shapes impossible for a mortal man. I wondered if I would die. Could I die in this fashion? Starved? Or would I have to pray for the sun to melt away the snow and find the crevices between the stones to finish me? I passed beyond thought, only knowing I yet existed through my pain.

Without conscious thought, I began to claw at the rock and snow that pressed against my face. I crammed handfuls of snow into my mouth. It burned, as the waters of the stream had but it also restored my strength. Blood soaked its way into the snow. It was not much, only enough to turn my hunger into madness beyond my control. I burst from beneath the snow.

A man, or what was once a man, stood there. He was a being such as myself. That is not true, rather I was a being, a poor imitation of a being, such as he. He was old, ancient beyond reckoning and powerful. His left hand was clenched into a fist. Blood dripped from between his fingers. It was his blood that had awakened me from my stupor. I could feel his power through the drops of his blood I had gleaned from the snow. I dared not touch him. I lay prostrate at his feet and sucked his blood from the ground. After a moment, he kicked me away. I felt the side of my chest cave in from the blow. It restored itself as I flew through the air. My body broke when it hit the stony face of the mountain. I was whole before I fell to the ground.

He was no taller than I yet he seemed to tower over me. His body gleamed like stone. He was a living, or if not living, animate, statue. He was a god. I fell to my knees.

"Oh for fuck's sake do not start that shit again. Stand the fuck up you fucking pussy. You still hungry? Lookit what I brought you?"

I looked at him. I had not noticed, or in some fashion he had hid from me, the fact that in his right hand he held a woman's arm. She was not a child but not old. As my eyes swept over her she quivered in terror. My thirst raged. I took a step toward her and she tried to cry out but faster than thought the living statue covered her mouth.

"What are you waiting for? Aren't you hungry?" He drew a thumbnail across the back of her hand and blood began to flow as her eyes bulged. I took another step. She was with child.

Her free hand was pressed to her belly, as if that was capable of protecting her child from the likes of us.

"Mother fucker, fucking eat, already. I'm bored out of my tits. Feed already."

The woman shook her head. The blood soaking into the snow beneath her hand called to me. The rush of blood through her body called to me. Worse, the rush of blood from her womb called to me. I raced toward her as she shook her head. As I grasped at her body, her eyes meet mine. They were dark with terror and grief. A vision of my son's face filled my mind. The gentleness I had felt in his heart tried to fill my own dead and still heart. I turned and fled.

He, and the woman appeared in front of me. Unlike the dark lady, my eyes were not able to track his movements.

"Feed," he demand. My eyes pled with him. "If you don't. I'll fucking rip the little rug rat from her belly and toss your ass into the sun. Feed."

I had no reason to doubt what he said. I did not wish to see the woman and her child die. If he sent me to the sun I would die blessing him. I fell to the ground and covered my ears with my hands, hoping to escape the sounds of their deaths.

The ground shook and I tensed.

"Get up you fucking pussy. What the fuck is with you and all this unseemly groveling shit anyway?"

I tilted my head to look at him. He stood where he had when I fell to my knees. The woman was gone. My eyes widened.

"I didn't kill her or the baby. What the fuck dude? She's tucked back in bed, next to the most unappetizing smarmy little douche bag I've seen in, I don't know, fucking millions of years. How the fuck she puts up with him is fucking beyond me." He chuckled, an amazingly childlike sound that echoed strangely among the rocks around us. "I did a Total Recall on her ass, great fucking movie, the original not the remake. She won't remember any of this. But I didn't just wipe that shit. Bitch let me tell you, I upgrade her OS to don't-take-no-fucking-shit-from-no-limp-dick-fucktard-no-more 2.0. I don't know if they've invented strap-ons yet but if they have, she'll be pegging his weenie fucking ass before junior pops out." He shook his head, frowning. "Man, I fucking hope the kid isn't his. That is one set of deoxyribonucleic acid base pairs that most definitely does not need to be handed down.

"I wouldn't have let you off her either. It was a test. I had to know if what you did to that family was newbie terror and hunger or if you really were a twisted sick mother fucker. We got enough of those already. If you had touched her I would have destroyed you."

I heard his words. He wasn't speaking Hindi but, as had happened with the dark woman, I knew what he was saying. In this case it didn't help very much. I understood very little of what he said. I gathered I had passed some sort of test but the rest was gibberish.

I couldn't understand the man on the ground either but that didn't bother me. The man on the ground wasn't speaking. He was screaming. The living statue...

"Okay dude, I know you're all weirded out and shit. And I'm sorry to fuck with your story but man I fucking got no choice here. I'm going to like totally mind fuck the narrative flow. I am not a living fucking statue bitch. I'm Scooter, or Scoot. My real name is Zachary Taylor, fucking one of the most forgettable presidents ever, but you wouldn't know that. I was always Zach as a kid. Hated it. I was ZT in high school at least until I tumbled to the totally shit realization that ZT, or ziti, was also fucking pasta. No fucking way I was dragging around a moniker half a fucking step away from limp noodle. There's always one douche bag that just can't let it go. In this case that'd be Mick. I finally had to lay his bleeding ass out on the sand before he dropped the ZT shit. Karma's a fucking bitch dude. He's the one tagged me with Scooter. I was totally flying, baby, some really mellow ass weed and a couple tabs of X and I was totally fucking flying. You better believe it, you brown dick little fucker, fucking "Smells Like Teen Spirit" sounded like a soft fuzzy little kitten of a tune, that's how fucking high I was. Yeah, yeah, yeah bitch. I'm reading your confusion. What does grooving on a totally X-high warped Nirvana song have to do with Mick tagging me as 'Scooter' anyway? Just this: I managed to park my ass on the only fire ant hill in fucking Baja. I was so fucking wasted they had crawled up my shorts and practically fried my nuts off before my totally mellow and grooving brain woke up and started screaming. I jumped up, ran a few feet, yanked my jams off and started dragging my ass through the sand. That didn't do diddly fuck so I did a perfect 10 belly flop into a wave. By the time I crawled out of the surf, I was and have henceforth been: 'Scooter'.

"Anyway dude, sorry to fuck with your narrative but I'm Scooter. The 'dark lady' is Cassie. That bitch be crazy but holy shit can she fuck. Don't get any ideas. You took about a zillion leap frogs by drinking my blood but it would be a close fight. If she comes to you, you're golden, go ahead and fuck her brains out or let her fuck your brains out. She can compress a handful of sand into a fucking diamond dildo for you if that's how you get your jollies, don't fret about that. Any fuck, the names are Scooter and Cassie. There's no more than a couple dozen of us. You can continue to be the mysterious omniscient nameless narrator if that puts the stick in your dick but one more 'living statue this' or 'dark lady that' I'll rip your fucking head off your shoulders. Capisce? Dude I've got the munchies fucking big time. Let's eat."

Scooter took his foot off the screaming man's hand. It was a mass of white and red and dripped blood. He grabbed the man by the back of the neck. When he spoke, his voice had lost its soft bantering tone. It was icy with rage and disgust.

"No need to be squeamish with this one. Take a look."

He had not needed to explain himself. I looked into the man's eyes. His mind was fouler than the pig shit I had slept in not so many nights past.

He lived alone, a day's walk from the closest village. He lived near the path that lead from the foothills away toward the lowlands, where the villages were larger and more frequent. To call him an innkeeper would grant him too great an honor. For travelers in groups, he did no more than replenish their water bottles and supplies in exchange for a few copper coins. He offered crude shelter from the cold winds that settled off the mountains during the night. Travelers of substance, those who were likely to search for missing family, these, too he left alone, even if they traveled alone. The poor, who no one would miss, they were his targets. Above all else, he was a coward.

The latest had been a couple, barely as old as the woman Scooter had tempted me with. I took their story from his mind. I watched as he clucked and nodded in sympathy. The young man's parents did not approve of the marriage. Neither had the young lady's. His mother, a woman of exceptional wisdom, gave them a note to carry to her cousin. It would be a long, tiring journey but her cousin would shelter them until her son, a maker of small pots, could set up a business. It would have been a long journey had they but declined this man's offer of shelter.

He fed them, oh he was generous enough when there was pleasure to be had. The lentil stew was heavy with turmeric. It hid the bitter bite of opium. Opium works much better when smoked, but even ingested it was enough to send the tired travelers into a deep sleep.

Bimla, the young wife, woke manacled to a post. She had been stripped. Her eyes scanned the small hut. Her husband, Hitesh, was bounded to a similar post. In his eyes she saw no fear, only a plea that she forgive him for failing to keep her safe. The coward stood beside her husband, grinning. He waited until he was sure Bimla's eyes were fixed on her husband before bringing the bright cruel blade from behind his back.

Hitesh saw the blade. He smiled at his wife. "Farewell, bright star. We will find each other again."

Bimla returned her husband's smile. Her eyes gleamed with forgiveness and pride. "Farewell, my husband. You are the earth I stand upon. Rest now so that you shall be strong when we meet once more."

The blade flashed in the dim candle light.

After that the memories I stole from his eyes were drenched in red. All this and more. There had been many others before Bimla and Hitesh, many. I retched but there was nothing in my stomach. I wanted to tear my skull apart with my bare hands and wait for the sun to cleanse the world of the filth it had absorbed from this man, this cowardly predator who preyed on the defenseless.

Scooter's face was devoid of expression. His voice was grim and as cold as the snow that covered our feet.

"It is time to feed."

My eyes could not follow the movement of Scooter's hands. One minute the sick beast who looked like a man was standing before me. I blinked. When my eyes opened Scooter was drinking from the man's neck. He handed the man to me. I already had the creature's twisted memories. I fed without remorse for the first time. This was not a man. This was not even a creature as noble as a hog. I would fed on a hundred such as he before slaying another tiger to slack my thirst.

------

That is how I learned to survive on corrupted flesh.

An image of the sun began to burn in my mind. "Come," Scooter commanded as he tossed the man's body into the rocks. He put an arm around my waist and we were flying. As he rose, a yellow hot sliver of sun glowed on the horizon. The light touched the back of my legs. The pain was sudden and immense. It overwhelmed my senses. Then we were racing to the west, outpacing the sun. It slipped below the horizon.

I focused on the stars before me, wondering which one was Bimla and which was Hitesh. The pain was worse when it subsided enough to be comprehended. Scooter offered no words of comfort and I realized he had done this deliberately. He was punishing me for killing the family.

"Yes." He intoned and was again silent. He lit upon a crag of crumbling stone, as lightly as the kiss of moonlight. He beckoned me with one hand and disappeared behind a large stone. I followed. He was gone. Behind the stone lay a crack in the face of the mountain, no wider than my hand. I looked up and around me. I knew I could not follow Scooter with my eyes but still I looked.

"Fucking hell, dude. I'm down here. You really that fucking lame you can't sense me?"

His taunt angered me but in my anger, I found him. He was behind the rock, deep inside the mountain. But how had he gotten there? The crack? Impossible. He was silent and I knew I could not expect any help. I looked around. I stood on solid rock, the very backbone of the mountains. I could not dig rock, not quickly enough anyway. There were not enough stones to cover myself with. I looked down the mountain. The face fell vertically away into the night mist that filled the valley. With my new found strength I could climb down but it would take time and I did not have time. Scooter had taken us high into the sky but not far. The sun lurked just below the hills at my back.

I stuck my fingers into the crack and pulled. I was stronger than a dozen men but the granite laughed at my efforts. What was I to do? I scanned the face of the rock wall but saw no other openings. I stopped looking with my eyes and looked with my mind. Nothing. I tried to look into Scooter's mind for the answer. He didn't even deign to become annoyed. He flicked me away as casually as a bit of dirt he might have spotted on his sleeve, if he had a sleeve that is.

I pushed my arm into the crack until it was wedged, then I pushed hard. I could feel the muscle and skin pull away from the bone and then the snap and pain of the bones breaking. Still, I pulled, redoubling my efforts. My body broke and deformed as I pulled it through the crack. The sensation of my eyes popping from my flattening skull, while not the most painful, was the most disconcerting. My left foot was still outside when the sun leapt over the last ridge. At the sear of pain I jerked my foot through and collapsed, although oozed might be more accurate, onto the sandy rock floor.

Scoot clapped, slowly, derisively as he chanted, "Bravo", clearly not meaning it. My foot, touched by the sun was broadcasting waves of pain through my body. That at least distracted me from the pain of my body re-assembling itself. I glared at Scooter, which made him smile.

He continued to smile as I laid on the stone floor, recovering my strength. A pinpoint of light made it through the crack in the rock wall and drilled a smoking hole through my cheek. At the touch of the light, one tooth exploded. I fell back, across the beam of light and the fingers of my right hand dropped to the floor. The index finger was barely touched but the beam had angled across my hand. My little finger and a chunk of my palm was missing.

I curled up against the wall and whimpered. I watched in horror as bone and muscle and strands of tissue sprout from the stumps and began to reform my fingers. The loss of them pained me less than this process of regrowth. Scooter watched as stony faced as if he were in fact a statue. He carefully stepped around the bright line of white. He raised me as easily as if I were a ghost. The touch of the stone on my left foot, the one the sun had touched, caused me to cry out loud. He lifted me into his arms. I offered no protest. I rested my face against his chest and cried my blood tears.

In the world beyond these rock walls, the sun rose higher. I felt my strength fading, as it always did with the rising of the sun. I no longer slept but during the day, I was incapable of movement. I would lie wrapped in whatever type of darkness I had fashioned for my grave, still as death while my mind offered up judgments as memories of my previous life drift through my thoughts. Scooter did not appear to be affected by the sun paralysis. He continue to walk deeper into the mountain. The path twisted and turned at random, with frequent passages leading away from the main tunnel. Many seemed larger than the one through which we were passing. I was not sure I was capable of finding my way back to the crack. If I did manage to do so, I was far from certain I could deform and crush my body to get out. My tears stopped. Scooter's chest was streaked with cracked streams of dried, rusty, brown blood.

We entered a large cavern. Even in the total absence of light I was able to see, though dimly as on a cloudy night. I was no longer capable of moving. Scooter laid me on the floor. He stood looking at me. His linga stood proudly above his belly. Between my legs my own began to lengthen along my leg, apparently immune to the effects of the sun. If I had been capable of shrugging I would have done so. Why should I be surprised? It often throbbed and ached when I had slept as a living man.

Scooter's hand found his erection and began to pull and stroke. I could not do the same, even had I wished to do so. And I did not wish to do so. Brahma had fled the sex-crazed demons who demanded to satisfy themselves with him. However, my linga, my cock, might respond, my mind rebelled at the thought of touching or being touched by another man.

I imagined that Scooter offered a wry smile of apology as he knelt beside my body. His tongue was hot when it touched my chest. His body had been warm as he had carried me. I did not understand how that could be. My own body was as cold as death. My traitorous cock twitched as his tongue found my nipple. The heat from his tongue warmed my body. I almost felt alive again. Even the heart that lay silently inside my chest felt as if were about to beat.

His hand found my cock. I struggle to roll away, struggle to wake my body. I knew it was beyond my power to fight but I would try. His hand was as warm as his tongue. I railed at myself for acknowledging that his hand felt good. That was where the danger lie, the succumbing to pleasure. The body was designed for pleasure but that was in order to strengthen the bond between man and wife. To seek that pleasure outside the context of marriage was a great sin.

He bit me. Sharp, exquisite pain arced from my nipple to every corner of my body. My cock swelled in the warm tunnel of his hand. I could feel my cold blood running down my side. He lowered his head and caught the stream of blood with the tip of his tongue and lapped it off my side, following it to the source. His lips closed around my nipple. He suckled at my breast, drinking my blood as my cock throbbed. His hand began to move over my cock. It was wet, as if I were back in my life, readying myself to enjoy the warmth of my wife. I could not tell with my dimmed vision but I did not believe this was the slick fluid that would ease our coupling. It was blood. Blood was the only thing my body had to offer.

Scooter moved closer. I could feel the hot hard length of his cock against my cold side. He raised up on one arm. He brought the other hand to his mouth and pierced the tip of one finger with a tooth. No, we do not have fangs but as we did in life we have dog teeth. He pressed with his thumb on the injured finger and a drop of blood gathered. He rubbed it over my lips. His blood was warm and powerful beyond my reckoning. My body greedily absorbed the proffered gift. Its heat coursed through my veins like the potent cholai popular among some of my neighbors in life. I felt warm for the first time since my death. That frightened me more than the feel of his hand on my cock. To be able to imagine I yet lived was a powerful temptation.