Colt staggered back even though the source of his disgust was part of him. The mugger’s body was slumped against the wall, the man’s head lolling to one side in an unnatural position. All Colt’s horror turned back to hunger as he caught sight of the blood still seeping from the wounds his claws had left.
It made no goddamn sense, but he wanted it. He wanted the blood, the flesh, the corpse more than he’d ever wanted anything. His mouth was watering for it, and he moved closer, unable to hold himself back.
Colt knelt down, and his body seemed to be working on instincts that were foreign to him. The hunger took over all reason and revulsion alike, and as he leaned in, the only thing that kept him from giving in to it entirely was the pain. His gums ached like he had a whole other set of teeth all trying to come in at once. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as sharp, needle-like teeth pierced through his gums and came down over his first set of teeth. He scarcely had time to process the ghastly transformation before his body lurched forward of its own accord and those monstrous fangs sank into the mugger’s neck.
The blood that flowed into Colt’s mouth was at once bitter and sweet, like a fine wine, and he became drunk on it immediately. He wanted to savor it as much as he wanted to stop, but he had the chance to do neither. Instead, he thrashed his head as if some unseen force was controlling him like a marionette, and he tore out the dead man’s throat.
The flesh slid down his throat, raw and salty, and the part of him that was capable of feeling disgust was fading more with each second that passed. He tore in again and again, snarling as he dug his fangs into flesh, ripping and tearing and swallowing the pieces whole.
The pain of his hunger dulled, but it wasn’t sated. Not entirely. Colt looked down and realized he’d eaten a good portion of the left side of the man’s neck and shoulder. He paused, waiting for reason to kick in or to wake him up from the nightmare, but neither of those things happened.
There were footsteps. Police? Colt turned with a snarl, unable to stop himself even though the idea of hurting some innocent person was enough to return a sliver of consciousness to him.
There were three strangers in the alleyway, but none of them looked like cops. There was a man in his mid-forties wearing rimless glasses and a respectable sweater standing next to a woman whose long brown hair was pulled into a tidy bun. She even wore a strand of pearls around her slender neck. A young man who couldn’t have been much older than eighteen was with them, wearing thick glasses and a shirt that was a good two sizes too small for him. They were all so put together--so normal--that their presence at the grisly scene seemed almost comical.
Colt meant to laugh at the absurdity of it, but it came out as a growl even fiercer than the last. The clean-cut family didn’t even blink. The man--presumably the father--took a step toward Colt.
The hunger had subsided enough to allow reason to take over, if only for an instant, and Colt seized on it before it could disappear again. “Don’t,” he snarled. He scarcely recognized his own voice. “Don’t come any closer. Just run! Please.”
They didn’t. The boy and the woman were watching Colt with their matching Cupid’s bows stretched into worried lines and soft brown eyes full of pity rather than the horror that should have been in them. The father took another step, reaching out his hand.
Colt snarled and gnashed his teeth instinctively, but the man made no further move.
“It’s alright,” the stranger said in a fatherly tone. His pulse was slow, steady. Colt could hear all of their heartbeats, including his own. The only erratic rhythm was that of his own heart, but the boy’s was a bit faster than his parents’. None of them smelled like the man Colt had killed. Did the demonic hunger that had taken over him only apply to corpses?
“We’re not going to hurt you,” said the woman.
This time, Colt did laugh. It came out stilted and gruff, but it was a laugh. That little woman, hurt him?
“I think he’s a fledgling, Stan,” she whispered without taking her eyes off of Colt.
“I think you’re right,” her husband replied calmly. “Son, where’s your family?”
Colt realized the man was speaking to him, but he couldn’t make sense of the question. “My...family?”
“Your parents,” Stan explained. “Surely they didn’t just send you out alone on your First Hunt?”
“Hunt? I don’t…” Colt backed up until he hit the wall and jolted. Their words were all rattling around in his head, confusing him even more than before. A fresh rush of adrenaline seemed to surge through him every few seconds, making it impossible to calm down enough to think. “My parents live in Narragansett.”
Stan and his wife exchanged a look. Stan asked, “What’s your name, son?”
“Colt,” he choked out. Somehow, saying his name made it all feel real for the first time. Colt looked back at the partially eaten corpse and his stomach churned. He’d done that. He’d really fucking done that. “Colt Jager.”
“Jager,” Stan murmured, frowning in concentration, like he was trying to recall the name. “There’s no family in New England that goes by that name, as far as I can remember.” He looked up suddenly, his eyes widening. “How old are you, Colt?”
He hesitated. “Twenty-five.”
“I see,” said Stan. “This may sound like an unusual question, but are you by chance adopted?”
“Yeah. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Oh, boy,” Stan said, letting out a heavy sigh. It was the kind of sigh someone might heave when they got out the door only to realize they’d forgotten their keys, not the sigh of someone who’d just stumbled upon a grisly crime scene with his wife and son. “We’d better get him home, then.”
“Home? I can’t go home like this.” Panic was beginning to set in. “I have to go to the police. Turn myself in…”
“You can’t do a thing like that, dear,” the woman said gently. She was next to Colt all of a sudden, even though he hadn’t seen her move. She took his arm, and he jolted.
“You’d be dead before you had the chance to give your statement, for one thing,” the boy said, speaking up for the first time. He seemed a bit warier of Colt than his parents were. Evidently, he was the only one in the family with any common sense.
“I just killed a man and...and ate him,” Colt said, barely managing to get the last out. The surreality of it all was setting in, and he felt even less connected to his body than he had while he was devouring the mugger’s flesh.
“Of course you did, dear. You’re a ghoul,” the woman said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“A ghoul?”
“He’s adopted, Susan. I doubt that means anything to him,” said Stan.
Stan and Susan. Perfectly normal names for the weirdest fucking people Colt had ever met. Their nonchalance was making it impossible for him to mount the full-blown panic he probably should have felt. Susan still had him by the arm, and she led him further down the alley with her husband and son following close behind.
“It’ll be alright, darling,” she coaxed, patting Colt’s hand as she led him toward the exit on the other side of the alleyway. “We’ll explain it all in due time, but I doubt we’re the only ones who heard that gunshot. The police will be here soon, and it’s better if we’re not around when they show up.”