Annie
by Ian McCain

It starts like a whisper in the darkness. A sharp, painful gnawing of intentions born not from words but from an uncontrollable need; a hunger rouses her from the void.

Eat it!

So she does; big heaping messy handfuls of it.

Eat it ALL!

Her resolve strengthens with each ravenous gulp. The bitter-sweet copper tang of blood and meat fueling the voice.

Dig! There is more to eat!

Her small hands fumble in front of her as she scoops out large wet mouthfuls. The crying behind the door confuses her.

“Annie, No!”

It sounds familiar, and delicious. Loud panic filled shouts mixed with sobs.

Now eat that!

Her eyes lift up and pass over the yummy corpse of a woman with a familiar face.

She tries to stand, but her foot is missing. As she tumbles to the ground she sees a grey skinned man with an axe stuck in his shoulder chewing on the contents of a pink ballet slipper. One just like it is on her other foot.

Eat!

She pulls closer to the door, and scratches at it. She tries to ask for food, but rather than words what spills from her mouth is warm goo and a deep uncontrollable hiss.
She can smell the meal on the other side.

Eat it!

The door opens briefly, revealing; a girl and an older man. The man speaks through his sobs.

“Daddy loves you, Annie!”

A bright light is followed by a loud bang. Then blackness.

Silence.