Reversion

by Adam Goldman
Jack sat up quickly, banging his head on a walnut table long past its prime. He
quizzically touched the large dent on his forehead, stood up, and looked around: the
dresser he had placed in front of the door was still there, and his footlocker was
untouched. Jack couldn’t remember when he had found this cabin, but he did remember
the fight with the previous owner. It was a meal he remembered fondly; thinking about it
caused hunger to speak through his stomach. Stumbling towards the footlocker, he put a
hand on the walnut table to steady himself, and, looking down, he froze.
Jack stared at his left hand: where bones and dried blood vessels had previously
been visible, fresh skin had begun to grow. He scanned up his arm, noting that the flesh
appeared halfway to his elbow. He limped over to a window (tripping on the cellar door
implanted in the decaying wooden floor boards, which had become something of a habit)
and gazed analytically at his reflection. His cheekbones still peeked out from behind
grey flaps of skin, but the skin no longer held a leathery texture: the tips had begun to
turn a light peach color, and small hairs dotted the surface. Twisting his head this way
and that, he was relieved to find the back of his skull to be the same dark caramel color,
devoid of a scalp. At least part of him was intact.
Confused, Jack knocked over the small table next to the window, watching as the
wooden legs fell apart. Kicking splinters of wood, he shambled over to the footlocker,
opened it, and picked up one of the severed arms. Crouching down, he took a bite and
began to thoughtfully chew. He didn’t remember seeing anything remotely like the color
invading his face, arm, and hand...except on the Food. Despite any intelligence the Food
had, it was still nothing but sustenance. The thought of becoming one of those things
terrified him; besides their physical vulnerability, they moved quickly and without effort.
Surely no creature that moved so effortlessly should be allowed to do so; the world was
meant to be a slow moving place, where an hour's walk would yield little distance
traveled. Time had no meaning in this isolated forest, yet the Food acted as though it
would perish unless it traversed the landscape at breakneck speed. To be fair, there was
the possibility of being eaten by someone such as himself, but still…
Suddenly, he spat out the chunk of arm and started to retch. He stared down at the
half-chewed gore, giving it a questioning glance. His withered eyes slid an incredulous
look in the footlocker, which solidified a decision for his restless instincts: It was time to
hunt. He moved across the creaking floorboards of the cabin, pushed aside the dresser he
had placed in front of the decrepit door, and stepped outside onto the porch.
The night was cool, the full moon shining down in shafts of ivory light through
the trees. He surveyed the forest that enveloped the cabin, taking auditory note of the
nocturnal animals that were out. Although he could hold his own, there were nasty things
in these woods…an insatiable hunger such as his was no match for claws and fangs such
as theirs. Stepping down off the porch, he took a light-blue knitted cap that hung on a
peg, and fumbled it on his head. He always wore this cap when hunting; it helped
confuse the Food, making them easier to take down. Satisfied with the placement and
comfort of the cap, he began the arduous trek around to the back side of the cabin, the
path littered with evidence of seasonal changes. He knocked into an old shovel, sending
it tumbling into the yard, taking a few acorns and sticks along with it. He froze
motionless at the sound, and began scanning the edge of the trees, looking for signs of
movement. When he was satisfied he wasn’t about to be mauled by some unseen
monstrosity, he continued his journey to the back side of the cabin. As he rounded the
corner of the cabin, something caught his eye: a glimmer of red and yellow, in the
opposite direction of where the moss grows. A fire! This could mean only one thing:
Food was nearby. Two of the creatures had decided to nest near the river that ran through
this desolate place. He was always surprised to find Food showing up in these woods:
they went on for miles, with the river providing the only reliable way to navigate the
extensive labyrinth of trees.
It was common for Jack to find Food nesting by the river, but never had a nest
been made so close to his cabin; it took him less than 30 minutes to reach them, a mere
heartbeat for his kind. The Food, an aging one and a young one, were sitting next to a
fire roasting some kind of animal. The Food’s ingenuity never ceased to amaze Jack; he
felt most of their activities were wasted efforts (especially the cooking of their Food prior
to consuming it), but he was nevertheless impressed by their varied abilities (including
the ability to build “his” cabin, whose previous owner had been especially tasty. Perhaps
their flavor was proportional to their intelligence?) He stood in the shadows, watching as
they began devouring the roasted meat.
Surveying the ground between himself and them, he noticed the path was covered
with dead leaves and sticks...despite the constant noise generated by the river, the leaves
and sticks were more than enough for the Food to hear his scuffling feet. His gait was
smooth for his kind, but even he had trouble moving silently. This way was no good; he
would have to find an alternate route. He was preparing to move, when the younger one
stood up and started walking towards the shadow Jack was hiding in. It made an arching
motion to the older Food, which nodded and pointed. The young one turned back
towards Jack - still shrouded in darkness - and began walking forward again. Jack shifted
his weight, and prepared to pounce.

***

The young one had given him no trouble (he snapped its neck effortlessly), but the
older Food put up quite a fight. In the end, Jack had to tear into the Food’s throat to put
him down. Still, he got at least one of them, and that’s what mattered. The older one
would surely be picked off by one of the many screeching creatures that patrolled the
woods, so he left it behind. Besides, the meat had been spoiled by his bloodshed; it
wouldn’t have tasted good anyway. Dragging the now-lifeless (and still tasty) body of
the young Food back through the forest, Jack took a moment to look up at the moon
peaking through the forest canopy. Its pure light caused the tree trunks to glow with
ethereal warmth, reminding him of how much life there was surrounding him. Knowing
he was one of the predators in this place of muted vivaciousness brought peace to his
shriveled mind, as he completed the rest of his journey in a tranquil state of animalistic
contentment.
The sun was nearly up by the time Jack reached the front door of the cabin. His
mouth (red, fleshy lips had begun to appear) and stomach (now almost completely
covered with the peach-colored skin) trembled in anticipation of the coming meal.
Pulling the body of the young Food into the cabin, he grumbled as he pinched the top of
the cap on his head and awkwardly flung it on the floor. He set about the laborious task
of quartering the body, removing the organs he didn’t like, and processed what would be
left over so it would stay fresh. His work finished, he sat down with his back against the
refrigerator (which had long since been rendered useless by a shotgun blast from the
previous owner), put one of the legs in his mouth, and ripped off a chunk of meat…only
to spit it out after chewing a single time. The same rancid feeling came rushing back,
stronger this time. He stood, and once more limped over to one of the windows to look at
his reflection.
Half of one cheek was now covered in the peach-colored flesh, as was a portion of
his skull. The cheekbones and skull that were still visible no longer bore a dark caramel
color: they instead shone a ghastly white. All the way up to his shoulder, he found his
left arm was now covered in the same peach flesh as his face, and dark hairs had begun to
grow. All of the fingers on his right hand were peach, as were his kneecaps.
Uncontrollably, he raised his newly-living left arm upwards to his mouth, and bit
down. The taste was exquisite, better than any Food he had ever caught. He bit off his
left pinky finger with a satisfying crunch, and chewed. Surveying the rest of the peach-
colored flesh spreading across his dead frame, he had to actively stop himself from taking
another bite. Lowering his arms, he sat down on the rotting wood floor of the cabin. He
would either become Food, or consume himself entirely. Autosarcophagy was not the
answer, and he’d never allow himself to become one of them.
Looking down at his legs, he saw the peach-colored skin growing rapidly: he
watched his left ankle go from bony to completely covered in flesh within minutes. Both
arms were now almost covered in living skin, and the skin had begun to creep up the back
of his thighs. As he examined every part of his body closely, he began to feel something
he couldn’t remember ever experiencing: pain. It wasn’t only skin that was growing now,
but nerve endings as well. Just as quickly as it started, it was no longer just his body that
was on fire: his very soul now burned as memories came flooding back. There was a
time when he was Food, and he lived here in the forest, right here in this very cabin...but
not alone.
Jack stood up, ran as best he could towards one of the aging walls, and began
pounding on it with his fist. Getting desperate, he turned towards one of the windows.
With the pain now enveloping his entire being, he smashed the window, and crumpled on
the floor.
Not alone.
He glanced sideways, only to see the light-blue knitted cap staring directly at him,
taunting him with its frayed ends and forgotten memories. Laughing. Playing.
Chopping wood. Eating. Talking.
Not alone.
Surveying the cabin, more memories came back to him, memories that burned
deep within his reality. Twisting his head back towards the window, he spied a sharp
piece of glass that remained in the frame. Slowly standing up, Jack agonizingly turned
his body to face the window, and sent himself on a collision course with the upright glass
shard.

Peace at last.