“The Hunger Inside” is a Scary Story written by Minahil Mohsin. It is published on Storyious, the largest story-writing platform.
The morning light clawed its way through the cracked blinds of Adler’s bedroom, cutting jagged lines across the walls. He woke with a jolt, gasping as though surfacing from a nightmare he couldn’t quite remember. His bedsheets clung to him, damp with sweat, and the taste of metal lingered on his tongue.
He rolled over, groaning as his muscles groaned louder. Everything hurt. Not the dull ache of a restless sleep, but something deeper—joints grinding, bones screaming as if his body were at war with itself. He felt alien in his own skin as though someone had wrapped his flesh too tightly around his frame.
Adler sat up and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrored closet doors across the room. He froze.
The man staring back at him was… wrong.
It wasn’t the kind of “off” that could be dismissed as grogginess or an unflattering angle. His face was thinner; the skin stretched taut across his cheekbones like it had been peeled back a fraction too far; his eyes, bloodshot and glassy, glinted in the weak light, their pupils too wide, swallowing most of the colour in his irises.
And his hands…
Adler held them up, trembling: his fingers were longer than they had been yesterday, the knuckles bulging obscenely, the nails jagged and yellowed at the edges as though something were trying to claw its way out from beneath them. And the skin was rougher, cracked and greyish like dried clay.
“What the hell is happening to me?” His voice came out hoarse, rasping as though he hadn’t spoken in days.
He stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping over his own feet. Even his balance felt wrong. And then he saw his legs – too stiff – explaining his jerky movements. He made his way to the bathroom, each step a struggle against the dissonance within himself. The floorboards beneath him groaned, and he swore they were softer somehow as if he were pressing harder than he should.
Flicking on the bathroom light, Adler caught his reflection again, clearer this time. He wished he hadn’t.
His skin was pallid and splotched, the veins beneath it spidering outward in dark, sickly patterns. His teeth—he pulled back his lips and nearly gagged. His canines were sharper and longer, curving slightly at the tips like small daggers.
“No, no, no, no,” he whispered, gripping the edge of the sink until his hands shook.
Then the smell hit him.
It was faint at first, like raw meat left out too long. He sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose, but the more he focused on it, the stronger it became. Richer. The scent stirred something deep inside him—a gnawing, primal hunger that curled in his stomach like a fist tightening around his guts.
He wrenched open the medicine cabinet, grabbing a bottle of painkillers, his hands trembling so violently that the pills spilt across the counter. He shoved a few into his mouth, swallowing them dry. His throat burned as they went down, but he didn’t care.
The hunger wouldn’t go away.
He splashed water on his face, trying to will himself to calm down, to breathe. He stared into his reflection, willing the unfamiliar features to somehow snap back into place. “This isn’t real. This can’t be…” he muttered. “It’s just stress. I’ve been working too much. Maybe a fever…”
The sound of something moving outside his window cut through his thoughts.
It wasn’t the wind.
Adler turned toward the noise, his breath catching in his throat. He crept back into his bedroom, his eyes fixed on the window. The blinds were still down, but the faint shadow of something large passed across them. It wasn’t a bird or a branch. It was too deliberate, too steady.
The hunger surged again, sharper this time, and Adler doubled over, clutching his stomach. He bit down on his tongue to stop himself from crying out. The metallic taste flooded his mouth again, and when he pulled his hand away, he saw blood smeared across his palm.
But it wasn’t red.
It was darker, almost black, and it smelled… good.
The knock came then.
Three sharp raps at the front door, followed by a pause. Then another.
Adler straightened, his pulse pounding in his ears. His first instinct was to ignore it, but the hunger whispered otherwise. He didn’t even realize he was moving toward the door until his hand was on the knob.
The air outside was bitterly cold, but it didn’t bite at him the way it should have. A man stood on the porch, his figure wrapped in a heavy coat, his breath steaming in the frigid air. He looked startled when he saw Adler.
“Hey, man,” the stranger said, his voice uncertain. “Y- you okay? I heard noises, thought maybe someone was hurt—”
Adler didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He was too focused on the man’s neck, on the faint pulse beneath his skin, the warmth radiating from his body like a beacon.
The hunger roared.
“Adler,” the man said again. He knew his name. A neighbor? A coworker? Adler couldn’t remember, couldn’t think past the thrum of blood pounding in his ears. His vision narrowed, locking onto the man like a predator sizing up its prey.
“Adler, you’re scaring me—”
The man stepped back, but not fast enough. Adler lunged.
His hands closed around the man’s shoulders, and before he could stop himself—before he even wanted to—his teeth sank into flesh. The man screamed, a garbled, choking sound, but it faded quickly. Adler’s body moved on instinct, tearing, consuming, devouring.
The blood was warm, rich, and intoxicating. It filled him in a way he hadn’t realized he was empty, a bliss so sharp it was almost painful. He didn’t stop until there was nothing left but silence.
When he finally looked down at his hands, his face, the porch beneath him, all slick with blood, the horror hit him like a tidal wave.
He staggered back inside, slamming the door behind him. His breathing came in shallow gasps as he wiped at his face, smearing the dark liquid everywhere. He fell to the floor, curling into himself, his mind racing.
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
But the hunger was still there, still gnawing at him, no matter how much he had consumed.
Adler crawled to the mirror in the hall, desperate to see himself again. The thing staring back at him was barely human now. Its eyes were black pits, its mouth dripping with blood, its skin mottled and grey. His reflection smiled at him though he hadn’t moved.
And then it spoke.
“You’re almost ready,” it said, its voice deep, slithering across his ears like oil.
“Ready for what?” Adler whispered, his voice trembling.
The reflection widened its grin to reveal rows of jagged, bloody teeth.
“For the hunt.”
The mirror shattered, and Adler screamed.
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