Page 22 of Insatiable

“You haven’t eaten her. You don’t know her. She’s... she’s good. She’s kind,” I pleaded, my voice cracking with desperation. “Please, let her go.”

His eyes narrowed, his lips parting as if tasting the air between us, weighing my words.

“It’s not in my nature to let go,” he growled, the words laced with a dark, unshakable certainty.

A shiver ran down my spine. My mind raced, trying to make sense of him. “What... what are you?” The question slipped from my lips before I could stop it.

He grinned, slow and deliberate. “What do you think I am?”

My breath caught in my throat. I didn’t have an answer—not one that made sense, not one I dared to say out loud. Whatever this thing was, he wasn’t just a monster. Not anymore.

The Creeper stood and offered his hand. I stared at it, heart pounding in my chest. Wrapping the sheet tighter around myself, I hesitated before taking it. His grip was firm, pulling me to my feet with ease.

He led me through the mansion, down into the basement where Katie and I had barely ventured. The door loomed ahead—the one we’d fled from in terror. The Creeper reached for it, the old wood creaking as it swung open.

The stench hit me first—sharp and metallic, wrapping around me. Every breath tasted of death, thick and foul, clinging to my lungs like poison. The floor felt slick beneath my feet, cold and soaked with things I didn’t want to name. Bones crunched under me, small and brittle, like they had been there for years. Overhead, the light flickered weakly, casting shadows that twisted with every movement..

Skulls, ribs, mangled limbs hung from rusted chains like grotesque decorations. Flesh still clung to some of the bones, dried and decaying, while others were fresh—too fresh, with bloodstains still slick on the floor. Scattered around were bits of clothing and personal items, remnants of lives lost here.

My stomach churned, threatening to empty itself. I forced down the nausea, my hands trembling, my breath catching in my throat. Every inch of the room seemed to scream with the ghosts of the dead.

The Creeper stood beside me, silent, watching. His dark eyes glowed faintly in the dim light. There was something there,something unsettling. Not quite regret, not quite shame, but something close enough to tighten my chest.

“This is what I am,” he said, his voice gravelly, almost drowned by the hum of the light.

I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to run. “Why?” I whispered, the question trembling in the air. “Why do you do this? Why them?”

He tilted his head, wings shifting as he stepped closer. His claws brushed one of the skulls lightly, almost reverently. “I feed,” he said, his tone flat. “On their bodies. On their fear. It’s what sustains me.”

I stared at him, my skin crawling. “How?”

He met my gaze, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I wasn’t made for your world. I’m not human, Rose. Never was. I come from a place darker than anything you can comprehend, older than your gods. Where I come from, there is only hunger. Twisted things like me, clawing for power, for survival.”

He paced the room slowly, dragging a clawed hand along the stone wall. “I can take any shape. Any form. I’ve been a shadow, a beast, a man. But this...” He spread his wings slightly, his dark, leathery skin gleaming in the low light. “This is what I am at my core. This is the form that fits me best.”

He paused, his eyes locking onto mine. “ The hunger never stops, Rose. Every day it gnaws at me. I can control it most of the time. But Halloween...” His voice deepened, almost a growl. “On Halloween, it’s different. It’s as if the place I came from calls to me. It wakes something in me that I can’t suppress. The hunger becomes unbearable.”

He stepped closer, his breath brushing my skin. “I try to curb it. But on that night, hunger always wins. If I don’t hunt, if I don’t feed, I rot. I lose myself. I become a monster even though I can't control it. That’s why I do this. Why I hunt. Why I kill.”

His words sounded like a death sentence. I could feel the truth of it in my bones. The cold, twisted reality of what he was.

“Where are you from?” I asked. The words slipped out faintly.

He smiled, and it wasn’t comforting. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s not a place with a name. It’s darkness. Pure and endless. I was born from it. Shaped by it. Sent to your world to feast on the weak, to remind your kind darkness is always there, waiting.”

My breath caught, and I felt the intensity of his gaze, the sheer inhumanity of what he was. There was no reasoning with him. No mercy. Only hunger. Only the twisted being in front of me in his true form.

My heart pounded, the horror of centuries sinking in. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look up at him. “Then why didn’t you kill me?”

He stepped closer, his towering frame blocking out the world. The heat of his breath brushed against my skin. His lips curled into a slow, dark smile. “I fed on you,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Your milk, your essence.. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. Pure. Powerful. It gave me strength, sustenance... like never before.”

A shiver ran down my spine. My knees weakened. Hands trembling. “If I give it to you willingly,” I whispered, each word heavy with desperation, “if I give you what you want... will you stop? Will you spare her?”

His eyes narrowed, hunger flickering. “You would give that... for her?” He cocked his head, watching me intently, trying to understand my offer. “For your friend?”

“Not just for her,” I whispered, my voice softer, more certain. “But because I want to give it to you.”

The Creeper blinked, something shifting in his eyes. The hunger was still there, but now it was mixed with confusion and awe. He took a step back, his massive form faltering as though he couldn’t believe what I had just said. He tilted his head, studying me, and for the first time since this terror began, I saw a flicker of vulnerability.

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