Haunted (Alastor X Reader)

Chapter 40

~~~~~~flashback continues~~~~~~

The cycle continues. The 'food' ran out. The struggle to gain more persisted. Weeks went by, and Alastor was feeling hungry again. This time, a man had tried getting handsy with Mimzy as she was on her way home from work. An egregious error on the man's part, as Al was not far from watching the scene unfold and fortunately was able to stop the situation from escalating and subdued him. Hauling the gent into his car and bringing him back home to 'dispose of him.'

"I'm better than this..." Alastor whispered to himself, looking at the cadaver sprawled out onto the floor. Feeling an eerie sense of deja-vu as he recalled this feeling of hunger before as his stomach pains had begun to grow more than just noticeable.

'You're better for it, not despite it.' His thoughts nagged at him. 'No one else would dare, because they don't have it in them. They're miserable, loathsome and starving. But you're not. You're better.'

"This is sick..." he argued. Holding into his last shred of humanity as though his life depended on it. This isn't what he wanted to become. His mother was probably rolling in her grave at the sins her son has committed.

Just a 'one time thing' had turned into an extended event, with Alastor holding onto and preserving every 'morsel' he found as useful. He tried just about everything he could that didn't strike him as too disgusting. The heart was subpar, more stringy than meaty. The lungs weren't too different, but they were richer in taste. The liver was surprisingly good, he wound up enjoying that with a glass of wine that paired nicely with it. The brain was a fun surprise, all those folds just hid how much surface area there really was; really bulked out the size of the meal. Grey matter and white matter added a unique flavor to it as well, close to white and dark meat.

Funny how since the day he consumed remains, the urge to do it again had consumed him as well. Much like how the urge to murder was impossible to ignore, these thoughts and ideas were beginning to keep him up at night. And distracted him during the day. Trying to rationalize to himself why he mustn't make a habit out of what he had done, all the while coming up with new ideas and wondering what other parts might be worth trying.

'Remember how it tastes?'

"I can't forget it..." he said with baited breath. Feeing a familiar rumble in his stomach as he remembered the smell the last time he cooked. The aroma of meat after being seasoned with Caribbean spices, mixed with an assortment of sautéed veggies.

'Like veel, but sweeter...' his thoughts reminded him. 'Remember how it melted in your mouth? How savory it smelled as you were cooking? You saved so much money on food after that day, just keeping the remains in the icebox until you needed them. You're an idiot to not do it again.'

"No, this is wrong."

'So is murder, but look how much fun we have doing that?'

"But this is..."

'Your mouth is watering.' His thoughts persisted. 'You could perfect this little art, and as long as you keep indulging in your crimes you'll never be starving again.'

"Stop it..."

'Are you foolish enough to keep starving yourself because life dealt you a shitty hand? Or will you take the upper hand, claim that power and control that's rightfully yours, and do what you need to do?'

Alastor hung his head low and softly began to cry. Feeling a swirl of emotions battling each other in his mind. He yearned for that rush. That feeling of superiority. It's not like he gave a fuck about the people he killed anyway, eating them was the only useful part he saw in his victims; next to their screams and the look of fear and betrayal he saw in their eyes.