You're lost.
The hike had been such a good idea, a way to get away from the city, away from work and school and Aunt Milly's horrible, well-intentioned dating advice. You used to walk through the woods behind your parents place all the time as a kid, leaving at noon and coming back at six or seven, covered in leaves and mud. A hike through a state park shouldn't be much different, right?
You planned for weeks, choosing the right trail and the right day and double, triple checking you had everything you'd need for the best or worst. The weather report had said sunny, a little overcast maybe, but good weather regardless.
What you got was the worst storm you'd seen in years.
You're halfway through the hike when the clouds roll in, almost black with rain. The sky splits open with a crash of thunder, drenching you to the skin in seconds. You don't bother to try to get the rain poncho out of your backpack, no point in getting everything inside of it wet. The rain falls hard and fast, like the sting of a thousand hornets, blinding you to your surroundings.
After stumbling around for half an hour, busting your knee on a boulder in the process, you find a cave.
It's damp inside, and dark, but its much drier than outside, so you shed your shoes and socks and, after a moment, your shirt, laying them out on the floor. You can't tell how far back the cave goes, and after several long minutes of watching the rain, you grab the flashlight out of your bag and decide to explore.
The cave gets larger as you walk through it, until you can't hardly see the ceiling above you even with the light. You're surprised to see the remains of stalactites, odd stumps that look like they had been broken. Eventually you can no longer see the walls either, and as you decide to turn back, go check if the rain has stopped, you hear the sound of something heavy and wet hit the floor, like a bag of rotten tomatoes.
You point you flashlight towards the sound, cautiously moving forward, and eventually you find a lump of—something—reeking of blood. You move a little bit closer, enough to make out brown fur and blood, so much blood.
You swallow heavily, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, directing your flashlight above you. You open your eyes and follow the light, unsure of what you'll find.
Four legs, each ending in a six fingered hand, each ending in an impossibly sharp claw, grasp the ceiling. Two more are holding what remains of a grizzly bear, only just recognizable by the mangled head hanging loosely from its neck. The thing is covered in black feathers, except for the lower half of its legs and its head, pale and bare and blood stained. As you watch, one clawed hand rips a chunk from the bear's gut, shoving it into its mouth. There is no bottom jaw, only a raw wound where it should have been, bloody and gaping and surrounded by torn flesh. The meat goes directly into the esophagus with a sound that makes your stomach churn violently. The top jaw is still in place, sharp teeth jutting into nothingness. It has no eyes you realize, the place they should be—where you think they should be—simply a series of folds of skin.
You need to leave.
You start backing up slowly, keeping your eyes trained on the feasting monstrosity. It rips another piece off the bear, shoving it into its esophagus as well.
You fall.
You trip over your own feet and, despite the frantic pinwheeling of your arms, you hit the ground with a quiet thud and a quieter expletive. The sound of flesh being torn stops abruptly and you freeze, unsure of what to do. Something hits the ground a distance away from you with an echoing thud, and you hear the quiet tapping of claws on rock. Your flashlight had rolled away from you, its beam pointing towards your right, and it shows you a hand, a leg, and then a face, butchered and horrifying. It moves out of the light, the soft tapping of its claws coming closer and closer, and you can hear the wheezing rasps of its breath, feel them on your arm—
It moves away, into the darkness. Eventually it returns to the carcass of the bear, ripping at it and shoving pieces down its esophagus, and you very slowly stand. You pick up your flashlight as if it were broken glass, and this time you watch where you're going, keeping your eyes to the ground.
Your clothes are still soaked when you get to them, and the rain is still pouring, though it's no longer blinding. You pull your clothes on as quickly as you can, throwing your backpack over your shoulder and bolting from the cave.
Pneumonia and flash floods were nowhere near as terrifying as staying dry.
From the prompt: The jawless king
