There was something in the backyard. The only reason I knew it was really there and that it wash’t just a nightmare was because of a deep, bellowing hoot made the blinds on my windows shudder. It wasn’t the noise that woke me up though. It was a low pitched voice that rung in my head and said, “Little flesh. Come out.”

I felt compelled to crawl out from under the covers. There was something driving me, pushing my terror aside, forcing my limbs to take step after step towards the back door. The cool air of summer blew against my sweat drenched skin and I shivered as I stepped into the moonlight. There was a moist, musty stench in the air as I walked barefoot into the grass, looking around with wide eyes for the source of the bellowing voice that rattled my skull.

“Come here flesh.”

I turned my head towards the sound. I was shocked at how huge it was. It took two large steps towards me, lifting two enormous webbed feet that balanced a humped mass of lumpy fat and muscle. At the end of its long, gangly arms were foot long fingers that probably could have torn a car door in half with no more effort than I would put into ripping apart a napkin. It regarded me with what I thought was its face. I could only tell due to two pits that were darker than the rest of its oily, sagging bulk. It pursed its lips and hooted again, running its spindly fingers across its gut and scratched it ponderously.

The warbled song that emitted from its flabby throat made me cringe, but I didn’t run. I couldn’t. I wanted to. “You are ripe,” It pressed its lips against my face, running the tip of its drooling tongue over me, muffling my whimpers as it pulled my body against its flabby paunch. I felt it rumble with delight, “I think you will not struggle, little one. You will come into me graciously.”

Introducing Grief Eater, my imaginary hungry husbando. I commissioned this piece from ghoulking