Atligili
I looked at the costume in its box and tried to hold out against the temptation to wear it again. I didn’t want to wear it—it wanted me to wear it. It compelled me. But I didn’t want to wear it. I had only worn it three times since I’d gotten it, and each time….
The fear was exciting—addictive. I didn’t want it to be. I didn’t want to think about it.
I knew if I thought about it, it would get into my mind again.
And if it got into my mind, I would wear the costume again.
And if I wore the costume, the monster that it was would get hungry again.
And I was already running out of stuff.
But I couldn’t stop looking. The fear was exciting—addictive. It compelled me.
It was a gorgeous alligator suit, the kind that inflates around you and makes you look like a big shiny pool toy when you’re wearing it. Just then, though, I thought it looked kind of sad, stuffed in its box all rumpled like it was. I never did put it away properly… after the last time, when the thing’s hunger had faded and I was in control again, I hadn’t taken any chances: I’d hid it away as quickly as I could.
It was a shame to mistreat something so valuable. I figured I ought to at least fold it up properly.
When I picked it up, though, I knew I was trapped again.
It was the smell of it that grabbed me, that pure smell of vinyl, or whatever it was that it—that he was really made of… it entered my nose, bypassed my brain, and took hold somewhere deep in my gut.
Before I had realized what was happening I had already torn my clothes off—and I mean I literally ripped them from my body. I didn’t know I had that kind of strength in me. The smell was so powerful! He shouldn’t have smelled so clean—I’d left him covered in the remains of what he’d eaten—crumbs and spills of food and drink and worse… the paint, I couldn’t convince him paint wasn’t for drinking, and he’d gone through five cans and it had been so sour in my stomach—and the blood, I’d forgotten… how the cat had struggled… but he was clean now, somehow, and…
…and those memories were fading away again now, now that he was controlling me again. I climbed into him through the opening in his chest. I closed up the airtight seal and pulled up the oversized costume zipper that covered it. And I turned on the built-in pump under his tail that would give him his shape.
He never spoke, but I could feel his satisfaction: I was his dependable slave, even though I was unwilling. I felt his hunger, too. I watched his reflection in my bedroom mirror as the air filled him fat and round—so beautiful, so majestic, were the thoughts in my head; whether they were his or mine I wasn’t sure—and as soon as he was full he stretched out, hopped on his big feet experimentally, and barreled purposefully out the door.
My house, as I mentioned, was already mostly empty. The beast sniffed at the air and, though I didn’t smell anything, he must have gotten wind of something. He bounded into the kitchen, the wobble of his body pushing hard against my skin. The kitchen cupboards were still empty; I hadn’t dared to refill them since last time and I’d been eating out.
He grabbed the trash can.
Please, no, I pleaded.
He opened his jaws wide, forcing mine open as well, much wider than should have been comfortable for me. He poured in the contents of the trash can, and I tasted Styrofoam, greasy fast-food wrappers, and a few day-old French fries.
I felt like I was going to be sick as the monster forced me to chew and swallow. But he wouldn’t get sick, so neither would I, no matter how much I wished it.
The gator moved a big paw down over his belly. I knew what he was thinking: Still empty…
He sniffed around again, but I could tell nothing left in my house interested him. He barged out my door and stepped into the street, and I trembled inwardly at the beast’s thoughts… a very clear picture of the meat we would have today.