Moloch

The hunger was coming again. It didn’t matter how he tried to sate it, the desire to consume would always overwhelm his sanity. The man that had become known as Moloch knelt in the filth, his disfigured visage buried deep in the fur and flesh of the local vermin population. They weren’t enough. He had to taste it again, or it would drive him into a frenzy, cause his discovery again. He imagined the headlines “Zombie man found in sewers!” oh, the tabloids would have a field day with it. They’d claim he’d sired some misbegotten progeny or that he slept with some backwoods hick who was thousands of dollars the richer for going along with it.
He wiped the blood from maw, teeth that tasted the air so long they browned gnashed at what remain of flesh within his mouth. He found himself looking to the sewer grates and reflecting on an old book he once read. Maybe some unfortunate child would lose his boat in a storm and he could feast. Moloch found that hard to believe in this city. No self-respecting parent left their child out past dark, that was when the crooks and the cons roamed the streets. Nasty pedophiles with their promises of candy and friendship for even the briefest caress of young flesh. Even Moloch despised those creatures. Something just wasn’t right about getting your rocks off to kids, but eating them was fine. Flesh was flesh in that respect.
The pangs struck again, his stomach rumbled with an inhuman hunger…or was it human? Was this lust to taste, to consume, human? Moloch found himself reminiscing on a time when he wasn’t this way. When his flesh wasn’t scarred, pockmarked, and disfigured. It had to have been over 200 years at this point, didn’t it? He was a Baron in England, he remembered that. His taste for flesh had been different then, more subdued. He didn’t want to consume it, just to destroy it. The screams brought him such pleasure, he recalled bathing in their blood and on the occasion penetrating the wounds he had created. Blood was a far better lubricant than spit or a woman’s natural wetness. He recalled their screams, the pleading of the peasant girls to be released, that their fathers would pay him handsomely for his return. It was ironic to him that these very same fathers were the ones he paid for their flesh.
The kingdom knew of his unique tastes, yet a blind eye was turned to the sadist’s murders and torture. No one wanted to get on the bad side of a Baron who had once publically fornicated with a traitor’s skull. Still living, of course, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to finish. Oh, yes, he was a despicable man, but he was a Baron. The lands were his to do with as he pleased. So, the tortures continued and the man who would become Moloch continued to lust after unmarred flesh for decades. Then she came. It was during a banquet that he had first seen her, skin pale as snow with hair the color of an early morning sun. She was a serving girl, but she carried herself like royalty. Oh he had to break her, he had to hear her cries and relish in her torture.
The pangs nearly drove him into the muck of the sewer, tearing him from his memories. He had to eat, there was no choice for him in the matter, eat or be driven mad by the hunger, become nothing but a slave to his desire to kill and consume. There was an exit nearby, it led to one of the back alleys where the homeless liked to congregate. Vagrant flesh was so disgusting, it was like eating month-old meat. He hated it, but the hunger would be sated and he could focus again.
It was cold outside, and rainy. He hated the rain, every time he came out into it he could feel the water working into open sores, threatening some bacterial infection he’d never get. Nonetheless, the feeling of water was one he despised. He’d pull the long black coat he wore tighter around himself, keeping the collar raised. It was a trick he’d learned in the early days of his affliction, keep your abhorrent appearance hidden to prying eyes and keep yourself from being chased by mobs with torches and pitchforks. They knew him, though. The disfigured demon in the tattered trench coat that pulled itself from the sewers to feed. They knew him well. To some he was a sort of patron saint of the destitute, to others he was their curse. He was walking damnation waiting to devour them all. It didn’t matter, those who saw him as some kind of god were able to keep him fed, no matter how much he detested their taste. It sated the hunger, that was the important part.
When their eyes fell upon him, the devoted fell to their knees, begging to be taken below, to be devoured. They knew what fate awaited them, and it baffled Moloch. Their devotion made no sense, it wasn’t abject fealty with a little fear stirred in for good measure, it was blind faith. They saw him as some kind of messiah, and it was disgusting. It had its purpose, though. Those who served so faithfully never reported their lost to the police, and those who feared him followed suit as they rightfully feared his ire. Ultimately he was free from repercussions in these alleys, if only because no one cared for the loss of the homeless. It was good, though, it kept prying eyes away and their guns even further. The last thing he wanted was another murder investigation, the last one got ugly. He could still remember the taste of the police detective as the hunger overcame him, and the vision of the barrel leveled at his forehead was just as vivid.
He had died that night, when the detective’s partner lodged a bullet in his brain, but the curse wouldn’t let him rest. He woke even more hungry, and more died because of it. That was when he found them. These vagrants that dwelled within the alleyways, their skin stained with the filth of their travels. The first time he took one, kicking and screaming into the depths, the others watched in horror. He remembered hearing talk of police, and then silent hushing and murmurs of fear. It was then he became a bogeyman and a god all at once.
His one good eye fell on a woman, huddled in the corner and praying to a god that would never listen. His hands emerged from his pockets and he seized her, the woman’s eyes grew wide with fear as she saw his monstrous, decayed hand. He had long ago gnawed the skin and muscle from the tips of his fingers, leaving nothing but sharpened bone, it was sheer agony to drive those yellowed claws into meat, but it was a reminder of his need to consume. His fetid talons sank into her flesh and she was screaming. She screamed the entire time he dragged her, but no one paid her any heed. They knew better than to stand between the beast and its kill. This callous indifference amongst the homeless made them such perfect prey for him. He never had to worry about those all too curious policemen back here, even they stayed away from the darkness of the alleyways in this city. True horror lurked between the buildings, and everyone knew it.
Comically, that horror wasn’t Moloch, it was something else. Moloch had never encountered it himself, but he had heard the whispers of being far too terrifying to mention. In some way it incensed him, yet it kept prying eyes away from the darkness and left him to hunt without interruption. The sewer lid couldn’t have been lifted by a normal person, not of regular strength. It was one of those heavy duty lids, not meant to be opened aside from the occasional maintenance work, and he lifted it with a single hand. Soon her screams disappeared from the surface of the world entirely.
The sewers were dark, they smelt awful, and they were moist. He hated everything about them, but it was the best way for him to get around the city. The last thing he needed was to be seen roaming the streets and find himself behind bars or in yet another body bag. Fetid water sloshed about his shins as the woman kicked and screamed, dragged through the muck like a piece of luggage. He didn’t care about the state of her skin, it was the inner workings of her flesh that he craved. His journey would take him deep, beyond the natural sewer line into the forgotten tunnels below that the new system above had replaced. Finally, through the muck and filth, he came to the junction room. It was his haven of sorts, the home he had carved for himself in the darkness away from the prying eyes of those above. These rooms were outdated and often unkempt, most of the sewage system here was useless, just old pipes and defunct pumping systems left to die by the advancement of technology.
He dropped her unceremoniously within the larger room and went to work sparking the old switches. Light filled the massive junction, a flicker at first before solidifying. Much to Moloch’s delight the room was still on the grid, which made it far easier for him to live. The woman was crying, begging him to let her go, to just let her go free. She wouldn’t run, though, not in these tunnels. If she did she’d just find herself lost in the darkness, and food for the rats. She knew this, too, he could see it in her eyes as the tungsten lights illuminated her face. He’d remove the cap and place it on a rotting table, revealing his alabaster skull. Slowly, he turned to face the woman so she could gaze fully upon his abhorrent features. She screamed, oh how her scream resonated within this concrete dungeon of his.
“You know me?” he asked plainly. The woman shook her head, terror in her eyes. “I am the beast that dwells in the darkness” the woman resumed her begging only to be stifled by his deformed hand. It would motion to the massive pile of gnawed bones that rest within the room with them. She shivered, opening her mouth again, but Moloch’s hand reminded her that the time to speak was over. “I’m going to eat you. Kill and consume you, but I’m going to do you a kindness.” he raised his clawed fingers to her eyes“I’m going to end you first, so that you won’t experience the pain.” normally he’d relish in their fear, he’d embrace his hunger as he consumed them while they still lived, but her simpering was growing tiresome. Before she could protest, his talons raked at her throat, tearing flesh and spilling blood into the muck.
The sight of it drove him into a frenzy, the hunger could not be contained any longer. Clawed fingers drove in supple flesh, tearing free organs and shoveling them into an eagerly waiting maw. It was always the heart first, like biting into a juicy peach. That was it reminded him of, anyway. It brought that old nostalgia back into him like a fire, and as his gullet was filled with raw satisfaction, his mind began to clear and the memories began to drift back into his head.
***
She was beautiful to him, and oh so perfect. It was sickening. She was taken to his private dungeon by the guards only an hour before, and now she hung before him, naked and shivering as he appraised her form. Gloved hands ran along the curve of spine and rested upon buttocks as cold, unfeeling eyes bored into the pleading girl’s soul. He released her and traveled to a dingy old table, stained brown from the years of anguish the old tools resting upon it inflicted. A rusted blade, one that curved near the tip, was his choice. He could see the fear light up in her beautiful eyes as the blade entered view. It would hurt, and she would scream, the excitement was palpable. He was an artist at this point, there was no clumsy fumbling as body flailed and tried to escape blade. His first cut elicited a shocked gasp before the sweet hymn of her screams began to play. Each move was precise as he flayed his subject, expertly peeling flesh in such a way that she was kept conscious for a long time. When her world finally darkened, he had peeled most of the flesh from her back and thighs. He stepped back, admiring the sweat sheened body of his once pristine captive. Her snowy skin was marred with streaks of red, her once golden blonde hair was matted and sopping from her exertion, and he was revelling in her agony. The flaying blade clattered to the floor as he stepped back, now was his time to rest, as it was hers. Shock, as he had learned, could kill your subject before you had enjoyed them completely. Her breathing was ragged, but she was breathing, so he had her right where he needed to have her. “Rest for now.” he murmured as he moved to recline in a wooden chair. “You’ll need as much strength as you can muster for the coming days.”
Her eyes, swollen as they were, plead with him for release. “Please, please just kill me, stop this. I don’t deserve this, I’ve done nothing to deserve this.”
Something inside of him snapped. She didn’t deserve this? He flew forward, the back of his hand contacting her face in a resounding smack. The girl gasped, but that was all she could muster. “Don’t deserve this!? I’ve graced you with a blessing, girl! Your beauty is a curse, one you must be freed from!” he cupped her face in his hand, his icy gaze alight with a flame unseen before. “You must understand, I am doing you a kindness.”
Tearstained, battered face looked to him, not with hatred or fear, but with pity. “There is no kindness to be found in you, you’re a monster and you’ll always be one…”
The rage reached its apex, he seized one of the large knives on the table and drove it to the hilt into the girl’s skull, his rage snapping the hilt free and leaving the weapon deeply embedded within. The look of pity hadn’t faded, she stare sorrowfully at him through dead eyes. He hated her, he hated everything about her pretty and broken face. What he hated most of all was her permanent pity, so he cut her eyes free and peeled away the entirety of her skin. What was left he fed to the dogs. Let her pity follow him through their barks and bites.
It did. It never faded, even after he had the dogs killed and skinned, it remained. Her face haunted his dreams and her pity haunted his waking moments. Where he was once seen as a ruthless and cruel man, he became known as outright mad. His servants, all of them, were publicly executed. His wife was burned at the stake as he shot her with a crossbow, and his children...his children were all poisoned. He was left alone in his palace and after a time the villagers fled. He was left lord of a dead, rotting land, much like the creature he had become.
Visitors to the palace weren’t welcome, but one man would not be turned away. He claimed to know the Baron’s woes and how he could cure them. Naturally, he was allowed to live. Remedy after remedy was used in an attempt to lift whatever curse had befallen the Baron, but nothing seemed to work, and he was losing his patience.
Four months after the man had arrived, the Baron met him in his chambers. No longer were there guards to carry out his orders, nor was there an executioner to take the man’s life. It was only him, so when the old man opened the door he was not greeted with a contingent of soldiers, just a haggard former ruler with a dagger in his hand.
“M-my lord! What are you…?” the old man’s eyes drifted to the dagger and he frowned. “I thought we were making progress.”
The Baron seized him by the collar, dagger level against his throat. “You said you could cure me…”
“Is this how you killed her? Before you flayed her and fed her to your dogs?”
He let the old man go and stepped back, obviously startled. “How did you know about that? I told no one!”
The strange alchemist shrugged, turning and heading deeper into his room. “It’s amazing the things that one can learn when you get a man drunk and apply just a little bit of this.” he held up a vial full of some sort of clear liquid. “I call it ‘truth serum’ it seems to motivate honest answers from those who imbibe it. Then it was simply a matter of which questions to ask.” he turned to face the Baron fully. “I asked you what happened to the beautiful serving girl, what you did to her. You told me everything. Her torture, her murder, and her haunting pity. She said you were a monster and she was right. You murdered my daughter, because your lust for flesh was insatiable.”
The Baron growled, lunging to the old man and driving the dagger into his chest. “I will feast on what remains of you, I will rip your skin from your flesh and tan it into a vest. You will never know rest for what you’ve done to me.”
He seemed to expect this, there was a gasp as the blade entered him, and then there was his gaze. The same pity in those eyes that The Baron saw in her, but there was something else as well. There was a hatred, pure and genuine. “No…” he murmured, nicking his hand on the blade that jutted from his chest and wiping the blood on the Baron’s face. “I will know peace, but you will never know the grave...may your lust for flesh never be sated, demon...may you never know a true death, and may the taste of anything but flesh never whet your appetite.” he slumped forward slightly, his body resting on against the Baron “May your hunger drive you mad…” he died with those words.
Moloch didn’t know what they meant at the time, but he soon learned as his newfound hunger drove him from his castle and into a nearby village. No one had known he inhabited the ruins, time had long since passed and those who remembered what happened there never spoke of it. He had become a myth of sorts, the brutal overlord who ended the lives of his subjects to quiet his own madness, and he became a myth again, hunting men and women who wandered too far from their village and consuming them. The people would find the bodies, or at least the bones. After a time, they’d had enough, and they tracked him to his ruined castle. They found him there, eating a woman who had journeyed out to the river for water. He was seized and hauled to the village center. They tied him to her pyre and burned him with her. That was the first time he tasted death, and the first time he learned the breadth of his curse.
His body was tossed into an unmarked shallow grave, and the people forgot about him. He woke the same evening he was executed, his body only sore and tender from the flames that had so recently taken his life. The hunger was beating itself against his consciousness, he was driven to voracity. This was the first time he had succumbed to his lust, the first time the beast hidden within the curse had driven him to consume.
The village had breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that the monster who had been stalking their people was no longer a threat. There was an ease in the air that night as they feasted and partied, and the beast inside Moloch hated them. Their jubilation was the result of his death, of his charred corpse that should have been resting in some unmarked grave, left to rot like some common filth.
His roar shook the tables as he darted into their celebration. He didn’t have his claws yet, but the hunger made him strong. The men who tried to stop him found themselves missing arms or broken against their own homes. The women screamed, but his new strength silenced them, too. As the children slept their parents were slaughtered, torn apart by the beast that lusted for flesh. They were not spared either, when the adults were a bloody mess in the village center, Moloch turned his attention to the homes.
By dawn the entire village was dead, and Moloch had his own feast.

***
Officer Louis Radick sighed as he slowly pulled up to the alleyway, he checked himself in the mirror, gave his teeth a quick look over and opened the door. He hated bums, and he hated this damn alley. “Vagrants Gap” the police dubbed it. It was close to a shelter, so the bum population tended to swarm it, hoping for a chance at a bed and a hot meal. He didn’t blame them for that so much as he just hated to look at them, and he really hated their smell. He was stuck here, though. Looking for some run away girl who had likely drifted through the Gap while she was hiding out. What Radick didn’t get was why he was looking for this woman in the first place. From what he had heard she was 19, and to him that meant she was big girl and could take care of her damn self. He was here, though, which meant she probably came from money.
Adjusting his hat and straightening himself he pressed into the gap, and he nearly fell right over. The stench in this cesspool was overwhelming. Booze, stale piss, body odor, and something else he really didn’t want to try and figure out. He reached into his uniform pocket and approached the first guy, he was an older gentleman wearing a dirty brown jacket and what Radick thought was a red plaid shirt, but it was hard to tell with these bums what color their clothes were before all the dirt and grime. He showed the man the picture and he seemed to reel away, like he saw something terrifying.
“The fuck is your problem hobo? You seen this broad or not?” Radick hissed, shoving the picture toward the man again.
“One with the guardian, one with the guardian!” was the old hobo managed before he covered his eyes and began to rock, humming to himself.
Radick was, for lack of a better word, confused. He stepped away from the man slowly, glancing about the gap, there were looks from the locals, but none of them lingered as his gaze wandered. The officer scratched the back of his head and pressed onward, approaching a woman who looked to be in her late 20’s. She was an addict of some kind, he could tell that much just by looking at the bony thing. He held out the picture and pointed to the girl.
“You seen this girl?”
The girl never looked up at him, she kept her eyes down and her hands in her frizzy blonde hair. “Ain’t seen her, no sir.”
“You haven’t even looked at the picture, come on, if you’ve seen her I’m sure her parents would offer some kind of cash reward for her discovery.”
She looked up at him, big green eyes smudged with dark makeup suddenly quite interested. She’d be pretty if she weren’t so filthy, Radick mused. The girl took the picture and frowned, her lower lip trembled as she shakily pointed toward the back of the alley. “He took her…” she almost whispered. “Down below.”
Radick blinked, slowly pulling the picture back and following her finger with his gaze. He moved slowly toward the back of the alley, hand on his weapon as his eyes darted from vagrant to vagrant. When he got to the back of the alley he saw nothing. “Took her down below.” he muttered, eyes shooting to the ground. There it was, a sewer lid. Whoever grabbed this kid hauled her off into the sewers? Great. They were a goddamn maze even with a map, not to mention the old system beneath the new one. He leaned into his radio “Hey uh, dispatch? I got a lead on the girl, some of the bums say she was taken by a man into the sewers.” he waited, a good five minutes he wagered, “Dispatch?” the only thing he was getting was static. If she was down there she was getting harder to reach by the second.
He was a lot of things, but Louis Radick was not a moron. There was no way in hell he was going down there without a map or backup. The officer turned making a beeline for his squad car. Upon reaching the car he immediately radioed in “Dispatch, this is Radick, come in.” he waited. He hadn’t gotten a response in the Gap, maybe something was interfering? “Dispatch, come in.” he started again.
“This is dispatch, what do you got, Radick?” he breathed a sigh of relief, looking back toward the Gap where things had gone back to their usual.
“I got a lead on the girl. Bums in the Gap say she was taken by a man into the sewers.” There was silence on the line for several minutes, and it was making the officer nervous. “Dispatch?”
“We’ll get a party together and start searching the sewers.”