Estimated reading time — 9 minutes

“I’m so thirsty”

The words echoed around in my head.

I stood staring at the water tumbling from the tap. I’d been standing for what felt like hours, just watching it, going over and over the events of a few nights ago. I’d only seen that homeless man twice, but each time was vividly ingrained in my memory. Both times had been unnerving, but the second time… that was downright unhinged.

The first time had been just before work. I’d been walking the last part of my usual route, earphones in, walking on autopilot. In the brief silence as the song skipped to the next one, a clattering caught my ears. Startled, I turned to find its source.

In an alleyway behind a KFC, something rustled in the bins. It was the briefest of things, I could just about hear it over the song that had now started up. At first, I assumed it was an alley cat diving for its dinner. But then he stood, a black bag clutched in his fist. He didn’t seem to notice me watching him, he seemed far too enamoured with his prize.

Giddily, he raised it high above his head. Yellowing, foul liquid spewed from a split in its base, splashing into his eager, excited mouth below. Small chunks of rotting god knows what dribbled down with it, catching in his beard, but he didn’t seem to care. His expression was almost gleeful.

I reflexively shuddered at the memory, blinking frantically to try and wash away the nausea it brought with it. The sound of the water dragged me back to my kitchen. The crystalline twinkling as the strip light above me filtered through it entranced me. Subconsciously, I slipped my hand into the torrent, letting the cool droplets wash over my fingertips.

For a second, I thought about cupping my hand, bringing it to my mouth. A queasy squirming in my stomach stopped that thought in its tracks as I remembered the second time.

It had been worse, way worse.

I was nearly home, sat on the bus for the last part of my journey. Again, I had my earphones in, lost in my own little world. I know it’s not the best thing to do on public transport, but I needed some kind of distraction.

I was jolted out of it when we came to a sudden stop as the driver slammed on the brakes. Taking my earphones out, several other passengers looked around, concerned looks on their faces, all drawn towards that front window. What I saw sent a cool chill trickling down my spine.

He was there again. In the middle of the road.

That same homeless man, the stains of bin water still fresh on his already filthy clothes. He charged around the road, movements wild and erratic. Lurching left and right, he’d stagger one way, then the other, turning on a dime.

He was hunched over, hands outstretched to the floor. I caught the briefest glimpse of grey and pink inches from his fingers before it was snatched up. In a flurry, his hands wrapped around the thing, squeezing it tightly as he jerked it towards his face.

A trickle of crimson dribbled from the corner of his mouth, an earsplitting screech accompanying it as he bit down hard, the rat scrambling frantically between his fingers. He pulled his head back, revealing the rat again.

A large portion of its back was just… just gone.

The homeless man didn’t seem to care. To a chorus of screams from my fellow passengers, he pressed his lips to the exposed flesh again and sucked hard. All anyone could do was watch on, horrified, as the man seemed to drain every ounce of fluid from the rat, siphoning everything it had.

I’m pretty sure someone behind me threw up, but I was paralysed, my eyes locked on the disgusting scene before me. A flash of anger darted across his face as he hurled the rat to the other side of the street, throwing his head back and letting out a yell.

“I’m so thirsty”

No one dared move, the bus was deathly silent.

As though realisation had suddenly dawned on him, the man scanned from side to side frantically, like he wasn’t really sure of where he was, before darting down a side alley.

An uneasy feeling spread through the bus after that as the driver pulled away. No one dared utter a word. I think we were all traumatised by what we’d just seen.

When I finally got back home, I couldn’t relax, the gleeful expression of the homeless man replaying over and over in my head. I couldn’t bring myself to cook, every time I thought about food, all I could see was the gaping back of the rat.

Sleep didn’t come easily either. I spent most of the night tossing and turning, trying to put the memories out of my mind. When I did finally manage to drop off, I had the strangest dream.

I was wandering in what I can only describe as an empty bog. It was dark, illuminated only by the crimson moon overhead. Through its reflection, I could see the translucent waters beneath me, blood red and still.
With each step I took, the thin layer of water rippled outwards, going on unnaturally far, the undulations licking at my shoes.

There were trees spaced here and there, their long roots sucking up as much of the water as they could. Their trunks seemed to stretch on, climbing up and up until they were lost from sight.

I couldn’t make out what sat at their peak, but I couldn’t help the feeling of being watched. Something about them made my skin crawl, and I couldn’t escape the unease that washed over me whenever I dared to glance in their direction.

A series of soft chittering clicks would shatter the stillness. Seeming to emerge from the trees, it was as though they were crying out.

They shuddered, the vibration passing like a ripple all the way up their trunks as the sides seemed to split and more red water cascaded out. At the very edge of my hearing, I could have sworn that a low, angry grumble emanated from somewhere unfathomably high above me.

The more I looked at them, the more that clawing dread grew, screaming at me to tear my eyes away. Giving in to it, I averted my gaze, looking down to the glassy liquid at my feet.

As I stared into it, I caught the briefest glimpse of movement. Straining my eyes to focus, it came again. I could make out small creatures writhing within it. They danced and turned, intertwining, then separating in intricate patterns as they swam.

I was mesmerised, watching their whirling and spinning reflected by the moonlight. The dread that had gripped me seemed to slip away, an odd sense of serenity slowly taking its place as I watched the beautiful ballet playing out in the water before me.

Something about these creatures seemed to call to me. Made me feel… safe?

I found myself crouching down, my mouth wet with saliva. I’d not even noticed, a small droplet falling from my lips the only indication. It rippled as it fell, the wavelets stretching on as the dancing creatures suddenly stopped their performance.

As one, they darted to it, congregating together in a small ring around where it fell, what I assume was their heads looking up at me. It was so strange to see them so still. They all floated there, their thin, sinuous bodies watching me, beckoning me.

Unthinking, I dipped my hand into the water. It was cool, pooling in my cupped hand as I scooped them up. Bringing it to my lips, I drank deep, feeling each of the creatures wriggling and writhing gratefully in my open mouth as I smiled.

I snapped awake.

My sheets were cold and damp, doing their best to cling to me. There was an odd, metallic taste on my tongue, like I’d sucked on an old coin, but it seemed to clear with a few swallows, and I thought nothing more of it. I tried to push the dream and those hideous memories to the back of my mind and just get on with my life.

It’s been two days since then. Two, god-awful days.

I barely noticed it at first. It was there when I woke from the dream. Just a dry tickle at the back of my throat, like when you’ve slept with your mouth open.

I’d take a sip of water, and it would go, but within minutes, it would be back again. A part of me felt like it was stronger each time it came back, even if only slightly so. I just put it down to being the beginnings of a cold and tried my best to ignore it, assuming it would get better in a couple of days.

But it just seemed to get worse.

In little over 24 hours, it had gone from an annoying tickle to a persistent, nagging pain. My tongue was tearing at the insides of my mouth with each movement. Speaking felt like an agony. My lips felt as though they were about to crack. Every time I swallowed, it felt like razors running down my throat.

But no matter what I did, nothing helped.

The obvious thing seemed to be to drink more water. But I’d already tried that.

Back in the kitchen, the tap still ran. The words of the homeless man echoed around in my head as I stared at the rush of water billowing from it. Grappling with the memories of those encounters, I watched my water bottle filling slowly, my impatience growing as each second seemed to stretch on and on.

I could barely wait until it was full before snatching it back and bringing it to my lips. The water sloshed out and into my gaping mouth. I felt it coat my dry tongue and slip down my arid throat.

Ravenously, I drank, emptying the bottle of its contents in seconds. The last of the icy liquid trickled from the neck, but there was no momentary relief this time.

My mouth still felt just as dry.

Turning the tap back on, I thought maybe I’d not drunk enough, maybe I needed more. Water bottle outstretched, I watched the crystalline liquid tumbling in a sharp jet. As it tumbled, an odd feeling overtook me.

My mouth was so dry, so painfully devoid of moisture, but the one thing that should remedy that repulsed me. It was the same tap, it made the same sound and produced the same stream as it always had. It had been purified and was sanitary, but it may as well have been sewage run off for all I wanted to drink it.

But I was still so thirsty.

I still needed to drink.

Forcing it to my lips, the taste was almost rancid. The dryness burned my throat in a new flare of pain. I spat it out as though it were acid, for all it seemed to sting, half expecting it to burn a hole in the floor next to me.

I tried everything.

Juice. Nothing.

Coffee. I gagged.

Milk, beer, and vinegar. More pain.

Everything tasted wrong. They all had that rotten, sulphurous edge. The only thing that didn’t make me gag was… meat juice.

I’d come to make my dinner, opening up a packet of mince. Taking out the slab of meat, I dropped it in the pan, the soft sizzle fading to nothing as I stared at the empty container in my hand.

It was like my eyes had been drawn to it, the muddy red sludge sitting in the bottom, calling to me.
Without quite registering what I was doing, I brought it to my nose and sniffed. The tang of iron and copper filled my nostrils, and I coughed a little. Still, I couldn’t take my eyes away.
No matter how hard I tried, my thoughts kept returning to one thing. Quickly, I put the packaging to my lips and tipped it back.

Sweet, mineral taste filled my mouth, thick clumps of it rolling across my tongue as the cold, congealed liquid slipped down my throat.

Snapping back to my senses, the metallic taste was still fresh on my tongue. I made to retch, horrified by what I’d just done.

But I felt fine, better than fine even.

I could have sworn that, for those few seconds, my thirst had ebbed away a little. Not gone, but a slight reprieve at least. It was short-lived, however, as when it came back, it came back hard. It felt like I’d been chewing sandpaper.

I couldn’t take it anymore. My flat felt too dry, too small. I needed air.

Maybe if I walked, it would go away. The thirst. It was stupid, but I was getting to the point where I would try anything to be rid of it.

Grabbing my coat and my earphones, I stepped out, climbing down the staircase and onto the street. I was half-scrolling on my phone when I rounded the corner…

He was in the road again, his stomach pressed flat to the ground as he frantically clawed underneath a parked car. The terrified hissing and yowling coming from beneath the vehicle scratched at my eardrums. They got louder and more panicked with each swipe of his hand.

I watched, frozen, the memory of the rat playing around in my head as he tried to work himself under the car. All of my senses seemed to drift away. I thought I heard an engine growl, birds tweeting overhead, but they were all muffled. I just stared at him, transfixed.

Without warning, the cat darted from its hiding place. The homeless man scrambled frantically to his feet in pursuit, grunting like a rabid animal.

A blaring horn ripped through the air. Screeching brakes.

Then, a sickening crunch. A wet thump as his skull connected with the pavement.

He didn’t get back up.

The homeless man lay there, body crumpled and twitching, blood pooling from his head.
Everything seemed to fade away as I gawped at the scene. The sounds of a woman getting out of her car, the screams of other pedestrians, they were all a million miles away.

I should have been horrified, I should have rushed to him or dialled 999 or something. My phone was in my hand. All I had to do was press those three little numbers.

But all I could do was stand there, entranced…

As I watched the blood slowly pool, soft ripples forming on its surface as he twitched, I could have sworn that for a second, I saw something writhing underneath. Tiny, sinuous shapes dancing in the dark. Beckoning me…

I couldn’t help but salivate a little.

One thought pulsed in my mind. The words slipped out before I could stop them.

“I’m so thirsty”

Credit: Bradley Ashman

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