The Flesh Eaters by L. A. Morse

from his head. He fumbles at his waistband, pushes his tights down to his knees, and throws himself upon her. His face grows red with exertion as he pounds vigorously away; his eyeballs glisten moistly, and he grunts with each thrust.
    Suddenly a curious look comes over Andrews’s face. His pelvis stops thrusting; his eyes seem puzzled. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words are blocked by a great spout of blood. He does not understand why his life blood is spilling onto Meg’s white shoulder and soaking his cloak, but his bewilderment does not last long for he is soon dead.
    Sawney Beane stands over him, his knife buried in Andrews’s back. With a grunt, Meg pushes the inert body off of her and kneels over it. Sawney Beane and Meg look at each other. They smile—and then, triumphantly, they begin to laugh.
    “Easy!... I told you it would be easy,” he says.
    “His face! You should have seen his face when the knife went in. So surprised! He didn’t know what it was! And then he saw his blood running out of his mouth! It was good.” Meg hugs herself in an ecstasy of pleasure, pressing her breasts together. “It was so good! Even better than before.”
    Sawney Beane becomes serious. “He would have taken you back. You do not regret your decision?”
    “Never! Never! Never!” Looking down at the body, she spits. “ You were going to help me? Fat pig!” She half lifts the body, pulls out the knife, and licks the blood off the blade. You will help me?” She raises the knife, then plunges it into the body again and again, each thrust accompanied by a scream of “Help me! Help me! Help me!” The two words are like a curse.
    Meg stops at last and looks up at Sawney Beane, a wild expression in her eyes. Hungrily, she licks her lips. He takes the knife from her and, with surprising skill, cuts into Andrews’s chest. He pulls aside the pectoral muscles and hacks at the ribs until they break. He reaches into the chest cavity and grasps the heart. Quickly, he severs the veins and arteries and removes the organ. For a moment he looks intently at the dark, glistening muscle; then he raises it high above him and tilts back his head.
    “I am the gray wolf of the forest! Fear me! I feed upon your heart!” he shouts.
    He lowers the heart and tears at it with his teeth. Greedily, Meg joins him. They eat furiously, ripping the tough muscle, grunting and growling like starving animals. As they eat, their eyes meet, their red-coated mouths smile, and once again they are convulsed with triumphant laughter.
     
    Sawney Beane and Meg lie on the ground in the clearing, overcome by the torpor that follows a large meal. Meg is dressed now. She feels content. She has finally managed to convince Sawney Beane that her wish to go back to town was temporary, due only to hunger and fatigue. And surely she has proven herself by trapping Andrews. Sawney Beane seems to trust her now, but... She wonders if he might have killed her. She will be very careful in the future.
    Slabs of Andrews’s flesh have been removed from the chest and legs, and Sawney Beane devours a last morsel of meat. “This may be the first time I have ever eaten my fill,” he says.
    “But not the last.”
    “No, not the last. Do you like it?”
    Meg nods. “I like having my belly full, but I like the killing more. The meat is meat, but when the knife goes in... I feel... I don’t know, I can’t explain it.” She caresses her lower body. “I feel strange inside... strange, but very good.” She cuddles up to him. “I want to do it again. Can we get somebody else? Can we do it soon?”
    “Soon enough. First we must find somewhere we can live. Where we can be safe and not be found. I will know the place when I find it.”
    “And we do nothing until then?” Her voice begins to whine.
    “Not until then.”
    Sawney Beane sees that Meg is pouting. He speaks slowly, but with great force. “Listen carefully. We hunt when I say we hunt. We eat when I say