Chapter Eight

My stomach is turning and churning with greed

Has someone cursed me?

I'm yearning to eat

I need something fresher than bread or dead meat…

-'Hungry for Another One' by JT Music

Six was tired of running. As with her previous encounters, she no longer feared the creatures she ran from, but it was still necessary for her survival to move at a faster pace than those who chased her. The people at the bar, for example. Their sausage-like arms stretched toward her, oblivious to the bottles and plates in their way. She had to dodge splashing wine and rolling food as she hurtled their clutching fingers.

Then there was that one guest farther along who rolled off his stool and crawled toward her with startling speed, cramming himself under a gap in a banister that separated them. A gap that was far too small for his colossal bulk. Six, thinking quickly while he was wedged, jumped over his back and was rewarded with the sensation of sparsely covered bagging flesh squishing beneath her bare toes, lasting only a moment too long before she jumped off again, running in the direction the guest had come from and leaving him to back out of his self-inflicted prison alone.

Not long after that, Six had run into one of the twin chefs. Where the other had gone, she was not certain, but one was more than enough for her. After a round-about avoidance game, she had tip-toed back to the elevator, wincing at its rumbling sounds and keeping an ear perked in the chef's direction lest he should hear.

And now here she was, standing by herself in a relatively safe position – a T-section that led to another hallway. She was tired of hallways, tired of running, tired of being trapped in the dark, tired of the incessant urge to go forward, tired of hunger, tired of her feet hurting, and – most of all – tired of being tired.

But for now, it couldn't be helped. Six backed into the nearest corner, still keeping an eye on the elevator in case she would need to run again, and sat down with her knees pulled up to her chest. Her damp breath sighed warmly against her cold legs and she pulled them a little closer, resting her forehead on her knees.

I want to sleep, Six thought to herself, closing her eyes and letting the darkness settle. If you sleep inside a dream, do you dream again or is it the same dream? And what if you die in that dream? Will you die in both dreams or just that one?

Six moaned softly, allowing her head to dip even lower, straightening her legs and reaching inside her hood to cover her face. Her mind, sensing that she was overtired, was whirling with too many unwarranted thoughts, the filters that her brain kept in place when she was alert and watchful slipping, granting unsolicited thoughts to flood in.

If I chop off my own head, Six wondered blearily, would the thoughts stream out? Or have they made their nest in my head and they're staying here forever? I hope not. It's too crowded in here. A few thoughts at least will need to move out. Why can't they bother anyone else? I'm trying…

Trying…

Trying to…

…

In the timeless hole of the Maw, it was impossible to know how much time passed while Six sat slumped in a forgotten nook. Even she did not know whether she slept or merely passed in and out of a doze, the pitch and roll of the Maw reassuringly consistent. Even the guests seemed to have muffled their garbled noise while the tiny child rested.

Therefore, it was a startling nuisance when the scuffle of a Nome was heard nearby. Six's head jerked upright immediately, her wits coming back as she remembered where she was, collecting the wild thoughts that had plagued her as one might gather a handful of dried beans that had dropped to the floor and rolled, clattering on the floorboards. It took a moment to distinguish reality from fiction and Six gave her head a harsh shake as if trying to rattle everything therein back into place. She stood upright, trying to recall what had aroused her and where it had come from.

The skittering sound was heard again, through an otherwise silent rice paper curtain that was cracked just the tiniest bit. Six, swiping sleep from her eyes, ducked through. Many quiet, closed rooms awaited her, each one with another rice paper curtain concealing its possible occupants. Only one was open, and it was this one that she entered, and there she found a most curious sight.

The first thing she noticed was the surplus of Nomes in the single room, all standing in a semi-circle around the bed that stood against the leftmost wall. They gave a troubled wince as Six entered and fled, skittering into the various small exits they had no doubt entered from. Six made a grab at one, holding it tight, and it struggled for a moment before dangling limply in her arms. Holding it like a bedraggled kitten, Six turned her attention to the bed, trying to see what had intrigued the Nomes so much.

The largest guest Six had ever seen lay sprawled on the bed, his head propped with several pillows. As massive as he was, the bed seemed nearly unable to contain him. His hand drooped off the side of the bed, dangling into a bucket beside him. Six's eyes traveled up his girth – a very long trip indeed – and finally rested on his head, which was obscured by a dirty gray mask that grimaced in the darkness, the painted eyes bugging out with startling vulgarity. Six took a step back when she saw it, wrinkling her nose with displeasure.

At first, Six thought the movement she saw was a figment of her imagination. The guest's entire torso was moving up and down to his thick, wet breathing, that must have been all it was. But no. No, it couldn't possibly be imagination. The guest's face was turning down, slowly, slowly, to look at her. Six took another step back as those painted eyes rested on her.

Perhaps he is still asleep, she thought, clutching the Nome so tightly it made a muffled protest. Perhaps he is only turning a little in his dream.

But then she saw the glint of real eyes behind the fake ones and put down the Nome, preparing herself to run.

"You do not need to fear me."

The guest's voice was soft but thick as if he was speaking around a dishrag that was stuffed into his cheeks. His words were muffled by the mask, but his eyes peered at her brightly. "You are the one the Nomes have been so excited about," he remarked. He gave a rubbery laugh that rippled down his entire body, letting his head droop to the side. "It would be on this day – my last day – that you would come. Listen, child. Listen to a dying man's confession. I must… I must speak before my time is up."

Six, although still apprehensive, found herself intrigued. Besides the cook's muddled attempt at luring her down from the kitchen rafters, nobody had tried to talk to her before, and certainly not in so cryptic a fashion as this guest here.

"I am old, now," the guest murmured as if to himself, "although I wasn't so much when the Lady brought me here. I was a designer for this place. The Maw came to life under my hands. I was the first guest. I saw… so many things. So many… terrible and wonderous things."

He gave a lurch in the middle of his sentence, his midsection fluctuating and rippling with his movement. Six watched him, awed by the way his massive cheeks bulged out from behind the mask, his double-chins wobbling as he spoke.

"The Lady had… has… she has such terrible powers. But not great enough. Not great enough, it seems." The First Guest gave another heavy laugh. It looked painful. "She once was beautiful – fair as the day and as shining as the moon at night. Geisha. Masterful lady. But then… she began to grow old. And she grew jealous of those who had her beauty. She…" Another deep breath, but it seemed as if he had a leaden weight on his chest. "She had me build this place for her people. Surround herself with ugliness so that she would shine like the brightest star. That was her plan. 'I shall feed them', she once said to me. 'They shall be my people and none shall oppose me.'"

Six found herself drawn into the magical mystery of the First Guest's woven tale and found herself relaxing just the tiniest bit, although she dared not take a single step closer to the First Guest's dangling hand.

"I did what she said. How could I not?" the First Guest continued. His arms seemed too leaden to lift, otherwise he might have drawn them woefully to his face. As it was, the hand resting on his bosom clenched a little before lethargically opening again. "Such sins… such sins I have committed. I dare not tell them to one as young as you. I sent your kind to the slaughter. Those with pretty faces were condemned. Children were harvested like animals, used for meat for the Lady's guests to feast upon, forced to provide their very souls for her delight. The Janitor was held over them like a caretaker, even though he prepared them for slaughter. The Lady orchestrated it all, giving him some of her own powers to hold them at bay. If I had dared to speak against her, would any have been spared? Or would I have joined the masses of the slaughtered? Would I have been one of the consumed? Ah, no. It is useless to wonder such things. Not now." He gave another lurch and a gurgle stuck in his throat.

"She called it an honor," the First Guest said when he had somewhat recovered and drawn several more compressed breaths. "When she took me from my station and made me her guest, she called it the highest of honors. But what she meant was that she knew… I had seen too much. This new honor of mine was my prison. I became like the others," and here he turned his face away with as quick and disgusted a movement as he could muster. "The others who slobbered like pigs at a trough, consumed only with the thought of shoveling as much as possible into their bellies, trying to sate the Hunger. She pressed it upon us," he whispered, glaring at the wall. "Her power, her magic… she forced the Hunger into us all. All of her chosen. I have eaten the meat of children and craved for more. I have drunk enough wine to fill the ocean and still thirsted. I told myself that I was not like the other guests because I knew what they did not… but is that a good thing? Am I more righteous than they because I know what I know… or am I worse?"

This last thought trailed off into a hiss and a choke wracked his body. The Nome standing beside Six tugged at her hand, but she drew it away, now utterly enthralled with this story.

"But… that is the way of the world," said the First Guest as if forgetting he had an audience. "The powerful succeed. The Lady was more powerful than I. I succumbed. I was more powerful than the ones I ate. They were devoured. And you…" The First Guest's eyes gleamed suddenly as they lit on Six again. "You are the one who will devour her."

"Me?" The single questioning word fell from Six's lips before she knew it, but somehow that one word empowered her instead of frightening her. She took a step forward, looking up defiantly into the First Guest's masked face.

"You are Sixth, aren't you?" asked the guest, and Six felt a needle pierce her heart. "She is Fifth. She took the powers of the one before her, leaving the Fourth wasted and bereft. The Lady insisted that I make her a lair deep in the lowest part of the Maw, and so I did. So she dwells – or dwelt, rather – this monster who once might have been so beautiful a lady as the Fifth became with her acquired powers. But even the darkest of whispers could not tell me who the First was, or how the Second acquired their powers. All I know is that it passes from the chosen one to the chosen one, from adult to child, adult to child. Why else do you think she gleans children to be consumed? She fears you, little Sixth. But she cannot stop you, no matter how hard she has tried." This time his laugh turned into a cough, which racked his body.

Six thought hard while the guest recovered his breath. It was true. It must be true. How else would he know her name? What else would this powerful urge mean if not the call of fate to uphold her destiny? Those powers were meant for her, for good or ill. She could cleanse this disgusting place, escape, live in the surface like she planned. Six felt a terrible excitement steal over her and her heart began to pound.

As she stood draped in heavy thought, the Nome crept away from her side to stand in front of the First Guest, touching his drooping hand. The guest coughed out a wet guffaw. "Reckless move, small one," he murmured. "Had I been under the Lady's spell I would have swallowed you in a heartbeat. But my time is nearly… over… now." He gasped for a fresh breath. "…And her magic has little hold on me."

His finger flicked out suddenly, sending the Nome to the ground. It scrambled up and ran out the door. The First Guest tracked its progress with his eyes, a huff of breath puffing through the mouth of the mask. "Perhaps that will teach you a lesson to beware," he whispered. "From me you might have gained a bruise, but from them you will most certainly lose your life. One last act of good before I go."

He huffed again, and the gurgle in his throat caught suddenly. He twitched, the hand on his chest climbing slowly up to the flab of his throat, the skin puffing out around his mask slowly turning a dark blueberry shade. Six backed up, her back hitting the wall. She watched, entranced, as the panicked twitch of the man's drooping hand stilled and he relaxed, his head dipping forward and the mask staring blankly at her, the eyes behind it lifeless.

Six stared at the man as if waiting for him to take another breath, but none came. Death is just like sleep, but without breath, she thought. You can trust anyone when you're dead, because there's nothing they can do to you. It must be peaceful to be dead.

Nodding a little to herself, Six tiptoed out of the room, leaving the First Guest to his peace, alone.

Out of the room and down the next corridor she crept, still musing to herself about the words of the First Guest. Something niggled in the back of her mind – an unborn disturbance – and she tried to put her finger on the problem. Why was the First Guest so concerned about confessing before he died? Death came to everyone, ignoring good or evil people. Could people even be labeled 'good' or 'evil'? Well, probably. If you were very, very good, or very, very bad one could probably tell just by looking at you if you were one way or the other. But for someone in that mystical gray range like him, someone who wished he could do better but couldn't, did it really matter whether he told anybody in the end? When the only law of the Maw was survival, how did he know right from wrong, and why would he care enough to talk to her about it?

It probably just made him feel better, Six concluded, but it still made her uneasy. Her progress slowed as she dipped her head in greater thought. He probably would have told all the Nomes before she had come and frightened them away.

Ah. And here was another issue. The Nome who had tried to hold the dying man's hand had been flicked away, but in the name of good. That wasn't nice! Six argued, giving a nearby table a little shove with her hand. How could he call it good if it wasn't nice?

Then the disconnect surfaced and Six suffered an epiphany. Who said that niceness was goodness? The Twin Chefs had tried to be nice to her, didn't they? When all they wanted to do was grab and eat her. They weren't being good. So, in that way, maybe you didn't have to be good to be nice, just as you didn't need to be nice to be good!

I wonder if there's a place where both things could happen at once, Six thought, continuing with a somewhat lighter step. I would like to have someone be nice and good at the same time. I doubt there's anyone down here that would do that.

Her mind switched again to the third issue the First Guest had brought up: he had called her by her name. Sixth, he had said, and just the thought made the little girl shiver. He said I will be the one who will devour her, she mused. Well, I have been getting hungrier, but I don't think I could ever be hungry enough to try and eat her. She's far too tall! What would I do, try and bite her leg? She'd kick me across the room!

The thought of herself sneaking across the room and throwing herself onto the lady's ankle, trying to chomp on it – not to mention the funny dance the Lady would make when found in such a situation – made Six giggle out loud. It was only a small laugh, but Six only realized when the noise around her faded that she had been surrounded with closed doors leading to chambers for guests to feast in and that even though the din of their eating was massive, the laugh of a child could scarcely be mistaken. Realizing she had just made the sound of their most desired delicacy, Six froze in her steps, hoping that maybe they would all settle and believe that they had made a mistake. This hope was promptly squelched, for the first door opened and several guests crawled out, now so bloated by their frivolities that they could not even stand upright anymore. Their faces sagged around their masks, but their eyes behind them lit up as they focused on her.

Six began to run. As she did, she could hear more of the doors and screens rattling open, the calls and screams of the pursuing guests building into a roar of noise as they gained on her. The old fear of being caught which she had judged to be gone regained its fervor and she thought instead of being crushed to death beneath a tidal wave of bodies, squished and broken between clutching, grabbing hands. This fear, perhaps, was a good thing, for it spurred her to greater speeds, staying just far enough away from her pursuers.

Six dared not turn around, but she could hear the guests' maniacal screeches getting closer as they rolled over one another, scratching and yanking their fellow hunters in an unseemly effort to get closer.

The bar, Six thought desperately, seeing the long, sturdy countertop ahead. Perhaps I'll be safer up there!

But hope was again dashed as soon as she gained its surface, for the guests, giving a horrible wail, began to ram themselves against the nearest side. The sound of splintering wood filled the air along with the shrieks of the nearly victorious. Six's stomach plummeted and she began to run along the bar as guests piled onto it behind her, the horde gathering splinters in their hands, seemingly not minding any pain they might be going through just so long as they caught her.

Just a little farther, Six goaded herself on, seeing a lamp hanging in the darkness beyond at the end of the bar counter. Just a little more…

Now!

Six's bare feet left the countertop and she extended her arms, grabbing the lamp and swinging with it toward an adjacent guesthouse. She heard a trailing wail as one or two of the guests bashed through the protective fencing and fell down, down into the abyss below. Her swing ended, Six let go of the lamp and let herself roll to safety in the new house, landing awkwardly in a crouched position and falling onto her rear, hands propping her up in half-hearted support. Past the cover of the low-hanging roof she could see the shadows of the unhappy guests, moaning and weeping over the loss of their snack. If she hadn't been so out of breath, Six would have been tempted to get up and taunt them. It wouldn't have been nice of her, but – as she had decided a moment before – true niceness didn't exist here in the Maw, so why pretend?

The clustered guests began to disperse, whimpering, shuffling back to their feast. Six let herself rest for a few precious moments, lying down flat on the floor of the empty room, before rolling over and getting back to her feet.

This guest house, she noticed with relief, seemed to be empty. Perhaps guests were still coming and this house had not yet been filled, or perhaps this one was simply meant to stay unused. Either way, Six felt safer as she trotted out the door and down the corridor, still keeping an ear pricked for any sound of munching, all the same.

And then her ears began to ring.

A split second before the Hunger struck, twisting at her insides, Six could have sworn she heard the whisper of the Lady and saw her black butterfly sleeves lifting over the crowd, streaming with her dark enchantments. But then the pain became too great and she curled in, gritting her teeth and waiting for the ebb to fade.

I need to find food, Six thought to herself, clutching a hand to her stomach and scrambling forward. Oh, if only I were still in the other guest house! There was plenty of food there! Plenty of pies and meats and—

Her stomach made another growl, louder than before, and Six's knees hit the ground, her ears singing. She was absolutely ravenous, but all she could think of while the Hunger consumed her was of the last thing she had eaten. The rat. That squirming, juicy, scrumptious rat. Twitching in her mouth, squeaking as she pulled apart his flesh and fur to get to the meat inside.

Even when Six was able to stand and shuffle further again, the memory still haunted her. Her mouth watered and she drooled like a dog even as she shambled forward, hunched like a vulture. Anything, she thought. I'll take anything.

The corridor ended abruptly and she stumbled into the next room. Most of it was dim, due to the spots swimming before her eyes, but the one thing that wasn't darkened was the center of the room. There, on the ground, lay a single sausage. Above it stood a Nome, the sausage's guardian. Six could hear as if through a long tunnel the sound of many other Nomes along the edges of the room scurrying about, but all she could see of them was a muddy flicker from the corner of her vision. The sausage Nome, however, did not seem as timid as the other ones she had encountered. He had a newness to him, as if he had just been born, although he looked no younger than the others Six had seen. He somehow lacked the fear Nomes had instilled in them, for he stared at her unabashedly and even took a step forward as if he wished her to recognize him.

Six's innards gave another wrench, almost sending her to the ground. She clenched her teeth, feeling as if every muscle in her body was screaming with tension, and stared at the Nome as if trying to say: If you stand between me and my food, I can't be responsible for what happens next.

The Nome saw the baleful look and took a shaky step backwards. Through her haze, Six saw him turn, stoop, and pick up the sausage.

Don't you dare run away with that, Six threatened in her mind, her teeth still clamped tightly. Don't you dare.

But the Nome seemed to have no such intention. Instead, he held out the sausage to her, stretching out his short arms as far as they could go, cooing encouragingly. Outside the perimeter of her vision, Six could hear the other Nomes' noises kick up a notch as if warning him away, but he would not be moved.

The Hunger drove Six forward, pushing her towards the meat. But as she reached out the Hunger whispered in her ear how revolting the sausage looked now. How dead and unoriginal. It would be like eating dust. Her hands moved a little faster and she lunged, closing around the meat, pulling it to the ground, digging in with her teeth. She could hear the Nome's anxious cries somewhere in the distance, but she paid him no mind. She was too famished. Blind with Hunger, she tore in, ripped, guzzled the juice, and went back for more. Something inside told her what she was doing, but until the Hunger once again died down to nothingness, Six did not care. But then it did, and Six – on her knees – inched backward to survey what she had done.

The Nome lay on the ground, ripped open by her teeth, skin pulled apart by her hands. The innards that hadn't been devoured dribbled out of his cleft abdomen. He looked curiously flat, like this, with nothing inside him. The sausage the Nome had offered to her lay unscathed on the ground, far off to the side, unnoticed and unwanted.

Six could only stare at this gruesome sight, a disconnect in her mind. He was alive just a moment ago, she thought. He offered me that sausage. Now he's—

Six looked around as if scanning for witnesses, her eyes darting about like a rat's. The Nomes she had heard a moment ago warning the sausage-holding Nome to beware had all vanished. She couldn't see a single one.

Did they see me? Six wondered. Do they know?

Yes. Of course they had seen. Of course they knew. The Nomes saw everything in the Maw. She doubted she'd be seeing much more of them after this, though.

Something wet and rubbery rolled between her fingers. Six looked down and saw a shred of intestine, bathed in grayish blood, held tightly between her fingers. Six cast it away. Now that the Hunger was gone, she heaved, but her throat wouldn't let anything come up. It was as if it was stating that its prize, now won, would not be taken away so easily. Six dry-heaved for a minute or so, scrubbing her stained hands against the wooden floor and against each other, spitting on them to gather enough moisture to cleanse the blemishes.

It's not my fault, Six thought, gritting her teeth and crossing her arms to hide her defiled hands. It wasn't my fault. The Hunger made me do it. I wasn't strong enough to stop it. I was aiming for the sausage, really, I was!

But lying to herself only made her nausea worsen. Deep down she knew that if the chance was given to go back in time, her hands would clench the same way, her teeth would gnash, and her hands would be stained again. Just like now.

It was the Nome's fault, she told herself next. The strong eat the weak. The Maw has been trying to eat me ever since I woke up. It was the Nome's fault for not running when he saw what was happening to me. If he wanted to be the strong one, he should have left me with no choice but the sausage.

But could she blame him? Could she really, truly blame that innocent creature for trying to help? A few hours ago, if she had encountered him dying of starvation, she would have held out that sausage just as he had done for her. We didn't even know each other, she thought. But he still tried to help me.

A strangled breath escaped her lungs, too garbled to be a sob.

"I had to," she whispered out loud. "I had to. I'm not sorry."

I'm not sorry.

I would've died otherwise.

I'm not sorry.

The strong eat the weak.

I'm not sorry.

It wasn't my fault.

I'm not sorry.

Repetition can make untruth seem true, but even as Six repeated these mantras over and over in her mind, she still couldn't convince herself that her actions had been right.

There is no wrong in this place.

I can't be wrong.

I didn't do wrong.

I'm not sorry.

And with that final claim, Six pushed herself back onto her feet, jaw tight. Without another look at the hollowed Nome, she exited the room.

A/N: I liiiiiiiiiiiive!

Ok, so I know it's been a while, but I'm determined to get this fanfiction done. I'm not sure when the next chapter is going to come out, but I promise that I'll finish this story... eventually. I've lost a little of my inspiration, but I'm trying to get into the habit of writing a little each day, so I can definitely promise you an ending. Thank you guys for sticking with this even as I bumble through my life. :)

See you guys in the next chapter!