Ice House Groundhog IV

But the groundhog’s life was no longer his own.  The soul-sucking sweetness of the pastry ring vanished with a  twitch of shadow, but his loins told him he had traveled too far down the path.  The meat between his legs shriveled further with a brisk rush of wind, and his nose shrieked at the carrion stench which favored none but the bald wingers.

Death stalked the corridor adjacent to his kingdom, though he knew not how he had been ignorant of it for the entirety of his reign.  Then his mind was eradicated by instinct.  Survival drive sent him hurtling into the underbrush.  The path was murder, and he sought the cover of stump and shadow.

For a few gleeful heartbeats, the king felt the rush of the chase and could taste the freedom of his domain.  The beams of sun glancing across the threshold of the corridor glimmered with promise, which made the sudden spray of raindrops all the more disconcerting.  No, not rain.  These droplet were hot, and red.  And now he was running backward, and he couldn’t feel his legs, and the corridor spiraled into darkness.

The thin whip of shadowy flesh pulled the flayed carcass of the once-king with visceral simplicity.  The trail of life juices and bits of organ were all that remained of the mammal as the bulk of him disappeared into an unseen sphincter in reality with a squelching pop.

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