Childhood Bites Au - Blog Posts

Childhood Bites Chapter Three: No One Will Miss Him

⚠️TW: Graphic, Blood, Violence, Death, Cannibalism⚠️

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒰ঌ‪‪𐂯‬໒꒱꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

The first hit shattered something.

Zeke wasn’t sure if it was bone or resolve.

The bat connected with Campelter’s ribs, sending a shockwave through Zeke’s arms. The crack was sickening, a sharp, wet sound that mingled with the boy’s scream.

Campelter collapsed onto the dock, curling in on himself. His breath came in ragged gasps. “Zeke—w-wait—”

Another swing.

This time, it caught his knee. Something popped.

Campelter wailed, clutching his leg, writhing on the wooden planks.

Zeke stood over him, bat gripped tight, chest heaving.

This should feel wrong.

He should be shaking, throwing up, panicking.

But he wasn’t.

He was calm. Steady.

And hungry.

The familiar ache twisted in his gut, gnawing at his insides, demanding more. He swallowed hard, his tongue darting over his lips.

Campelter coughed, blood dribbling from his mouth. His good hand reached out, weak and trembling. “P-please…”

Zeke tilted his head.

He should stop.

He could still walk away.

But then he thought of Stan and Ford—how Campelter had tormented them, laughed at them, humiliated them.

And suddenly, the decision wasn’t hard anymore.

Zeke dropped the bat and straddled Campelter’s chest, pinning him down. The other boy squirmed weakly beneath him, his strength draining fast.

Zeke’s breath came slow and deliberate. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against Campelter’s ear. “You smell delicious.”

Then he sank his teeth in.

The taste exploded in his mouth—copper, salt, warmth. The skin split beneath his teeth, muscle tearing as he bit down harder. Campelter’s body jerked violently, his muffled screams ripping through the night.

Zeke didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

He ripped away the first mouthful, blood coating his tongue, thicker than anything he’d ever eaten before.

It was intoxicating.

Campelter’s screams weakened into gasping whimpers. Zeke barely heard him. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out everything except the wet, sticky sounds of chewing.

His fingers dug into Campelter’s flesh, prying open the wound, sinking his teeth into raw muscle, devouring.

Bite after bite.

It was better than food.

Better than anything.

The hunger that had tormented him his whole life, the emptiness in his gut—it was gone.

And for the first time, Zeke felt whole.

Hours Later

The night stretched on, the waves lapping softly against the shore. The wooden dock was painted red, but Zeke didn’t notice.

He sat cross-legged beside what was left.

Which wasn’t much.

Flesh, muscle, organs—all gone.

Picked clean.

His hands were drenched in blood, sticky and drying, his face smeared crimson. His stomach was full, warm, satisfied.

All that remained of Campelter were bones.

Zeke wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, exhaling slowly.

He stared down at the remains, waiting for guilt to settle in.

Nothing came.

No regret. No horror.

Only the quiet, absolute certainty that this had been worth it.

Campelter had been a bully.

He made Stan and Ford cry.

He hurt people.

No one would notice when he was gone.

Zeke got to his feet, stretching. He glanced down at the bones, tilting his head. He could leave them, let the ocean take them.

But no.

He didn’t like leaving things unfinished.

One by one, he gathered them up, taking his time. The dock was surrounded by tall, wild grass, the kind that no one ever bothered to clear. Zeke buried the bones there, deep in the sand, hidden beneath tangled roots.

It felt right.

Like cleaning up after a good meal.

Weeks go by the summer sun hung high over Glass Shard Beach, casting golden light over the waves. The air smelled of salt and motor oil, the usual scent of work and freedom.

Zeke walked alongside Stan and Ford, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. The three of them were heading toward the shore, where the half-built Stan-O-War sat waiting for its daily dose of fixing, hammering, and general goofing off.

“Okay, hear me out,” Stan said, kicking a loose rock down the sidewalk. “We steal one of Ma’s pies, but we take it before it cools down so she won’t notice it’s missing until, like… way later.”

Ford pushed his glasses up. “That’s the dumbest plan I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, because it’s foolproof!”

Ford sighed, shaking his head, and Zeke chuckled softly.

Just a normal day.

But then—

Stan suddenly stopped in his tracks.

Ford followed suit, and Zeke nearly bumped into them.

“What the—?” Zeke started, but then he saw what they were looking at.

A poster.

Taped to a telephone pole, the edges curling from the breeze.

MISSING: CAMPBELL ‘CAMPELTER’ HAYNES.

LAST SEEN AT GLASS SHARD BEACH.

A washed-out photo of his face stared back at them, smiling wide like he hadn’t screamed and begged for his life just weeks ago.

Zeke’s stomach twisted—not in fear, but in satisfaction.

It was almost funny.

Nothing left but bones, buried deep beneath the sand. No one would ever find him.

“Whoa,” Stan muttered, stepping closer. “So, wait—Campelter’s just… gone?”

Ford frowned. “Looks like it. His parents must’ve put these up.”

“Yeah, well, good riddance.” Stan crossed his arms. “That guy was a jerk. Maybe he ran away or something.”

Ford, ever the cautious one, didn’t look so convinced. “I don’t know… He was a bully, but this is weird. People don’t just vanish.”

Zeke felt Ford’s gaze shift toward him, and for a split second, his stomach tightened.

Ford had a way of noticing things.

But Zeke just shrugged, keeping his face neutral. “Guess we won’t have to deal with him anymore.”

Stan snorted. “Yeah, no complaints here.”

Ford hesitated, then slowly nodded. “I suppose.”

And just like that, the moment passed.

Zeke let out a slow, careful breath, glancing at the poster one last time.

No one will ever know.

The three of them continued walking toward the Stan-O-War, the conversation already shifting to something else.

Stan was laughing.

Ford was rambling about an idea for an engine upgrade.

And Zeke?

Zeke was still hungry.

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Childhood Bites Chapter Two: The Hunt

⚠️TW: Blood, violence, implied abuse⚠️

꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒦꒰ঌ‪‪𐂯‬໒꒱꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Zeke didn’t sleep that night.

He lay in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling of his family’s rundown beach house. The air inside was thick with the stench of alcohol and cigarettes, the walls too thin to block out his father’s snores from the other room.

His stomach twisted in pain, but he was used to that.

His father’s latest punishment had been a week without food.

Zeke had learned how to ignore the ache, how to push through it. But today, it was worse. Because now, he knew what could make it stop.

His tongue ran over his teeth, the memory of Campelter’s blood still fresh in his mind.

It had been a mistake. An accident. A loss of control.

That’s what he told himself.

The taste hadn’t disgusted him.

It had made him hungry.

He turned onto his side, gripping the old blanket tighter, trying to will the feeling away.

I won’t do it again.

He repeated the thought like a prayer.

I won’t. I won’t. I won’t.

But his stomach growled. His hands trembled. And in the darkness, his eyes flicked toward the corner of the room, where his father’s metal bat leaned against the wall.

The same bat his old man had used on him. Dried blood stained the tip. His own blood.

It had always belonged to his father. A tool of punishment. A reminder of Zeke’s place in the house.

But not tonight.

Tonight, it was his.

The Boathouse

Zeke walked the empty streets of Glass Shard Beach, the bat gripped tight in his hands.

The town was quiet this late at night, only the occasional streetlight flickering. The summer crowd had thinned out, leaving only the locals.

Leaving kids like Campelter free to roam.

Zeke knew exactly where he’d be. The old boathouse near the dunes wasn’t much—just a crumbling shack covered in graffiti—but it was where the older kids went to drink and mess around.

That’s where Zeke found him.

Campelter sat on the dock outside, flipping a lighter open and closed, the flame reflecting in his bored expression. His friends were long gone, leaving him alone.

Perfect.

Zeke stood in the shadows, watching. His heart pounded.

He could still turn back.

He could go home. Forget this. Try to be normal.

But then Campelter shifted, his injured arm catching the moonlight.

The same arm Zeke had bitten.

And just like that, the hunger roared back to life.

His grip on the bat tightened.

Campelter sighed, shaking his head. “I know you’re there, freak.”

Zeke stepped forward, the wooden planks creaking under his weight.

Campelter rolled his eyes. “What do you want?”

Zeke’s voice came out quiet. “I don’t know.”

Another lie.

Campelter scoffed. “You here to try and bite me again? Jesus, dude, what is wrong with you?”

Zeke didn’t answer.

His body moved on instinct, stepping closer, closing the distance. The bat in his hand felt heavy. Solid.

Campelter frowned, finally looking at him—really looking at him.

Something in his expression changed.

“…Wait. Are you serious right now?”

Zeke’s breath came faster. The hunger clawed at his insides.

Just go home.

Just walk away.

But his father’s voice echoed in his head.

“You’re nothing. You don’t fight back. You don’t stand up for yourself.”

Zeke’s fingers twitched on the bat.

“You’re weak.”

His jaw clenched.

“You’re always gonna be hungry.”

Zeke swung.

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To Be Continued…

Childhood Bites Chapter One: The Taste of Something Forbidden

⚠️TW: Blood⚠️

꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒦꒰ঌ‪‪𐂯‬໒꒱꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Glass Shard Beach was never truly quiet. The waves crashed against the shore, the salty air thick and ever-present, while the laughter of kids carried on the breeze. But beneath the carefree energy of the season, shadows lurked. For twelve-year-old Ezekiel “Zeke” Cutter, summer was supposed to be an escape. A break from school, from expectations, from the gnawing hunger he didn’t fully understand.

He had always been close to Stanley and Stanford Pines. They were his best friends—the only ones who really mattered. Stan was the loudmouth, always getting into trouble, always bruised but never broken. Ford was the brain, always thinking, always planning. And Zeke? He was the protector, the one who made sure no one messed with them. Which is exactly why, when Campelter started picking on them, Zeke saw red.

Campelter was the worst kind of kid. The kind that smelled like sweat and cheap cologne, who thought he was better than everyone because he was taller, meaner. He had it out for Stan from the moment they met.

“Hey, loser! Where’s your freak of a brother?” Campelter sneered, shoving Stan forward.

Stan stumbled, barely keeping his footing. Ford wasn’t around to bail him out—he was probably off reading somewhere, oblivious.

Zeke clenched his fists. “Back off, Campelter.”

Campelter just grinned. “Or what? You gonna cry about it?”

Zeke’s breath hitched. He could hear it—his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. It wasn’t fear. It was something else. Something deep, something hungry.

Stan’s lip curled as he stepped forward. “I can handle myself, Zeke.”

But Zeke wasn’t listening anymore. Campelter shoved Stan again, laughing, and something inside Zeke snapped.

It happened fast. One moment, Zeke was standing still, watching Campelter grin like he ruled the world. The next, his body moved on instinct. He lunged, teeth bared, sinking them deep into Campelter’s arm.

The taste—

It was—

Indescribable.

Blood filled his mouth, warm and metallic, coating his tongue. Campelter’s scream barely registered as Zeke bit down harder, his entire body trembling.

Then, just as suddenly, he let go.

Campelter stumbled back, clutching his bleeding arm, eyes wide with terror. “WHAT THE HELL, YOU PSYCHO?!”

Zeke wiped his mouth, breathing heavily. His head swam, heart racing. What…what had he just done?

Stan and the other kids just stood there, frozen.

“Zeke…” Stan whispered, eyes darting from him to Campelter’s wound.

“I—” Zeke swallowed hard. “I didn’t—”

“You BIT me!” Campelter howled, staggering backward. He was bleeding badly, but it was just a bite. It wouldn’t kill him.

Zeke’s stomach twisted. Not in guilt. Not in fear.

In hunger.

He ran. Didn’t wait for Stan. Didn’t look back. He sprinted toward the bordwalk, lungs burning, hands shaking. His mouth still tasted like blood. It wasn’t disgusting. It wasn’t wrong.

It was good.

But it wasn’t normal. He wasn’t normal.

Zeke gripped his head, breathing hard. “No, no, no. I can’t—I won’t—”

But he wanted no he needed more.

And worse?

He knew exactly where to find it…

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

To Be Continued…