A sallow face like melting wax greets the camera, looking blankly at the viewer. Nearly motionless, only a slow wavering shows it is not merely a still image. The light directly above the figure, not even the whites of its eyes are visible under its brow. The mouth unfolding open as if the skin were ready to slip off the muscle it rested upon, it speaks slowly.
"Hai people..."
Slightly echoing, it makes a deep, raspy breath, the very act taking all of its energy. It speaks again, even slower. The video distorts as the words bellow out, deepening its voice almost beyond comprehension.
"Time for," it says as it inhales again, the air catching on its rotten lungs, "...another meal."
As the camera slowly turns to the stove with a shaky grip, the sound of a fire alarm slowly fades in. It drones on and on as the view turns and turns. The camera quietly cracks in clumsy hands.
Smoke fills the air until it completely obscures everything, yet through the haze, a figure is visible on the box-shaped stove. A long, cylindrical form. Two red stumps on the bottom. One red stump visible on the side. On its top, the most defined object in the fog, a caved-in sphere. Still blurred, a mess of darkness and red implying a deformed expression can barely be made out, frozen in agony.
Just as the figure takes shape, the video cuts to a loud, harsh static before it returns to darkness where only vague motion can be occasionally deciphered. Large, fat hands, bloated like a corpse, briefly brush past the camera before the sounds of cracking and tearing are heard. Repeated crunching fills the air, coupled only with the sound of liquid dripping onto cheap linoleum.
Gradually, this chorus of ripping viscera gives way to a deafening hum, broken only by the grotesque sloshing of a single, loud swallow, the long and stringy strands of gore audibly sliding down the consumer's throat. A voice, deeper than before, gasps as if it had briefly forgotten to breathe while it indulged in its ravenous hunger. A pause, it rumbles out a weak murmur.
"Mmm," it hums. "It's quite naice." Silent slurping fills the air as its tongue explores its mouth in the persistent darkness. Its lips slap as it readies to speak one last time, the shimmer of drool briefly flashing in the blackness. "A little crunch-ay..."
Its final words silently echo. The droning hum grows louder and louder, as if the noise was making the air itself crushing and heavy, before the video finally ends. As autoplay kicks in, no trace of the video remains.
