The Hunger of the Forgotten

Mahogany adjusted the straps of his saddlebag as he stared into the gaping maw of the dungeon, its jagged rocks flaring out like the open jaws of a stone creature waiting to devour them whole. Thick vines, draped in moss and dew, clung to the entrance, dripping moisture that pooled into a slick, muddy patch at their feet. A damp, unnerving chill seemed to radiate from the depths below, like the dungeon itself was exhaling its dismal breath upon them.

Guusje, standing beside him with his usual grin, held the reins of a goose. An honest-to-gods goose, with beady eyes and a neck that seemed far too long for the bird’s own good.

“You seriously brought that thing?” Mahogany raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-exasperated.

Guusje shrugged, as nonchalant as ever. “Found him wandering along the trail a couple of days ago. Figured he could be useful, you know? Plus, he’s got the spirit. Look at him—real adventurer material.”

The goose let out an indignant honk, shifting on its feet and giving Mahogany a look that was suspiciously judgmental for a farm animal.

Further back, Fetch was crouched by the entrance, her pale eyes flickering in the shadowed gloom like a creature born from the dungeon itself. She was muttering again, something quiet, incomprehensible, as she leaned in to listen to whatever whispers the dungeon was sharing. Born within these very walls, Fetch was the group’s enigmatic guide, although even after years of adventuring, Mahogany and Guusje still weren’t sure how much of her connection to the dungeon was real, and how much was just eccentricity.

“I don’t think it likes us,” Fetch muttered under her breath. “The dungeon, I mean. It’s… hungry.”

Mahogany exchanged a wary glance with Guusje. Fetch’s words were rarely comforting, and today, they left a cold knot of unease settling in his stomach.

“Well,” Mahogany said, hoisting his staff a little higher and forcing a grin, “let’s hope it’s in the mood for something other than horse.”

Guusje laughed, though it was more nervous than usual. The goose honked again, seemingly uninterested in their fate.

And with that, they stepped into the darkness.

...

As the trio ventured deeper into the dungeon, the natural light quickly faded, replaced by the flickering glow of their torches. The air grew thick with moisture, the walls slick with condensation. Every drip of water echoed eerily through the narrow stone corridors, creating a symphony of dismal, rhythmic taps that only served to deepen the oppressive atmosphere.

“This place is definitely creepier than the last time,” Guusje muttered, keeping a firm grip on his new feathered companion as it shifted uncomfortably in his arms. The bird seemed agitated by the darkness, its head bobbing nervously with each step they took.

“It shifts,” Fetch said, trailing her fingers along the walls. “Always changing. You’ve never seen the same dungeon twice.”

“That’s great news,” Mahogany said sarcastically, tightening his grip on his staff as he scanned the narrow tunnel ahead. The shadows seemed to ripple and twist, bending toward them like sentient creatures waiting for their moment to strike.

For a while, the only sounds were their footsteps and the faint, wet slap of water dripping from the ceiling. As they pressed onward, the tunnel opened into a wider chamber, its vastness hidden behind columns of darkness. Mahogany raised his torch higher, revealing rows of stone alcoves carved into the walls. Each one held the remains of adventurers long gone, their skeletal forms twisted in unnatural positions as if they had died struggling against some invisible force.

Guusje swallowed audibly. “Looks like we’re not the first ones to get lost down here.”

Fetch tilted her head, her gaze sweeping over the remains with a kind of detached curiosity. “They weren’t lost. They were consumed.”

“By what?” Mahogany asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

“By the dungeon,” Fetch whispered. “And what lies within.”

Before Mahogany could ask what she meant, a loud metallic clang rang out from deeper within the chamber, startling them all. The sound bounced off the walls, distorting as it echoed, making it impossible to tell where it had come from.

“What was that?” Guusje whispered, clutching the goose closer to his chest.

Fetch’s expression darkened. “Something’s here.”

At the far end of the chamber, barely illuminated by the weak glow of Mahogany’s torch, a metal grate stood out like an alien object, an unnatural addition to the dungeon’s otherwise ancient architecture. The iron bars were slick with rust, but something—or someone—was moving behind them.

“I’ll go check it out,” Mahogany said, his voice low, though a nervous tremor snuck into his words. He stepped forward carefully, making his way across the room, trying to ignore the sensation that the skulls in the alcoves were watching him, waiting for him to join them.

As Mahogany approached the grate, he noticed the thing on the other side more clearly. It was crouched low, its body shrouded in darkness, but the shape of it was unmistakable—it resembled a courser. Yet something was wrong. Its face… its face was all wrong.

It turned toward him, and Mahogany’s breath caught in his throat.

Where its head should have been, there was only a skull. A bony, hollowed-out skull that gleamed faintly in the torchlight, its empty eye sockets staring directly at him. It rushed forward, slamming into the grate with desperate force, rattling the bars as it gripped them with skeletal fingers.

“Please! Please, help me!” the creature rasped, its voice hoarse, as if it had been screaming for years. “Let me out! I need to get out!”

Mahogany took a step back, instinctively gripping his staff tighter as his heart pounded in his chest.

Guusje approached cautiously, the goose in his arms letting out a low, wary honk. “Mahogany, what is that?”

Mahogany shook his head slowly, still in disbelief. “I… I don’t know.”

The creature behind the grate groaned, rattling the bars again with a frenzied urgency. “You have to let me out. They’ll come for me… they always come.” It clawed at the iron with broken hooves that scraped against the rusted metal, its bony head jerking unnaturally from side to side as if it were listening for something in the distance.

Fetch, who had remained at the back of the group, finally stepped forward. Her eyes gleamed, and her expression was one of eerie recognition. “Don’t let it fool you,” she murmured, more to herself than to them. “It’s hungry.”

“H-Hungry?” Guusje stammered, glancing down at the goose, then back at the creature. “For what? It’s already dead!”

“Not quite,” Fetch replied. She tilted her head, regarding the skeletal figure with detached fascination. “It’s something between life and death… something forgotten. It doesn’t need food. It needs something else.”

The creature let out a low, mournful wail. “I’m not one of them!” it pleaded, its voice cracking. “I was like you once, but they took me. They’ll take you too. Please, don’t leave me here.”

Mahogany’s pulse raced, the gravity of the situation starting to sink in. He wanted to help. He always wanted to help, but there was something off about this thing—a deep, unsettling wrongness that made his instincts scream at him to turn back. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. “Who are you? How did you get here?”

The figure paused, its head tilting as if the question had confused it. “I… I don’t remember.” Its skeletal hands tightened around the bars. “I only know the hunger now. It gnaws at me. I’ve seen others… like you. They didn’t last long.”

Fetch took a step closer, her expression now more curious than cautious. “It’s not lying. It’s starving, but not for food. It’s starving for escape.”

Mahogany’s mind raced as he considered their options. Letting it out seemed dangerous, but leaving it there felt equally wrong. He had never come across anything like this in the dungeon before, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to face it. “What… what do we do?”

Guusje shifted uneasily, the goose still nestled against him. “I don’t know, man. This doesn’t feel right. That thing… it’s not like us anymore. What if letting it out makes things worse?”

The creature behind the bars let out a desperate groan, its bony fingers trembling. “Please,” it begged. “I’ll help you. I know the way through the dungeon. I’ve seen it all. I can lead you—just let me out!”

Fetch’s eyes flickered, her expression unreadable. “It can lead us,” she murmured, “but where will it take us? That’s the question.”

Before Mahogany could respond, a sound echoed through the chamber—a wet, sloshing noise, like something large moving through the stagnant waters in the depths of the dungeon. The creature’s skeletal head whipped around, its hollow eyes widening in terror.

“They’re coming,” it whispered, barely audible. “You have to let me out now. They’ll take you too.”

Mahogany exchanged a glance with Guusje, his chest tightening with a sense of urgency. He could feel it too—the unmistakable sensation of something approaching, something vast and terrible. The air grew colder, and the shadows around them seemed to deepen.

“Fetch, what do we do?” Mahogany asked, his voice tight.

Fetch’s eyes glinted in the flickering torchlight as she regarded the creature behind the grate. “It’s a trap,” she said, though there was an almost wistful quality to her voice. “But sometimes, to escape a trap, you have to step into it.”

Mahogany hesitated, torn between his instinct to help and the gnawing fear that this was a mistake. The sounds of movement were growing closer now, the sloshing water echoing through the chamber like the approach of something immense.

The creature clutched the bars, its skeletal jaw trembling. “Please…” it whispered again, weaker this time, as if even its desperation was fading.

Guusje’s grip on the goose tightened. “We don’t have time for this!” he snapped, his voice filled with panic. “Whatever’s coming, it’s not going to wait for us to figure it out!”

Mahogany felt the pressure mounting, every second ticking away like the countdown to disaster. His mind raced, weighing the risks and the unknowns. He wanted to believe the creature could be saved, that it was just another victim of the dungeon’s horrors—but what if Fetch was right? What if it was already lost, consumed by whatever hunger had taken it?

The sloshing sound grew louder, closer. A deep, guttural growl reverberated through the chamber, shaking the very stones beneath their hooves. Something huge was moving through the darkness, something that made even the creature behind the bars shrink back in fear.

Fetch stepped forward, her eyes locked on Mahogany. “Whatever you decide,” she said softly, “do it now.”

Mahogany’s heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the creature, its empty eyes pleading with him. He could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on him, suffocating him. The growling in the distance was growing louder, the walls seeming to vibrate with the approach of something monstrous.

He reached for the latch on the grate, his hand trembling.

“Are you sure about this?” Guusje asked, his voice tight with fear.

Mahogany hesitated, his fingers hovering over the latch. He looked at the creature, then at Fetch, then back to the darkness where the growls were growing louder.

“Mahogany,” Fetch whispered, her voice like a distant echo. “It’s hungry. So are they.”

Time seemed to slow as Mahogany’s mind raced. His heart hammered in his chest, every muscle in his body taut with tension. The creature’s pleading eyes, the relentless growls in the distance, Fetch’s cryptic warning—all of it blurred together into a dizzying cacophony of fear and uncertainty.

And then, with a final breath, Mahogany made his decision.

His hand moved—toward the latch.

But before he could open the gate, a roar unlike anything he had ever heard before filled the chamber, shaking the very ground beneath their feet. The shadows surged forward, swallowing the light of their torches as something massive burst into view.

The creature behind the grate let out a scream of terror, shrinking back into the darkness as the thing in the shadows loomed over them.

Mahogany’s hand froze on the latch.

And in that moment, the dungeon decided their fate.