Short Story: The Memory Eater by Sarah W.

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A lonely sad sack finds his home occupied by a demoness with an unusual proposition. This is a psychological horror story I wrote a few days ago, make sure to comment and tell me what you think! 🙂

“Let me have some of your memories,” she said. “Just a few. Just the ones you don’t want anymore.”

He first saw her in his shower, shampooing her thick black hair as the hot water pummeled her pale, freckled skin. He should have been afraid of her; of her, unknown to him and standing in his shower but something about her was mesmerizing. Her edges were fuzzy like a charcoal drawing that had been rubbed at with the pad of someone’s thumb. She had ridges along her spine like a carnivorous lizard and her sex was rough and textured, with plant-like barbs instead of pubic hair. Barbs that prickled and irritated his skin when she let him touch her.

“What are you doing here?” He asked as she sat on the couch wrapped in a towel of his ex-wife’s.

“I’m here for you.”

“What are you?”

“Does it matter?” She smiled coyly, opening the towel slightly and running her fingers down her inner thigh.

His mind was in a fog. He had no idea how to deal with this situation, but he was filled with so much desire for her that it made him dizzy. He looked around at his disaster of a house, with crushed beer cans on the carpet and filthy dishes piling up in the sink. The living room still smelled like his ex-wife’s unneutered cat. God, he hated that cat. The only good thing about her leaving is that she took ‘Mittens’ (a vicious animal that wouldn’t let itself be picked up or even touched) with her.

“Why…” he tried off and she pulled off her towel and got on top of him in one quick, lithe movement. Her eyes were so green that they had to be contacts, there was nothing natural about them. She unzipped his pants and started stroking him, and then she said it.

Let me have some of your memories.

“Like what?”

“Don’t you have any bad memories?”

He kind of laughed, but he didn’t want her to think he was laughing at her. He didn’t want her to stop.

“Sure. Doesn’t everybody?”

She got off his lap and pouted, leaving him hard and desperate.

“First tell me what you are.”

“I’m not like you. I don’t eat, drink, or sleep. I can eat or drink with you, or I can sleep next to you. But I don’t need it.”

“Are you evil?”

She laughed, an unnervingly tinny little-girl laugh, and cocked her head in confusion.

“I don’t think I’m evil. Are you going to ask all these stupid questions or are you let me fuck you?”

He reached for her and she shook her head, pushing him away with surprising strength.

“First, give me one of your memories. Just a small one. That should be enough for now.”

He thought for a few moments. 


He’s at a little league game with his dad. He’s not doing all that well but he’s not doing badly, and his dad is cheering him on. All of a sudden things get kind of quiet and then he sees his mom, drunk out of her mind, in her bathrobe. Their  house is across the street from the park where they practice and she’s walked less than half a mile. She steps onto the field and she grabs his arm and she starts screaming at his dad that she’s leaving him and she’s taking their son. She tells him he’s cheated on her for the last time and she ought to castrate him. People are staring. She’s so drunk that her bathrobe (the one his dad gave her for Christmas) is opening up and people can see her mismatched bra and underwear, pink and red. He’s crying in rage and embarrassment and even though he’s trying to hide it he can see his dad is starting to cry too.


“Take that one. I think about it all the time and it still drives me crazy.”

She touches his head and he feels a kind of oblivion. It makes him feel drunk and he slowly feels the memory turn pale at the edges and start to slip away.

“Do you still remember?”

“I think I’m starting to remember it less. Thank you.”

She starts to touch him again and he leans back on the couch gratefully, his body filling with warmth.

“Can you stay here? I’m all alone.”

“I can stay here for as long as you want.”

“Will you sleep in my bed with me?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to suck me off. Is it okay if I call you Maura?”

When she doesn’t reply he says “That’s the name of my wife. My ex-wife,” he corrects himself.

“Was she beautiful?”

“She was okay. We were happy for a long time.”

“What changed?”

“She fell in love with someone else.”

“You’re alone.”

“Yes. But Now I have you.”


His mom finally leaves. He’s about fourteen. he yells at her that she can’t just abandon them and she looks at him and tells him he’s just like his father. He’ll grow up to be a loser who treats women like shit too. his dad doesn’t say anything. He’s standing in the kitchen less than five feet away from her and her bags and his eyes are blazing. 

“Leave,” he says. “You’ll never see him again. He’s better off without you.”

“Right, cause you’re father of the year.” She wipes tears away from her face.

“You can’t just leave us!” He shouts. He means ‘you can’t leave me. I’m your son. Doesn’t that matter to you at all?”

“Just like your dad,” she says again. “Everything’s about you.”

Then she turns around and leaves.



He’s an ugly sixteen-year-old with cystic acne and greasy red hair down to his shoulders. He’s drawing a girl in his class named Monica who he’s had a crush on since the seventh grade. The bell rings and as she’s walking out she looks over his shoulder.

“Is that me?” she asks.

He stands there helplessly for a moment, looking for something he can say to make this not-weird.

“Yes,” he finally admits.

“I look like crap,” she says. “Perv.” She gives his shoulder a light shove and walks away.



“I’m leaving you,” Maura says. Her eyes fill with tears. “I’m sorry. I’ve met someone else.”

“Who?” His mouth is dry.

“It’s Paul.”

“Laura’s husband? Have you been fucking him?”

She nods, biting her lip. “He’s leaving her and we’re going to be together. I just wanted to be completely honest with you. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? I can’t fucking believe this.” 

“You knew things weren’t going well between us.”

“I thought things would get better.”

“You were the one who didn’t want to spend the money on that marriage counselor Rob recommended.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now that you’re having a fucking affair.”

“I’m not saying that! It’s my fault, Stewart. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve to be treated this way.”

“Don’t patronize me, you lying bitch.” There. He said it. The words that had been lingering sourly on his tongue for the entire conversation.

“I’m sorry. I need some time to pack up my things and then I’ll leave.”

“I can’t even look at you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.”

She grabs a garbage bag and starts throwing her DVDs into it. He turns away and goes out to the garage where the old station wagon he’s been working on is. He picks up a wrench and starts smashing all the windows.


“Do you feel better?”

The woman and him were lying next to each other, after having sex for the third time that day. She held nothing of physical self back, but he still didn’t know who or what she was. 


“How many more do you need?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She grazed her lips down the length of his chest and stopped at his belly button.

“I feel strange.”

“That’s okay. That’s normal.”

“I feel strange.”

“That’s normal.”

“I feel like I’m losing my mind. Maybe I shouldn’t have…”


“Maybe I needed all my bad memories, for things to make sense.”

“You were suffering.”

“Yeah, but at least I understood how I got here.” He turned towards her. “What’s your name, anyway? I feel like I’ve shared parts of myself but I don’t know anything about you.”

“My name is Maura.”

“Are you my wife?”


“I thought you left.”

“I came back.”

“I’m glad.” He snuggled next to her. 

She was taking away from him, piece by piece. She already had the key to his heart and she could take freely now, and all he could do was accept the steady degeneration of his sense of self. 

It was okay. Memories replaced by a warm feeling and the arms of the woman he called Maura.

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