By Strega
Story Copyright (C) By: Strega
 2001 - All rights reserved.

Story not to be reprinted, or redistributed, 
without author's Permission.

If you wish to use the stories, or 
anything copyright by me, please e-mail me.
I'll also forward any mail to the author.


12 December 1999
It lay dormant. It had shifted much of its mass elsewhere, including nearly all of its recent, heavy meal, and kept just a few pounds of new food inside itself. Its energy requirements were not high; it digested its meals slowly, and would not need to eat again to for quite a long time. But, as always, it planned ahead.
"That," said the cop, "Is the second biggest stuffed animal I have ever seen." He poked at the cartoonish lion-stuffy with a booted foot. The cheap fake hair of its mane ruffled around his foot, and he turned away, his momentary amusement forgotten. "So, the couple, the kid and the dog? Anything else missing? Car's still here…."
It felt the prod, and watched the human withdraw through its button eyes. It had withheld the urge to grip the foot with its 'hair' tendrils, to begin to draw the man into itself; it was not only satiated from its meal, but by nature cautious. Still, it knew irritation at such treatment, and had the man been alone…the stuffy moved its head a fraction. Sewn-shut muzzle parted, and something like a pink tongue moistened its chops.
It knew what would happen next. It had done its research before feeding, and its meals had been without relatives.

3 March 2000
"This isn't what the label on the box says." The teenager poked at the fur wadded in the big cardboard container. "It's a…um." He tilted the heavy box, spilling the rolled-up fur out, and grinned as it took on a recognizable shape. "Hey, it's a bearskin rug! Head and paws and all!"
"Whatever…actually, that's great." The auctioneer blinked at the thing. "We should get a primo price for this thing."
"Shouldn't we, y'know, let somebody know we got the wrong box?"
"Nope." The man knelt, and began to roll the rug up. "Our job is just to auction it off."
It examined its options. The change had burned a quantity of its food-reserves, and it considered the two humans from its glass eyes. Black fur across its pelt began to stir against the fingers that lifted it…but then voices from the next room caught its attention. It relaxed before it had even begun to feed. It would wait.

6 June 2000
"Honey, have you seen the sunblock?"
"Yes, dear, it's in the bag with the shampoo."
The cabin was just one of twenty at the upscale resort, but you'd have thought it was the only one. A space-wasteful layout left it all by itself in the pines; the path that led to it through the damp woods had a carefully arranged untravelled look to it. Inside, it managed to combine the cabin look, with creaking wooden floors and cast-iron stove, with big windows and a kitchen nook with the most modern appliances. The resorts' waiting list was a year and five months long.
"Oooh, look at this thing." Karen sat down on the bearskin rug, and ran her hands though the long, coarse fur. The thing was thicker than she's have expected, and felt almost like a furred mattress under her fingers. It was about seven feet long and four wide, not counting the clawed feet, and the glassy-eyed head was frozen in a sharp-fanged snarl.
Bill followed her to the rug, going to his knees and kissing his wife's exposed shoulder. "You know what they say about bearskin rugs in front of fireplaces." His hand went around her hip, stroking her belly.
"Oh, you are incorrigible." Ignoring him, she knelt down at the head, and rubbed her hand over the bear's snout. The fur there was very short and bristly, not at all like the cheeks with their ruff of hair. She felt the dry, but still somehow rubbery-feeling black lips, and scraped a fingernail over a thumb-sized fang before patting the leathery tongue.
It considered, but only briefly. Since the humans had arrived it had listened intently, and felt for vibrations through its 'fur'. It knew that no other human was anywhere nearby - as of last night, there was not even anyone in the nearest cabins. And it was very hungry now.
"Oh, I'm incorrigible, and you love it." Bill was rubbing upward over her belly, just beginning to fondle her breasts, and had to lean downward as she suddenly stuck her arm in the rug's mouth. "Stop wriggling and pay attention, love."
Rubbing fingers over a dress-covered nipple, he accepted his wife's silence as an invitation to continue; the way she was sprawling out on the furry rug to explore its mouth just made the seduction a little easier. He sprawled out on his side on the fur - its was rough and lush against his arms and legs, where clothing didn't cover - and put his other hand between her thighs. Preoccupied with his own growing arousal, and with gently convincing her to become ready as well, he paid no mind to what she was doing with the thing's head.
It took a muffled groan to distract him from his work; he looked up with a little smile. His fingers were on the button of his shorts, and his wife's back moved against his chest, almost violently. That, and the groan, got him to look….
He froze. Not only his wife's arm, but her head now, was in the bear-rug's muzzle. The black, rubbery lips were clenched tight around her shoulders, pulsing up over the bare skin an inch at time. Something long and pink, like a tentacle…or tongue?…was spiraled around her upper body now, squeezing into her breasts and pinning her other arm to her side. As he watched, the glassy artificial eyes brightened, took on a wet, living sheen, and looked downward; his wife's shoulders were sucked into the rug's throat with a gurgle.
"What the fuck!" He jerked up off the rug, reached for his wife…or tried to. He managed to rise only a few inches, then flopped back down. Something was holding his arm, where it had lain against the rug, and both of his ankles. He tugged, and looked at himself.
The thing's pelt was alive. The foot-long, coarse black fur moved as in an invisible wind, and waves rippled through the upstanding hairs, from all directions, in toward him. Strands of the tough, dark fur had wrapped around his arm, his legs, and were weaving themselves into his shorts and shirt. He pushed frantically at the pelt with his free hand, and in an instant tendrils of bunched-together hairs wound around his fingers, pulling his hand down out of sight into the lush fur.
"Oh, god…." He struggled in the thing's grip, his eyes locked on his wife. On what was left of her; the tongue had shifted down to her hips, and her breasts bulged out of the thing's muzzle for a moment before her torso was drawn smoothly out of sight. Her legs kicked frantically, her heels thumping into his chest, and the bulge behind the bear-rug's head grew as she was sucked deeper.
By the time he thought to start yelling for help, the fur had wound itself around his legs, giving them a black, hairy mummy look. Both his arms were caught to the elbows, and the strands around his shoulders and chest stretched longer, beginning to meet across his back. Tendrils of fur were plucking at his neck, and he strained to keep his face up out of the mass of reaching fur.
He screamed once as his wife slid out of view, her beautiful, toned butt, tanned thighs below her shorts, flawless calves and white-sneakered feet, all pulled inside the rug in seconds. She was just a long bulge in the furry surface now, and the fur twitched as she kicked and squirmed underneath. Part of her was against his belly, and he felt how the enveloping rug smoothed her shape; there was a couple of inches of thickness between her and him that wasn't fur, but rather flesh and muscle. He didn't delude himself that she was inside a dry, preserved rug; she had been eaten, and lay in something like a stomach, swallowed alive.
He managed a second, wailing cry as the fur-tendrils reached his neck, and then his voice was smothered. His face was yanked down into the pelt, and the fur wove itself into his hair to hold him still. His chest was almost completely enveloped, he saw from his one exposed eye, and he knew the bear's muzzle would be coming for him next.
It didn't. Still squirming, though held in a million strands of iron-strong fur, he felt the skin beneath him change. The leathery pelt developed a long slit, and something like soft slippery wet flesh opened up around his feet, knees, hip, and lower arm. It slithered up over him with terrible speed, the wetly pink flesh soon covering the lower half of his face.
He struggled; kicking and wriggling, but the long slit-maw was gripped along the length of his body now, and it sucked hungrily. His groin was enveloped, along with his right leg, the right half of his body, and all of his head. His last sight was of the long, weakly twitching bulge his wife had become, and then all was darkness, and wet sucking sounds.
He felt the flesh slide up his chest, take in his other leg, and then he shifted somewhat. The 'lips' pushed at him, rolling him onto his back, and the fur let go bit by bit as the muscular walls closed over his top. Another glimpse of the outside, made hazy by the fur along the edges of the slit, and then the wetness sealed itself above him.
He struggled in the form-fitting coffin of flesh, but he knew it was hopeless. He could move - the muscle around him was only a few inches thick, and it wasn't squeezing. But there was no way out. Nowhere was there a breath of air, just more of the same, hot, slimy flesh wherever he reached.
His fingers finally brushed something not-flesh, not-stomach; a hardness, scratching against his fingers. He gripped at it convulsively as he strained to hold his last breath, and felt the smooth softness it surrounded. A wristwatch.
He managed to grip Karen's hand. She had been inside longer, and was weaker, but she gripped back, and he relaxed as the fleshy rug-stomach pushed them snugly together. The walls kneaded over them, squeezing ever more strongly, and he felt the first itch of what must be digestion. He kissed his wife's wet cheek, and gave up his held breath.

8 June 2000
"If they left a message, why, exactly, am I here?" The cop tapped his foot, and glanced around the cabin. It even had a black-bear pelt in front of the Franklin stove, and replica rifles crossed on the wall. Nice place; he wondered what it cost a day.
"Because the note they left on their door said they were going shopping for the day. However, when they didn't show up for breakfast the next morning, we got curious. Their car was still in its slot, so we assumed they would show up. This morning, I came out here to check. They're not here, and now that I've asked around, I find that their SUV never left the lot on the sixth." The manager handed over the note, using a couple of pencils to move it.
The cop smiled inwardly at the care. Too much TV, but it was clever. "And all their luggage is still here. You were right to call." The manager watched worriedly as the policeman called for his partner, and for a crime-scene forensics team.

It lay where it had taken its meal, quiet, satiated and seemingly lifeless. As before, it had shifted most of its meal elsewhere - once it had been softened - and there was no incriminating bulge to betray its activities. It watched the men move through glassy eyes, and considered the future.
The note had delayed suspicion until it had digested its meals to a malleable state, and now it had enough stored to last it many months, assuming it wasn't too active. However, as always, it would be necessary to move. Best to do so without using its own energies.
It knew that many people would come here soon, investigating the vanishment of its meals. It also knew that the shape it had taken was one highly prized by the natives of this world; there was a good chance that it would be taken from here, 'stolen', if it was just patient enough
The thief, or thieves, would be a potential next meal. Failing that, it might have to take on a new, more mobile shape, and relocate itself before resuming an attractively harmless trap-form. It might even be able to take one or more meals here, but it would be careful. It very rarely took multiple meals in one form; suspicions might be roused among the locals.
For now, it would wait. It was sated, and like all its kind, it was very, very patient.

The end.