EXTRA EXTRA READ ALL ABOUT IT If she doesn’t get her story, she may get vore-y! Introducing Kallie Redford. Investigative journalist host to a hungry demon and eager to get her teeth into a good story or two. Pay her a visit or let her meet you. Either way, someone gets fed…

Just when it seems all is well, the hunger returns. Can’t even finish a sentence without the urge. That overwhelming sensation of emptiness. If I take you, use you, and make you mine, just know it isn’t personal. I don’t know what else I can do. Your flesh means so much to me.

Not a wink of sleep. Looking at the document all the words jumble together. The demon on my back is more restless than ever, deadlines are piling up, I’m just waiting for that one brilliant thread to tie it all together. It’ll come. You’ll come around in time, know your place.

Who said I couldn’t make up a story about you? I’m thinking a scandal. You fall in love with a tenacious reporter and let slip all your dirty secrets. If I’m always going to publish it, why not let it be real?

I’ve written this one countless times before. Meet in the street, share a quick word, recognise the want in our hearts. The ending is bittersweet. Not this time though. You and I are going to be together for a long while. No demon or hunger will get in the way. You’re mine.

This story doesn’t feel right. It has all the elements of a viral hit, and every beat lands where it needs to. It just seems a little flat, wouldn’t you agree? I can’t abide things that aren’t full to the brim. You should add some extra texture to my body. I’ll give you credit.

How polite. Some outlets would consider this a bribe, keep in mind I’ll be impartial in my reporting. I’m sure there’s nothing you wouldn’t want published?

It’s only been a day or two and already the edits are piling up. It gets annoying being told by some copy writer that I can’t say one thing or another. Can drive a girl to need some outlet. Maybe you could help with that. Let me take out some frustrations on your supple flesh.

Even the best journalists know sometimes silence is key. The pause between a question and a confession may be long and awkward but the dead air is crucial. Just like the patience needed to let a meal understand what is happening to it. No need to attack or overwhelm. Just wait.

Don’t worry, I can still salvage your image. “No longer rendered mute, Kas continued to gush over her interviewer. However her composure was short lived. It would appear that an underlying ecstasy controlled her every emotion.”

Poor thing. Even with editing it’s impossible to make out what you’re saying. Perhaps a description like; “She stuttered and mumbled, overwhelmed by pleasure. Her obsession left her unable to form a single word. The only question was whether she could ever recover.”

Come and catch me. I like the ones who see the demon within and think, just for a moment, they have a chance. Tragedy is a wonderful genre to write. Show me a hero, and I’ll show you a tragedy.

Good tummynalism...

Can’t hide the truth from a cute face, can you? It’s totally understandable. You can trust me. Can’t you feel the words just wanting to spill out? Give in to those base urges. I’ll take good care of them. After your mind is at ease, I can help your body relax too.

Good work has an effect on the body. More colour in the cheeks, and a wider smile. Every day feels brighter than the last. That’s the power of good journalism. Unfortunately good journalism often means bad press. Bad press for you and yours, awards for me and mine.

What did I tell you? The life of Kings. With just a few words, a mighty and powerful executive is reduced to a petulant sulking shell.

You’re right, I should focus on my work. Tell me, when you signed off on that last shipment of M83 heavy ordinance rifles, were you aware of the defect in the firing mechanism which has been linked to dozens of combat deaths? My work involves publishing this. My ego doesn’t

They call this profession ‘the life of Kings’. They aren’t wrong. I just listen and transcribe what people tell me, and I’m treated like a servant of truth and justice. If they only knew. Humanity deserves to be preyed on by those like me. I deserve the life of Kings.

I know you’re lying. I’m not some behavioural expert reading nonsense ‘micro expressions’. And I’m not cheating by letting a demon tell me your true thoughts. No, you taste different when you’re lying. You sweat more. It’s so obvious. It’s quite delicious really. Lie for me.

You don’t know where we’re going? Strange. I could swear you keep looking over your shoulder in fear. You want me gone. You maybe want me to be yours. This won’t end that way though. Keep going. I want to see where you planned to take me. I can make use of it still.

Public places make poor work spots. Safe for you, boring for me. Finish your drink and let’s get to the good part.