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It was the biggest raccoon Jake had ever seen. It was also, it turned out, the last one he ever saw.

It was as big as a small bear, and fat. Even sitting down the thing came up to his waist. It also looked like it was sick.

"Don't touch the animals," his mom told him. "You can throw them crackers, but don't go near them." But she was off talking to the campground hosts and twenty feet the away the raccoon was coughing and hacking like it had something stuck in its throat.

Jake couldn't help himself. Visions of the "How to help someone who's choking" video from school filled his head as he went over to help the raccoon. As it stood up on its hindpaws, gagging, he thumped it on the back with the flat of his hand.

That did it. The raccoon dropped down to all fours again and threw up.

Jake watched wide-eyed as a great slimy mass emerged from the raccoon's maw. Its neck bulged as it heaved up the wad of whatever-it was and its fat body got visibly smaller as it rid itself of the obstruction.

With a last cough the raccoon was free of it and it stood there breathing heavily as it recovered. Jake couldn't look away. A tangled mass of clothing lay dripping in front of the raccoon. It was an egg shaped mass, tapered at both ends and the size of a big watermelon. Denim was wadded in with sopping wet socks, what looked like a sweater that probably wasn't the color it started out, and even a couple of shoes. Maybe more than one pair of shoes, as the toe poking out of the mass didn't look to be attached to the heels he could see. Here and there on the sodden cloth was a dusting of white particles and the occasional larger one up to the size of a pencil eraser.

"Well look at you boy, eating clothes," Jake said. The raccoon blinked up at him, then sat up on its haunches. "That ain't good for you."

"Hey now," Jake said as the raccoon reached up and grabbed his sweater. "I'm still wearing this, you can't eat it."

But it could. The raccoon was heavy and unexpectedly strong and as it pulled him down toward it Jake lost his balance. Strong raccoon paws grabbed his upper arms and suddenly his face was in the thing's mouth.

It yanked and Jake toppled forward into its waiting maw. Fangs scraped his scalp and then a slither of wet flesh as his face pushed past its jaws and into a slimy chute of gullet. Strong leathery hands grabbed his pants and pulled.

It happened shockingly fast. With an upward thrust of its muzzle it had swallowed him to the waist and his legs kicked the air as it set about finishing its meal.

"Hey!" Jake struggled, but he was head down in the thing's throat and its gullet pinned his arms to his sides. "I was trying to help you!"

The raccoon's muzzle bobbed as it swallowed with all its might and a great contraction of its gullet muscles sent him sliding deeper. Slime coating the throat lubed him up for easy swallowing and a rubbery valve stretched open deep inside it to let his face into its stomach. With another mighty gulp his shoes were in its mouth and the push of its throat muscles forced him to curl up inside it.

The raccoon tensed, swallowed, and it was all over. Jake slithered heavily down its throat and two minutes after helping it cough up the mass of clothes he replaced it in the thing's stomach. He realized his mistake now. It wasn't fat when he saw it earlier, just full. Crumbling remnants of what could only be human bones poked out of the folds of stomach wall and in a couple of places smaller items of sodden clothing pressed against him.

The slime layer was just as thick here but it wasn't in the stomach for lubrication. This slime stung him wherever it touched and more oozed in, slowly filling the voids left in his curled-up body. Jake squirmed, but he was curled up too tightly to exert any real force and the walls were just too slippery to get a grip on. Struggle though he would, he just slipped and slid around in the swollen raccoon stomach.

He clawed futilely at the walls, knowing that his clothing would be coughed up once it had digested its meal just as it digested the last person it ate. The fat raccoon was fat again. It dropped down to all fours and let out a great belch he heard through raccoon muscle and fur. The burp propelled something up its gullet and Jake's slimy hat landed in front of his tent, getting an early release from the raccoon's guts. Sadly Jake did not come up with it.

He felt it waddle a few steps then flop on its side. Something cushioned the fall and even through the stretched belly he felt that it had ended up somewhere cooler.

The raccoon's lumpy belly was still moving from Jake's doomed struggle when his mother returned from the camp host trailer. She saw his hat in front of his tent and saw the flap move. Her son must have gone into his tent to get out of the sun.

"Hey Jake," his mother said. She leaned over and stuck her head in the tent. "I was thinking we could have hot dogs and beans for -"

The froze when she saw not Jake in the tent but a very large raccoon lying on Jake's sleeping bag. The lumpy bulge in its middle that could only be one thing. Strong clawed hands reached out and took her by the shoulders and she toppled into the tent. Before she could suck in a breath to scream for help her face was in the raccoon's mouth.

"What is happening," Dora said, as the raccoon gathered its tongue beneath her chin and swallowed her head. She worked out very quickly that this was a bad thing, but it already had its strong handlike forepaws wrapped around her upper arms. Slick gullet slithered by her eyes as it set about swallowing her whole.

No one saw the kicking legs pulled slowly into Jake's tent. Almost too full to walk from its earlier meal, the raccoon didn't try anything fancy. It just lay on its side and stuffed Dora into its maw. With just a few swallows its muzzle was to her elbows and her face squeezed through the same muscular valve her son pushed through earlier.

Bit by bit the undulations of the raccoon's throat and the push of its paws forced Dora into its stomach. Jake was there waiting.

"Jake?" She said as her face was pushed past his knees. Her son was covered with a thick layer of caustic mucus and his skin was already soft and slimy. Well lubricated with the less caustic throat slime, it wasn't hard for the raccoon to force her into its gut at well. It was uncomfortably full by the time it swallowed her shorts and the ass they covered, but there was no stopping now.

Dora's feet kicked one last time as they were pulled into the tent. It took the raccoon twice as long to swallow her as it had her son, since she was larger and it was full when it started. Though its belly swelled drum-tight it stubbornly kept eating until with a last straining gulp her feet slid down its throat.

"Jake, what is happening," Dora mumbled, already stung all over by the raccoon's stomach juices. Her smart watch chose that moment to illuminate and she winced as she saw her son's reddened face. In just a few minutes the raccoon's digestive enzymes had begun their work.

"Clothes," Jake mumbled. He was too short on air to feel the pain as digestion began. "That's what we're gonna be, mom. Big coughed up wad of clothes."

"Jake, you have to fight," his mother said. She tried to push against the tightly stretched belly walls and discovered what her son had a few minutes earlier. The thick coating of caustic slime made it impossible to get a grip.

The gorged raccoon let out a mighty burp and wrapped all four of its paws around the grotesque swelling in its middle. Both its meals were still squirming, one more vigorously than the other. All it had to do was outlast them, though. There wasn't much air in there and there was less with each belch.

Their struggle was weaker by the moment. The gurgle and churn of digestion was starting. They did their best, elbowing and clawing at the slimy walls of his stomach. It wasn't nearly enough.

With one last long belch it was over. The raccoon felt the struggle diminish and finally end inside him. He rolled over, barely able to reach the ground past the bulge, and waddled laboriously out of the tent. The sun was just down and he managed to drag his swollen self out of the campground without being seen.

There was a sense of them settling down inside him, their limbs intertwined and slicked by digestive slime so the two fitted together like two halves of one being. Mother and son had gone camping together and together they would make their way through his bowels.

All of their troubles were over and so was his need to hunt for the next days. Eventually a new problem would dawn, as it always did, for their clothing and indigestible bits would have to leave his body somehow.

The raccoon shrugged in a feral way and found a sheltered space among some tree roots where he could digest his meal in peace. Hopefully it would work out. It certainly had this time, with a human stopping by to help him cough up the remains of the last meal, and in so doing volunteering to be the next.