Infested

Simon awakes. His eyelids slowly blinking open. He tilts his head to the right, his alarm clock flips from 8:12 am to 8:13 am. He swivels his head to his left half expecting to be surprised to see a young beautiful woman next to him, it's just his pillow. He looks up at his ceiling staring blankly at nothing. It's an hour earlier than he usually gets up, but he's up. Simon lifts himself out of bed and sluggishly totters his thin wiry frame to his bathroom, running his fingers through his short hair and it's forty-years of wear and tear. He flicks the light on, stretching his arms out wide as he yawns. He looks in the mirror, rubbing his pear shaped chin.

Simon steps a foot inside the bathroom. His eyes lock onto the mirror. His head leans forward like a mother bird feeding its babies. Simon sees something in his left eye, something dark, possibly black. He moves up to the mirror for closer examination, his face inches away from the spotty glass. In the bottom corner of his left eye, just a pen tip away from his cloudy blue iris, a tiny black maggot-like-creature, sits more precisely - dangles out of his eye. Simon carefully touches the end of the black maggot and it spurts to life, wiggling its body in the air and inside Simon's eye. Simon pinches the end of the black maggot with his fingers and carefully pulls it out of his eye. Its long, slick, black body stretches as he pulls - its tail end bouncing around inside his eye until it's no longer in there. Simon lays the creature on the sink then leans down to get a good look at it. Despite its previous spirited wiggling the black maggot lies still. Dead maybe? A loud thwaking! Rings in the air. Simon spins around as if the sound came from right behind him.

Thwak! Thwak! Thwak! It's rhythmic in its archaic tune. Simon stands outside his bathroom, ear tilted slightly up in the air, trying to figure out the thwaking's origin. A double knock at his front door breaks his thwaking investigation. He moves swiftly out of his bedroom, down the stairs and swings open the door. No one's there and it's pitch black outside, not even the street lights are on. Simon steps onto the porch, his foot hits a brown box, taped closed. He grabs the box, takes one more peak down both ends of the street - nothing but cars parked in driveways - closes the door and scurries into the kitchen. Simon grabs a kitchen knife and carefully opens the box as if he were opening a pair of fragile glass double doors. He leans his head forward to get a good look, inside is a hand, bleeding at the wrists were it was cut off. It's his hand. He knows it by the U shaped scar between his thumb and pointer finger, gotten from a bike accident at twelve. He looks down at his left hand, a bloody stub now in its place. Simon drops the knife as he stumbles back into his fridge.

Thwak! Thwak! Thwak! And another double knock. Simon ignores the door, his eyes plastered on his bloody, stubby, wrist. A part of him wants to grab his hand from the box, but the other part, the part so frightened it wants to soil itself, won't move his legs. THWAK! THWAK! THWAK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! Simon moves, slowly, fear induced chills shoot through him like a fresh hit of heroin as he inches closer to the door. He pulls the door open, the darkness is gone, the bright sunshine of morning greets him and his bloody wrist-stub. Thwak! Thwak! Simon looks up and in the middle of the street is a girl with straight red hair, a touch of curl at the ends, her underdeveloped breasts and thin inward hips makes her all of thirteen, fourteen at the most, banging two sticks together, her face non existent. Not a lack of expression. Nor a disappearance of features. Non existent, as in, not there. No eyes, nose, lips or ears, just a blank pink fleshed toned slab of skin for a face. Simon slams the door shut. KNOCK! KNOCK! This time they came harder, with force, like police banging a warning before breaking in. He opens the door. It's pitch black out again. Greeting him on his doorstep is the no-face girl. Thwak! Thwak! Sticks still secured in her hands. Simon slams the door shut. Fear controlling his movements he runs before actually turning his body to take a stride and trips and falls to the ground. Unable to catch himself he smacks the floor with a wicked thud. KNOCK! KNOCK! The banging is violent, like each knock is accompanied by a messenger of death.

A burning sensation flashes in Simon's left wrist, he grabs the bloody stub. A legion of black maggots are digging into the open wound, burrowing themselves inside his skin. He feels his face and the maggots crawling out of his eyelids and from his nose. He frantically slaps them away as the door pushes open. Thwak! Thwak! Thwak! The no-faced girl strolls in. Stops. And without eyes stares directly at Simon.

“You want a ride, it's raining out.” A young girl's voice says. Simon looks around to see who said it because it didn't come from in front of him where the no-face girl is standing. It came from above, behind, all around him.

“You want a ride, it's raining out. Come on, get in.” The voice is tender and full of innocence. A tone that still carries that faulty ignorance that life is filled with fun and joy and good people.

“You want a ride, it's raining out. Come on, get in.”

“You want a ride, it's raining out. Come on, get in.” The voice, lowering.

“You want a ride, it's raining out. Come on, get in.” Getting harsher.

“You want a ride, it's raining out. Come on, get in.” Manly.

“You want a ride, it's raining out. Come on, get in.” Says Simon.

He looks around, confused at hearing his own voice echo in the air.

“You want a ride, it's raining out. Come on, get in.” He says again, his voice spilling with kindness.

“Thank you Mr. Cacy” The young girl's voice engulfs the room like loud music pumping through over sized speakers.

Simon stares at the no-face girl. Analyzing. Thinking. It can't be.

“Allison?” He says, voice quivering like the first time he was caught stealing his little sisters underwear.

The no-face girl’s features start to slowly fill in. Her hazel eyes, slender ears, tiny nose, thin lips.

“Allison?”

He looks harder, as if the girl's face was a question.

She drops the sticks, they turn into snakes on contact with the floor.

“It can't be.” Simon's voice begins to quiver.

“I killed you last week.” Now shriveling, filled with fear.

Allison starts walking toward Simon, her snakes slithering up his legs. The black maggots aggressively working their way up his arm. Simon grabs at his eyes, maggots have filled them. The snakes wrap around his neck and begin to squeeze. Simon gasps for air as he tries to pull the snakes from his neck with his one hand. Maggots have engulfed his entire face, spilling out of his eyes, mouth, nose and ears.

“You want a ride, it's raining out. Come on, get in.” Simon's voice echos in the room.

“Thank you Mr. Cacy.” Allison replies.