Pirouetting on Memories

I wrestled with myself whether to tell you this story or not. Once you hear it, you will see me in a different light. It all began one terribly unblustery, calm, summery day.

I was sitting on the porch, stroking the dog with one hand and watching a spider walk over the back of my hand. I was transfixed by how she delicately danced across my skin, her legs pressed enough so that she remained on my hand, but not too aggressively. She even spun some webbing and swayed in the gentle July breeze from my thumb. I had just finished Charlotte's Web, so I was already a fan of spiders, but this encounter tipped me over the edge. I decided to take her in with me. I lived alone then, because it was a few months before I met you, Clarissa.

Toby the Doberman followed me in as I placed my new houseguest on the kitchen counter near the window that sat above the sink and overlooked my small but pristine back garden. I set her down, calling her Charlie in reference to Charlotte, and made myself a peanut butter and jam sandwich. Crunchy peanut butter and raspberry jam—with bits in, because I'm not a heathen.

I sat at a stool by the counter that Charlie was making herself at home on, and as I finished my sandwich and downed a half-pint of some rubbish IPA, my mind went a little cloudy and, for what felt like a second or two, I drifted to sleep.

As the darkness surrounded me, there was a rustling noise, like two fine, small pieces of steel being sharpened off one another, and then I felt a stabbing pain in the back of my throat and woke coughing, choking, and throwing up a lot of sandwich.

In the panic that ensued, I worried I had somehow scared Charlie. I couldn't see her anywhere. After a deep search around the kitchen—on the floor and behind my coffee machine, toaster, and air fryer, because apparently I'm that kinda gullible idiot—I gave up the search as I was still feeling strangely tired.

Dragging my heavy body up the stairs, one millstone-like foot at a time, I reached my bedroom and fell onto the bed with a rumble.

As I slept, I felt at peace though unsettled. A fly was buzzing around my face in a dark cave not unlike the one we are in just now. That's partly why I took you here. So you understand, and because caves have a certain homely feel to me that I wanted to share with you.

As I tried searching in the dark for the fly, its sound gaining volume, I felt an urge to jump up to the ceiling of the dark cave. As my feet propelled me upwards, my mouth reacted to the sight of the fly before my eyes as instinct overtook reason and thought. The fly was not much different in size to me, comparatively, and as my fangs sank into its thorax and I tasted the pleasant, heady acridity of its life force, I felt a strange power overcome me. That's when I woke up. On the ceiling.

Okay, yes, that last part was a lie. But somehow I knew what had happened to me, even if I knew it couldn't possibly be real.

Behind my eyelids when I closed them, Charlie's beady eyes were staring at me, right to my fore, directing me and presenting my new goal in life.

It turns out that the dream events had drained much of my stored energy and fat, and I was famished.

Toby wandered in with his bowl as he always did, and before I could tell him to go back upstairs, I had used one of my steel-like fingers to slide open his brown throat. Instead of fainting as his crimson life fluid tainted my white sheets, I felt invigorated. I instinctively spun webbing around his muzzle and pulled his head clean off. Charlie crawled from my tear duct and swung down to the open, fleshy entry point where I had sliced through his neck and oesophagus, and she feasted.

To tell you the truth, I was a little queasy at first—but less so because of the grotesque scene before me, and more because I wanted to dive down and feast with Charlie.

And, Clarissa, that's what I did.

We made a light meal of poor Toby. I do miss him and kept his collar as a keepsake. Or does it become a trophy?

What do you think?

Still a little quiet. I mean, the duct tape will do that for sure. Keep noisy fucking animals quiet.

There have been a long line of—I guess you could call them victims—over the years since Charlie and I became two and one in the same being.

Let me get nice and close to you, Clarissa, and introduce you to Charlie.

I just need to grip your throat and open those pretty, quaint little nostrils of yours. Where did I put my pliers?

Charlie is tugging at my right jeans pocket.

While I jimmy them free, I want to tell you about the first human I shared with Charlie.

Farrah was a middle-aged woman, around 45, and she had swooping blonde curls a little like her namesake Ms Fawcett.

She lived two doors down from us, Charlie and I, and was out the following summer after our Toby feast, catching some sun rays. Hardly the most modest woman, she was wearing beige shorts and a strapless bikini top. The sun shone down on her, highlighting the definition in her abs and arm muscles.

She was blissfully unaware of our approach, and we carefully stepped along the path, avoiding the crunch underfoot or the stones that lined the concrete slabs. As Charlie ushered me to make the first move, she made her way along the pebbledash exterior of Farrah's house as I grabbed the garden hose and threw it gently over my shoulder, making sure it was plugged into the outdoor tap and the faucet had been turned on.

I stood over her as my shadow roused her from her sunny daze. She didn't have much time to gasp as Charlie sprang directly into her open mouth, nibbling at her tongue and falling down her throat to work on her from the inside.

I guess she didn't want to wait.

So it was my time to shine as I gripped her chin and pushed the hose nozzle roughly up her right nostril. I remember it was the right because you don't forget a detail like that. And then I triggered the deluge and watched as her eyes cried a pale, pinky, sorta diluted cerise mix of blood, salty tears, and good old crisp, clean Scottish water. The best in the world.

I heard a pop and watched as Charlie emerged, a little redder than her usual deathly black hue, from the right leg of Farrah's shorts. Again, details are important, Clarissa.

She was a tasty feast. A local rat or two and a murder of crows tried to join us, but we blinked at them and they knew better.

Stop struggling. It's really not that bad. Once we have devoured important membranes and neural pathways, you'll be part of our fledgling colony.

Besides, who do you think is going to save you? Your mother and sister adore me and think I am the best boyfriend since sliced Scottish lass tongue. Oh, that's not how that goes. Never mind. You won't miss your tongue when you've been welcomed into our little throuple officially.

Now hold still as Charlie walks down my hand. Watch her prance and dance as she makes her way to your eyes. You'll get to meet her face-to-face finally. I can't tell you how lucky you are.

Most aren't so privileged.

What?

You want to say something?

Let me just tear that tape off your pretty lips.

"You monster, why are you doing this? Why don't you stop her? Oh, she's gross. Oh... She's inside me now, I can feel her, pirouetting on my memories. I need to fight her but... can't. I want flesh to eat."

That'a girl. Welcome to the fold.

*

Thanks for reading!

This is for the always awesome RMS's 𝕺𝖈𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝕮𝖆𝖒𝖕𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖊 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖀𝖓𝖔𝖋𝖋𝖎𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖊. You still have time to take part before the end of the month.

Having missed the last few, I really was determined to enter this one. So no apologies for the gruesome.