by Anthology
"Peggy, relax." Ms. Matthews reached out and took her hand. "If you don't want to undo your hair, you don't have to."
Peggy pulled her hand away. "Don't touch my hair!"
Ms. Matthews held up her hands, palms forward. "I won't, I won't. Are you feeling better now?"
Peggy nodded, slowly. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Better get to your next class, then."
For the rest of the day and on Friday, the other teenagers tended to ignore Peggy. Except for Roxanne, of course, who ribbed her, mostly about her hair. But Peggy ignored her, as she knew that the hairdo would eventually make her popular. When going to bed both nights, she thought about undoing it, as Ms. Matthews had suggested; but each morning, she awoke with a firm resolve to keep every hair in place.
The headaches did cause her problems over the weekend, though. She had trouble concentrating on her work. So instead of going out or doing anything after finishing her homework, she slept for twelve hours straight on both days, and that seemed to help when Monday morning arrived.
By her afternoon Geometry class, however, Peggy once again felt weak. She usually paid close attention at the beginning of class, when Mr. Hakner sent students to the blackboard to work out last night's homework, but this afternoon she wanted to do nothing but zone out. Unfortunately, it was not to be.
"Peggy, will you do the next problem, please?"
Peggy sighed. Couldn't Mr. Hakner see how lethargic she was feeling on this particular afternoon? She pulled her body up and began walking to the front of the room.
Roxanne stuck out her foot and tripped her. Peggy stumbled and almost hit the floor, but recovered. She steadied herself, but still felt dizzy.
"Peggy, are you okay?"
"Yes, Mr. Hakner." Peggy glared at Roxanne and walked the rest of the way to the blackboard. She heard someone chuckle and say, "Must be that hair, weighing her down."
Just ignore him, said the voice.
Peggy picked up a piece of chalk and began working out the proof. Suddenly she felt even weaker and more unsteady.
"Peggy, are you okay?" Mr. Hakner asked. "You look pale."
"No, I'm fine, I…" Peggy said, and the room dissolved in a sea of bright colors. Her last thought just before she fainted was a flash of concern for her hairdo.
Slowly, Peggy awoke, not realizing she had been unconscious. She didn't recognize the bed she was in or her surroundings, and she tried to lift her head. Weakness and pain claimed her, and her head thunked back down to the pillow. Strands of her hair fell loosely around her shoulders. It took a moment to register, and when it did, she tried to scream. But no noise came out.
Oh no! They've done it!
Groggily, she reached her hands up to her head, barely noticing a tube and needle inserted into her left arm. Her hairdo! Her beehive hairdo! It's undone!
True, the voice in her mind called from what seemed like far away. It is all over. I have failed.
Turning her head, Peggy saw a nurse call button hanging off the bed. They must have put her in the hospital. Despite her weakened state, she managed to reach over and push the button.
A nurse entered a moment later. "Good, you're awake," she said, smiling. "Let me go get the doctor." Peggy tried to ask the nurse to stay for a moment, but the nurse left quickly, before she had a chance to speak.
The doctor entered a few minutes later, along with her parents. Her father held back, but her mother leaned over and kissed her. "Sweetheart, are you all right?"
Peggy found her voice; she had started to feel better while waiting. "What happened?"
Her mother looked at the doctor, who moved closer and sat down next to her. "First of all, Peggy, everything's going to be all right. You just had an infection, that's all."
"An…an infection? What about my hair?"
"Ah. Well, Peggy, we found a spider living in your hairdo. Somehow it got trapped inside and couldn't escape."
A spider? Disgusting! "Where is it now?"
"In the lab. It's still alive. We're studying it to see what other bugs it might be carrying."
"Other bugs?"
"I mean bacteria. The spider seems to have infected you with whatever it had. We found a series of red welts on your scalp, probably due to the spider biting you. That's how you got infected."
Peggy nodded slowly, and sat up. "How long do I have to stay here?"
The doctor clasped his hands together and wrinkled his brow. "Technically, you're cured, but this is such a bizarre case that I'd like to keep you here for observation for a few more days."
Peggy agreed. As soon as they left her alone to get some rest, she spoke out loud. "What do you mean, you have failed?"
You wish to know? the voice asked.
"Yes."
I can tell you now. It no longer matters. It paused. I was not just a voice in your head. I am the spider they found.
Peggy shuddered. "Go on."
The spider explained to her what it was, and about its mission. Finally, Peggy spoke. "You mean, you were going to turn me and everyone else into spiders?"
Yes.
"Including Roxanne and the girls at school?"
The voice hesitated for a moment, then replied: Yes.
Peggy sat up, hugged her knees, and started to cry. "I hate them. I wish they were dead."
The voice said nothing as Peggy dried her tears. Then she asked, "Can you help me with that?"
Yes.
"Good," Peggy said. "You'll have to help me find where they've put you."
Peggy snuck out of bed and the spider directed her to the lab. When she found it, she shivered at its ugliness. Still, she found the inner strength to pick it up and put it in her hospital gown pocket. "I hate spiders," she explained to it. "But I hate Roxanne more."
Peggy stayed in the hospital two more days, keeping the spider safely away from everyone, especially the doctors who were anxiously searching for it. After dinner with her parents on the night she returned home, she took the spider upstairs with her to bed, and put it on her pillow. She lay her head down next to it.
"Please wait until I've gone to sleep," she said, looking right at it.
The spider lifted a leg in acknowledgement. Yes. And thank you.
Peggy's last thought before she drifted off to sleep was that she would finally have her revenge.
As Peggy slept, the spider deposited eggs into her body, piercing her all over instead of just on the scalp. The tiny eggs coursed through her bloodstream and found their way into every organ, every tissue, and every cell. Out of respect, the spider made sure they left her surface intact. They hatched into larvae, which ate away at her body, enlarging and engorging themselves, until they were ready to emerge.
Peggy's mother went to wake her daughter the next morning by knocking on her bedroom door. "Peggy, time to get up. How are you feeling?"
Peggy didn't answer.
Frowning, Peggy's mother opened the door and entered the room. Her daughter lay on the bed, under a blanket.
"Peggy, it's time to get up," she said. She pulled the sheet down to expose Peggy's body, and what she saw made her blood run cold.
Peggy lay there, apparently lifeless. Her skin, covered with a thin sheen of glistening green slime, rippled as if something underneath was anxiously trying to break free.
Peggy's mother recovered from her shock. She bent over and gently poked her daughter on the shoulder. "Peggy?"
Immediately, a thousand tiny spiders burst free from the hole she had accidently poked in Peggy's shoulder. Peggy's mother jerked back her finger and screamed. She watched in frozen horror as other spiders slipped out of Peggy's body through the holes in her ears.
She backed off and glanced at Peggy's head. Peggy's eyes slowly sunk into her face and disappeared, and spiders crawled out of the empty sockets. Then, with a sound like paper being ripped apart, the shell that was Peggy's body cracked open. Her skin collapsed into a pile of dust onto the bed. The spiders crawled out onto her bed, fell to the floor, a
nd spread everywhere. Peggy's mother tried to flee, but she was overcome immediately, her screams stifled by spiders crawling into her nose and mouth.
Quickly, the spiders moved off in all different directions to begin spreading their race across this planet. But one spider set off slowly, with its own mission, given to it by the human girl that had helped it save its species. It set off to find its host's tormentor, Roxanne.
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THE DARK SIDE
Guy Hasson
Guy Hasson is an Israeli writer, playwright, and filmmaker. His fiction is predominantly written in English, whilst his stage and film work is written in Hebrew. He is the author of two books published in Israel—a short story collection and a short novel—and he wrote and directed the science fiction feature film Heart of Stone in 2008. He is also a two-time winner of the Israeli Geffen Award for science fiction short stories.
“The Dark Side” was originally published in Aphelion #61.
—§—
“The dread of something after death [ ... ] puzzles the will, and makes us bear those ills we have, [rather] than fly to other that we know not of.”
— Hamlet, Prince of Denmark; Shakespeare
1.
My memory isn’t what it used to be.
It’s not that I don’t remember enough. It’s that I remember too much.
This present moment is a case in point: I’m at my apartment, sitting on the side of my bed, and beside me sleeps a naked woman. Now, the question that comes to my mind is, how did she get here?
I remember a knock on the door last night. I opened the door, and there she was, selling life insurance. I let her in. We talked. I told her the truth. She said I was suicidal, too high a risk, they won’t insure me. But all this talk of death turned her on. We ended up in bed. I ended up here, watching her.
Makes sense. The memory is vivid. Problem is, I remember something else, too.
I was hungry last night. The fridge was empty. I went down to the local Seven-Eleven, a five-minute walk from here, to buy me some food. She was walking out just as I came in. The second I saw her, I said, ‘You would look great in a coffin’. Just blurted it out, didn’t think anything of it, and went in.
For some reason, she backtracked and followed me into the store. She struck up a conversation. She liked me. The first person in a long while that didn’t freak five minutes into a conversation with me. I liked her. A lot. She agreed to come to my apartment. Only for a few minutes, she said. She ended up staying the night.
This memory is just as clear as the first one. I remember our conversation in the store word for word. I remember the conversation in my living room, the conversation about life insurance, with the same accuracy.
I also remember something entirely different.
The fridge wasn’t completely empty. There was still enough for one, last meal. No double-meaning meant. I ate in front of the television. Suddenly, the reception frazzled. I looked up. And there she was, walking right through the wall and standing in front of the set. I admit, I was surprised a bit. But then again, if it happened, it happened. So long as it’s reality, it’s real, right?
She wanted some food. We shared. We talked. She said she usually doesn’t walk through walls, but she liked me. I liked her back. We ended up in bed much quicker than in the other two times. I fell asleep immediately afterwards. I woke up, and she was still here.
Now, people aren’t supposed to be able to walk through walls. But this memory is just as real to me as the other two. One of the versions of the past is probably the truth. Maybe they all are. Maybe none. I really don’t know. They all feel equally real.
Although I remember more details than I used to, my memory has become less reliable. I’ve learned never to believe it, even if it tells me the truth.
So I’m back to my original question: How did she get here?
I don’t even remember her name. That is to say, I remember three different names.
I’ll wait until she wakes up and ask her then.
On the other hand, maybe I won’t remember thinking this. Maybe I won’t remember being confused. Maybe I’ll forget to ask her. Maybe I never thought all these thoughts. Maybe this is one of my false memories. Maybe there’s no one in my bed. Maybe I should wake her up and ask her now, before I forget the different ways by which she came to my bed.
But then again, if I forget to ask her, I won’t be angry with myself for forgetting, because I’ll have forgotten that I forgot.
What was I thinking about? I forget.
I’ll let her sleep.
2.
There’s a knife in my hand. I’m standing in front of the bathroom mirror with a knife in my hand. I don’t remember how I got here, I don’t remember what day it is. At this very second, I don’t even remember my name. It doesn’t matter, though. I wouldn’t believe me if I did remember. All that matters is the present. All that matters is what’s in front of me.
My image in the mirror is in front of me. I need a shave. Must be morning. It doesn’t matter.
There’s a knife in my hand. I don’t think I came in for a shave. I press the knife against my throat. Very sharp. A quick cut and it’ll all be over.
Could it be? Is it finally time to do it, to leave this world and go to the other side? I must have made all the preparations and forgotten about them. There’s a crowd of thousands in my head, cheering: ‘Do it! Do it! Do it!’ Oh, I’ll do it, don’t you worry about that.
I put the knife to my throat. The crowd roars.
But... But what if I’m not ready? What if the reason I don’t remember making the preparations is that I hadn’t made any? Then why am I here with a knife? Where did I get the knife, anyway? For once, not even one memory comes to mind.
I should do it. I should just do it. I’ve been planning this for more than a year. It’s time. I feel it. I know it.
I stare at the mirror. There’s the place to cut, right there. I’ll bleed to death on the floor. Within minutes, I’ll be almost entirely drained of blood. Sounds like fun.
I start to cut. It hurts. Big surprise.
I stop. Still only a scratch.
What’s your problem, you wuss?
Something’s wrong. Why can’t I remember how I got here? Why isn’t even one of my memories telling me I’ve made the proper preparations? Maybe I’ve done all the experiments already, maybe there are no more preparations to be made, maybe I already know what’s on the other side, because I’ve alre
ady been there? Maybe this time I’m going there permanently?
I don’t know. I can’t remember.
It doesn’t matter. I’ve obviously come here to do it. I have to trust my judgment, even when I can’t remember it. Besides, whether I’ve made the preparations or not, either way I’m going to see what’s on the other side. Worst case, I won’t come back to tell anyone. What’s so bad about that?
I get ready to cut again.
Where did I get the knife? It doesn’t matter.
The crowd eggs me on. My hand trembles. This is ridiculous. I can’t be afraid of death.
Come on, be a man. Have some guts. So it’ll hurt, so what? You know you want to.
My hand still won’t move.
No. Not today. Not today. I refuse to do it without knowing what I’m doing and why I’m doing it. The crowd boos. Trust me, folks, no one is more disappointed than I.
I put the knife down. No harm done. Death will still be there tomorrow. And the day after, and the day after. I’ll kill myself once I regain my memory.
My head thumps against a hard object. Whoa, that hurt! I’m on the floor. I must have fallen somehow. I get up and look around. I’m in the bedroom. There’s a naked woman in my bed. What’s she doing in my bed? Ah, yes, she walked through the wall or came to sell life insurance or I met her at the Seven-Eleven... or something.
I must have fallen asleep. All that bit with the knife, it must have been a dream. In that case, I am a first-class jerk. I can’t even kill myself in a dream.
Still, maybe that was reality, and this is the dream. They feel exactly the same. But I’m here right now, so I must treat this as if this is reality.
I look at her. I never noticed it before, but she looks incredible.
God, I hope she’s the one who walked through the wall. I’d love to see that again.
3.
She stirs.
She opens her eyes and looks at me. She smiles. Oh, to die for, to die for, to absolutely slit your wrists and die die die for!
