by Jason Davis
After all, she hadn’t always worn dresses. In fact, he could only remember her wearing a dress for picture day. However, as she stood in his room, she wore a bright yellow summer dress. He had never seen her in a summer dress.
“You’re fantasizing about her, aren’t you?” a voice crept across his mind. “This is how you want to remember her because this is how you want her. You want to do something with her, don’t you?”
The voice was right. He had wanted to do something to her. He had wanted to do many things to her. He often dreamed about her, even as he went through high school, even when he saw her when she was older, he still always remembered her as a little girl. He would dream about the things he’d like to sneak off and do to her.
So many playful things.
A smile started to form at the edge of his lips, but it stopped when she stomped her foot on his hardwood floor.
“Don’t you start thinking those wicked thoughts, Billy. You’re a wicked little boy, Billy. Very wicked,” she said.
“Yes, you are, aren’t you, Billy?” the voice in his head said. It was soft and spoke in such a relaxing manner, he felt some of the rage and tension that had been stored inside of him just fade away. “You are wicked. You’re a very wicked boy, Billy. So why don’t you do some of those wicked things?”
“Don’t you dare!” shouted the little girl across the room. The shadows that had stood like an army around her seemed to fade a little as the voice continued to speak.
“Why don’t you practice some of those wicked little thoughts right now?” said the voice.
Billy saw the expression on Samantha’s face fall, no longer seeming to be a little girl in control. A look of fear started to wrinkle her face as she took a step back when he stood from his bed.
The shadows that had formed around her parted, making a path for Billy. He started to walk toward her.
“Billy, Billy, show us your little willy,” she said in a panicked voice. The words seemed to catch in her throat.
“Oh, I will,” he said as he unzipped his pants, pulling out his erect penis. It was still small, they had always had that right, but he never planned on using it anyway. As he reached the little girl, he stretched both of his hands out and wrapped them around her little throat.
He squeezed, feeling bones break under the pressure. Her skin felt warm and soft to his touch, and he wanted to squeeze that warmth from her body. He watched as her eyes bulged and tongue flailed in her mouth as she struggled to pull in air. Her mouth clenched, then blood started to spurt. She had obviously had bitten into her tongue. Then she stopped moving.
He let her go and her body fell to the floor in what looked like just a heap of clothes. It was a heap of clothes. His clothes.
The shadows around him were gone. He was alone in the room.
He looked down and saw that his penis was still erect. He reached down and started to stroke the short shaft, thinking about the pleasure killing the little bitch had given him.
Oh, yes. Today is going to be a good day, he thought.
The clock on his night stand lit up, and he saw that it was just a little after six. He had to be at work soon. It had been a long night, and he hadn’t gotten much sleep. Still, it had been worth it.
He looked at the pile of clothes on the floor, seeing small, black spiders scampering away from it. He watched them, quickly stepping on a couple as they all tried to make it to the safety of the darkness. He smiled as he looked at his foot, knowing the little corpses were under his skin. They were dead and he was alive, tall and standing over their dead bodies. Little things were so fun to kill. Soon, the world was going to be small enough to kill.
Oh yes, it was going to be a good day.
Chapter 2
Marty stood in one of the little examining rooms that were part of Dr. Wilson’s private practice. He leaned against the counter and looked around the examination room—the walls full of pictures of the internal parts of a person’s anatomy, the standard counter with drawers and cabinets locked with medical supplies, the large examining table that John was sitting on, his legs hanging over the edge.
Marty tried not to pay attention as the doctor examined his friend. John was getting worse, to the point that Marty didn’t even feel comfortable being in the same room with him anymore.
He took stock of the posters around the room. The one of the heart was interesting. On the left side, it had the heart as it was normally, but the right side was cut away to expose the inner workings. It showed the different layers and also different types of damage to it. Marty was sure the text wasn’t meant to be too small to read, but he was exhausted and couldn’t make out any of the descriptions. He wondered if any of them were similar to what killed his mother years ago.
He didn’t like doctors much. He hadn’t gone to one since his mother died, so he hadn’t seen too many posters like these before. He was almost curious enough to ask the doctor, but that would mean talking to him again. Something he wasn’t too keen on doing.
He stifled a laugh, thinking about some old videos he had once seen on YouTube. Something about an old TV commercial. Some eggs frying, or something with bacon… He wasn’t too sure, but he remembered it being an anti-drug commercial. He had been pretty stoned when he watched it, but it had them all laughing pretty hard. Kat had found the video. Good ol’ Kat, who was always good at finding those crazy things on there.
He could barely find cat videos. He was not a computer guy.
He heard the doctor clearing his throat, realizing he had been saying something. He turned to look at the old man, who was staring at him. Marty wished he wasn’t there. He had been wishing that for over an hour, beginning to think that whatever made John the way he was, Marty had it, too. He didn’t like the idea of losing his mind and becoming like the vegetable that had once been his friend.
John was looking straight at him, but Marty could tell he didn’t really see him or the doctor standing right in front of him. His dull eyes just stared there, unblinking, looking at them but through them. John's blank gaze sent a chill through Marty's limbs, his arms feeling like he should have brought a jacket. It was warm outside, but the temperature in the room felt twenty degrees colder and Marty could see goose bumps along his flesh.
Over the course of the last hour or so, John had gotten worse. His skin wasn’t pale anymore but was now gray and hanging from him. He had always been scrawny and lean, probably from all the drugs and not eating, but now it was extreme. The lifeless gaze in his eyes, the way his mouth hung open with the slightest bit of drool hanging there at its edge, ready to drip down onto the dirty jeans he had been wearing when Marty first showed up at his apartment. His shoulders slumped, defeated, hopeless. There didn’t seem to be anything left of the man Marty had known. It was just a shell. Marty would have preferred that his friend wasn’t looking at him at all. It would have been less, well…creepy.
Looking away from John’s gaze, he glanced at all the gashes on his friend's arms. They were deep, but not bloody. How did that happen? Marty just didn’t think it was possible.
Instead of looking at John, he stared at the tile floor, and caught himself. He hadn’t even realized that he had been doing it, but he was scratching himself, tearing into the flesh. Marty saw the pale skin pulled back, some of it starting to gather under his fingernails. The layers of his arm were torn away, so much so that he saw muscle…but he wasn't bleeding
He stopped himself and looked at his gashed arm. A small spider appeared from the wounds and dropped to the floor. Marty watched it in disbelief. The thing had appeared out from under his skin. He knew he should be screaming, but he just couldn't. Instead, he just watched it. When it hit the floor, it seemed to stop there for a moment, stunned. Then it collected itself and quickly started to scamper toward the doctor.
Marty quickly slammed his foot down, squashing the spider. As he leaned back against the counter, he lifted his foot and saw nothing there. He looked up an
d saw the doctor still looking at him, a troubled expression on his face.
“Sorry. Thought I saw a bug,” Marty whispered. His throat seemed to be getting tighter, making it hard for him to speak.
He looked back at John, who still stared at him. Marty could have sworn he saw a little smile on his lips. As much of a smile that could be made with parted, cracked lips. Then another spider appeared. This one came out of John’s mouth. It was a little larger than the one that had come out of Marty’s arm. It looked more like it was full grown. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he felt it had been alive long enough to get to its full size. It was faster and had more power. It quickly ran out of John’s mouth and perched itself on his face, then jumped and landed on the doctor’s arm. The doctor never even flinched.
“What about what he was saying earlier? About seeing spiders under his skin?” Marty choked out, watching as the spider that had jumped onto the doctor quickly made its way under his lab coat.
“I’m not sure. I’m not sure about a lot of things right now,” the doctor said. He took a step away from John. “Have you seen them, too?” the doctor asked, looking at Marty, then at the gashes in his arm.
Marty was going to lie, the word “no” on this tip of his tongue, but he looked at the floor instead.
“So, more than likely, this is infectious.”
“What is?” Marty asked.
“I have to make a few phone calls. You two stay here in this room. Do not try to leave.”
Marty thought about letting his smart-ass tongue get the better of him, having to bite back his response of, “Sure, we’re going to just go do a 5k run. We’ll be right back,” but he kept the comment to himself. He just nodded as the doctor left the room.
****
Mrs. Wilson turned on the lights in the reception area and walked to the coffee maker. They always set everything up the night before, so all she had to do was flip the switch and wait. It would only be minutes before the smell would filter its way through the hallways. She usually never waited for it, as there was always so much to do in the morning, but because she was there so early, she paused by the machine. She watched as it made its little clicks and perks. The draining sound of water rushed from one part of the machine to the other, making its way to the filter. In moments, darkened water started to work its way into the pot.
She stirred herself out of her daydream, stepped out of the little break room, and looked at their home away from home. She wasn’t even sure how many years they had been living in town or running the doctor’s office. She was thankful, though. After all, this was her hometown.
She went to the light switch and turned on the interior lights. The office was arranged with a front waiting room that split into two side hallways that ran most of the building before merging into the back hallway, the doorway leading into the alley and the driveway to their house. The left hallway contained three exam rooms and her husband’s office at the end. The right hallway had an office, for her to do her administration paperwork, and the break room.
She stepped back into the break room, guessing the coffee should be done and figured she would get his cup ready. Personally, she never drank the stuff, but Angus always had to start his day with a cup. She would laugh to herself when she heard him telling others to cut it out of their diet for health reasons. Especially because, between nearly every patient, he would step into the break room and take a long drink before heading into the next exam room.
Then there was his blood pressure, which wasn’t something to be proud of. His own doctor had given him the same advice and Dr. Wilson, her loving husband, did the same thing that just about half his own patients did. He ignored it.
She smiled to herself as she watched the coffee machine. Steam had started to drift up from the growing pool of fresh coffee in the bottom of the pot and the smell wafted from it. While she never did drink the stuff, she sure did like the smell of it. It usually brought good tidings of another morning.
She turned and walked out of the room and to the little receptionist desk. She thought she'd get the morning paperwork done and ready to go. She figured if all the morning chores were done, she would allow herself to take off for a few hours when Sheila, the day nurse, arrived. She knew she would never take of a few hours off, but she grinned at the relaxing thought.
Down the hall, she heard the door open and looked to see her husband coming out of the examining room. He looked troubled. She saw the frown creasing his forehead and knew it meant something wasn’t good. He typically only looked that way when he had to give someone grave news. He was normally a happy guy and had issues whenever the news wasn’t pleasant.
Maybe I should go over to him and give him a quick peck on the cheek. She took a step but stopped when she saw him do something he had never done before—he locked the exam room door behind him. She had forgotten the rooms even had locks on them. In fact, after Tammy, a former day nurse, had gotten herself locked in one of the rooms over five years ago, she thought Angus had removed all the locks.
He never even looked up at her, never even noticed her, as he hurried down the hallway toward his office. Just what in the hell was going on? He just locked those two boys in there. Was that even legal? She’d never known her husband to do anything that wasn’t, but he definitely seemed to be crossing some kind of line.
****
The office was a small cubbyhole of a room that was more like a storage closet than an actual office. It was very seldom used. Typically, they only used it for storage or when he wanted a place to hide when he had to give a patient bad news. While it was never truly a sanctuary, it did work as a respite, a brief pause before he had to devastate some family.
While that could be considered the case now, he was doing more than just avoiding the two men currently locked in his exam room. He didn’t know how the hell he was going to tell them his findings because it didn’t make any sense to him.
The mutilated one, the one sitting on his examination table, was dead. There was no other possibility. He was, for all intents and purposes, physically dead. He had no pulse, no heartbeat, no reflexes. His eyes were glazed over, nothing but white pupils remaining. There was no way to tell if the eyes followed him, but his head moved when the doctor did. But there was nothing he would call a sign of life.
And the other one, Dr. Wilson was pretty sure his name was Marty, seemed sick, too. His skin was beginning to pale, and he was starting to self-mutilate, like he had claimed his friend had done.
“What about the spiders?” Marty had asked him.
Dr. Winston had no idea what he was talking about. Marty had said he originally thought the other one had made it up or they were delusions. Then Marty said he started seeing them, too.
Shared delusions? Maybe, but as far as Dr. Wilson knew, mass hysteria was just a myth. He guessed that was one of the benefits of being a small-town doctor. He never had to deal with anything more than old farts trying to dodge changing their diets, younger kids with chicken pox, the cold and the flu, strep throat. Not kids who were barely old enough to be out of high school dealing with, well… The only way to describe it was paranoia, delusions, and near death.
Schizophrenia? Drugs? Anything was possible with today's youth. It was amazing what the younger generation seemed to get themselves into. What was that new craze he had seen on television? That new bath salts drug? And there was still the original bath salts. He never paid much attention to it, as it was all happening far away from the little town he called home, but what he had heard was people stripped down and started eating others because they had gotten it into their heads that they were zombies. The latest version of the drug was supposed to make the user even more brain dead. And why did they take it? Because the damn fools wanted to feel what it was like to be a zombie. The youth of America. God save them all. He had no idea how any of them would ever make it to middle age.
But if it were some new version of the drug, how did that explain thei
r symptoms, and when did a drug become contagious? That was assuming the other one wasn’t lying.
Drugs also didn’t explain how the one didn’t have a single sign of life. He didn’t know of any drug that would fake death on that kind of level. He was way over his head. Not only that, but he was pretty sure it was contagious, which meant there was a good chance he was also infected.
Dr. Winston nervously tapped his fingers on the desk. It was a small bronze desk that his wife had picked up from a garage sale in town. She probably only paid a dollar for the little thing, which was likely some young students study desk. It was badly dented on one side, but other than that, it wasn’t much more than a copy of what could be found in most classrooms as a teacher’s desk. His fingers made a hollow sound as they tapped against it. It was unsettling in the quiet office.
He looked at the paperwork littering the top of his desk. He didn’t know where half of it came from, but he didn't care to look into it, either. Instead, he glanced at the archaic black device on the left corner of his desk. He didn’t think he had ever used it and had even forgotten it was there. If he had remembered, he may had upgraded it over the years. The telephone was easily as old as the office. How anyone ever thought to dust it to keep it from turning gray or discolored amazed him. It still looked almost as new as the day the phone company had given it to them.
He picked it up and heard the dial tone. He reached toward the Rolodex and started looking for the number he needed. Within minutes, he found it and punched it into the phone.
His voice caught in his throat when he heard the calm, cool female voice of the operator on the other end.
“Center of Disease Control. How may I direct your call?”
Damn, he was in over his head.
Chapter 3
Thomas Carter wasn’t asleep in his squad car, or off flirting with the third-shift cashier at the all-night café like many thought he would be. Truth be told, on the average night, he would have preferred to be. It would have been much better than having to deal with watching the flashing red lights and knowing that he would soon have to knock on someone’s door.
