Worm Girl
I woke up in a daze on a night I cannot remember, in a bed that smells too sweet to be my own.
The room I’m inside of spins around like it believes it’s a carousel.
My head rests on a pillow, scattered in long strands of hair that clash with the ones growing from my head.
I turn to my left and see a nightstand I don’t recognize, straining my eyes to makeout the writing on a glass bottle half-drunk sitting on the nightstand without a coaster.
“Eughh” I voice my disgust once I decipher the letters on the bottle spell *Calypso*.
I hate lemonade. And that ring of liquid left behind whenever you forget to place a drink on top of a coaster, which I haven’t done in years since it drives me so crazy.
As I take a moment to rub my eyes and get my bearings, the darkness settles into an even deeper black in the corner of the room, to my right, next to a television.
The spot stands still as an abstract form at first, I squint my eyes attempting to trace what I see. Before I can shift my vision completely around the borders of the spot, it grows spindly limbs and cocks what could be a lengthy neck.
It studies me as if I’m the mysterious splotch in the dark. The entity, as it bobs its head trying to get closer, discovers I am awake.
A voice balancing between high and deep mocks a laugh, after it finds proof that it’s not the only living thing existing in the dark.
The physical presence climbs into the bed and wiggles its way through fuzzy comfort, under the blankets.
Like a paper weight, it drops right on top of me, the scent of booze and sweat wafting off of it.
The smell transforms a completely incoherent shape, to the girl I was drinking with yesterday afternoon.
She and I are coworkers, that’s right!
It was Friday night, if I’m not mistaken. She came down with infectious boredom and called me over around five o’clock, begging for my company.
Her eagerness out weighed my exhaustion, convincing me I would lose my mind if I spent the night in my own home. So, within moments, I found myself at her dining room table, where she fed me noodles that she couldn’t have cooked on a whim.
Our date sounded unplanned over the phone, so she must have gambled correctly on my poor immunity to her charm.
“Open wide!” She said, as she fed me.
We drank long before sitting down to eat, which must be the reason we acted like one adult feeding another wasn’t strange.
I grew weaker to the infection and stood up to use the bathroom. She pointed me to where it was, and after that…what happened?
I remember my sickness never resulted in violent stomach aches or vomiting. On my way to her bathroom, I must have tumbled to the wooden floors, where I struck my head so hard I went unconscious!
She must have been so worried, scooped me up, and tucked me into her bed where she’s been taking care of me.
Why she’s decided the rest of her bed is not as comfortable as laying right on top of me, is the eternal question. An infinite amount of possibilities flood my mind while I lay under her.
The only thing breaking me from these thoughts, is when she starts laughing again.
Her laugh slithers so far beyond what her vocal cords should be able to do.
It’s so unsettling I start to fight her off.
Her bellows grow louder causing me to freeze in fear, which soon forces me to tap out from her straddling thighs.
She lifts her back up and I meet her face for the first time since we met.
Parasitic worms wriggle in her gums where her teeth should be. My heart races as if it’s the size of a pebble, but desperate to keep a man weighing three hundred pounds alive.
“A-Ahh! W-what the fuck!” My hoarse voice startles me as it exits my mouth like a bandit leaving your home once they’ve snatched everything you ever had.
A deep groan that ends in a hissing sound trembles her vocal cords, repeating over and over like a prerecording. Cracks and pops pour agonizingly from her body as she shifts her weight around.
She treats me like a saddle. Siting upright on my pelvis, she cranes her neck to admire the horrified twist of my face.
She lingers in this moment for a bit, breaking her lips into a smile. The slight ringing in my ears acts as an eerie soundtrack, to build toward what’s coming.
Slowly, her back bends down, lowering her face toward mine. This time, I can hear each segment in her spine slip out of place, squelching loosely, yet performing like it’s intact.
Her lips meet mine the same way you would give someone CPR, she uses her fingers to clasp my jaw open.
A paralyzing force orders me to remain content.
This allows another enemy, her tongue, to invite itself past my lips and flail around the inside of my cheeks.
A siege has commenced as I fight a wet adversary, which owns a devastating weapon.
She gags and heaves a concoction of spit, bile, and parasitic maggots directly down my throat. It comes out like bullets from a rifle, so quick to fill up my gullet. I feel myself much more occupied with wishing to gasp for breath, than on the taste (which was like chunky sour milk).
I can no longer speak holy resistance, my mouth relishes in evil.
My vision introduces me to what might rival my mouth’s suffering. As I indulge in a meal with a stranger, I’m glued to her eyes. They bulge and inflate, soaking with tears of joy.
I wish I was born blind.
We make direct eye contact while I feed, bloody veins trickle through the whites of her eyes.
If an angel wishes to come save me, I cannot look upon her. I’m lost in a malicious blend of reds and whites.
Her rapid spitting switches tactics, becoming more akin to molasses. Globs of saliva infested with wriggling worms work their way as lumps, sliding down my tongue.
My ears beckon me and reveal what’s worse than what I can see. Now that she relaxes and regurgitates in warm bursts, I notice pleased moans reverb off her throat.
I should have been smart and fired a shotgun straight down my ear canal. That way, I’d never have to know what her pleasure sounds like.
I can no longer hear a prayer sing me to sleep, I yield to the tune of satiated malevolence.
At long last she heaves a dry cough, making me taste rotten air. Her lips pop from mine, with a string of spit remaining our only connection.
Huffing with a wide open mouth, her sighs are coated in sharp feminine hums. Satisfaction caresses each breath and she stares down at me with heavy eyelids, as if we just shared an enjoyable experience. Her chin and neck shine with dribble, that she uses an open hand to clean up with.
It’s amusing to that weight on top of me, I catch evidence of this amusement as tiny laughs. She examines her hands that glisten in slime, dragging a thumb gliding with ease, in lazy circles around the surface of her palm.
And now I’m left with the aftermath of her intrusion. My stomach pierces with irritated bubbles, hoping to destroy the few pests I allowed to pass my throat.
The majority of the worms flip over one another imprisoned behind my teeth, but I can only handle the taste of frighted larvae for a couple seconds longer.
Spewing nuggets of unintentionally chewed worms, swimming in a mixture of her and I’s saliva, I projectile vomit all over the girl. Speckles of our conjoined slobber (and the worms) decorate her chest, arms, and stomach.
She accepts my impoliteness and lets out a squeal. Her eyes squeeze shut as she gets drenched and her mouth hangs open. Shock and delight battle to declare the look on her face. Without a word, she fully embraces my mess and rubs the fluid all over her body. Like she’s enjoying a warm bubble bath, she tilts her head back.
“Please! Just stop! G-get off me!” I cry.
But she only grows more monstrous from my pleas.
Suddenly her neck snaps back and she looks up to the heavens, giggling.
I look up as well and see a source of light beam down into her domain. I look to my left and my right at blocks of soil built like walls, shutting me into a place of death much too early for my age.
Her bed has become my grave, the blankets once tucked to lure me to sleep, strangle me in sod.
Her arms raise straight out as they meet each wall of dirt. They bend at the elbows, with palms open to the world above.
As if she’s hailing a divine creator, she holds this pose for a couple seconds.
In a flash the bones in her arms crinkle in a straight line toward her body, crying out in shattering sobs. They crumble until there’s nothing left, leaving her hands poking out from either side of her torso.
Her fingers wiggle, to my horror, in excitement. The only sound that prevents me from blissful silence, is her fingers slipping together while they expel her pent up exuberance.
I watch her bare chest fall in slow motion, until two pale pillows of relief are pressed up against my eyes, holding my face hostage in between their comfort.(If it weren’t for the fact that she’s covered in vomit I’d be somewhat aroused).
I think she’s worn herself out, I count her breaths after each lift and fall of her chest.
It’s all I have left to do, every one of my senses pretending like they never knew me, have shut off.
I lose count when eventually, I start to feel something.
The tightening of what I wished was a rope being used to pull me out of the ground, pricks me. A tugging force that seems to be coming from her legs, like she’s repetitively stretching and retracting them, frees me from her once straddling thighs.
And I am recaptured by an inhuman tube of pure muscle.
It feels as though tiny hairs sprouting from an endless coil of rings, wrap around me with increasing force.
Its grip squeezes me light enough so I do not panic, warmth emanating from its new segmented body, convincing me to close my eyes and rest.
I follow its request, falling asleep.
When I wake once again, I immediately know where I am.
It’s impossible to know how long we’ve been cuddling for.
The present has ceased on this day, exhausted of always being.
It’s abandoned its job in favor of the future, a cunning future, that swears I’m safer when I’m suffocating.
I have nowhere to look but forward at nauseating spirals.
I have nothing to ponder but the indefinite.
The future invites itself to the depths where the dead lay.
It lies by my side; In bed with a parasite.