“They’re in my hair, my lungs, they’re all over me! God, Jesus, Christ! They’re all over me!”
It was two months ago, when I first saw the ants. Sam had alerted me of their presence with his barks. At first they didn’t go much farther then the kitchen welcome mat. They only stayed a minute, slowly scattering across the floor, then they’d disappear. Sometimes they’d try and climb the walls and I’d go grab a can of Raid from the bathroom, but when I’d get back they’d be gone.
I sprayed poisons all along the front door, the kitchen, any cracks I could find, but they kept coming back. Not every day, sometimes they’d wait as long as a week to come, but each time they arrived, they’d move closer in. In a month the entire kitchen was full of them.
I woke one night and found that they’d made progression while I slept. I thrashed back and forth, they were all over me. I remember screaming as I swatted at the little red and black bastards. I could feel them digging into my skin, churning my pale flesh. And then they were gone. I felt along my body, feeling no bites, yet my skin still burned. I sat there shaking, drenched in sweat, and wondered if I was losing my mind...
Two weeks ago the ants were everywhere. I set off bug bombs in some futile hope that they would die, but they wouldn’t. I had no choice but to sleep while they crawled across my body, slipping in and out among the fibers, occasionally lapsing into biting fits. My dog slept with me. My little Sam. The ants hadn’t reached him yet, but he’d grown thin, far too thin. But he was still alive.
Today I woke and discovered that Sam was dead. Ants crawled out of his mouth, down his face, across his eyes. They were inside him, eating him, and he had grown so thin. My God.
I spent today under the shower, burning my skin until it was red and raw, washing my hair, but they wouldn’t leave. The bathroom was my only safe haven, the ants hadn’t crossed it. I had no idea why. I took the buzz shaver and began to shear my head. I watched my hair fall, sucked into the drain below, the ants flowing with it. I smiled as the water ran, rubbing my hand across my smooth head. This was my sanctuary. I imagined I could hear the ants shrieks of pain as the water boiled them.
I glanced down to see the water slowly rising. I’d clogged the drain. I shut off the valve and watched as the chunks of hair spun round. The ants had to be gone. I reached down and tugged out the clog. Thousands of the black insects issued from the drain, climbing up my body. No, they’d found their way in. I began to scream.
I swept at them, but they held strong, quickly scaling my body. They were at my chest. I slapped and scratched, leaving welts in my skin as they covered my face. I felt them begin to slide down my throat. No. They can’t kill me. God, they’re in my lungs, I can’t breath! I tore open the cabinet and popped the cap off the Drano I now regretted not using, letting it rinse my body. The ants burned. I opened my mouth and let the Drano in.
“Hope you burn, you bastards,” I whispered, and fell.
--------------------------------------------------
I open my eyes. The room is full of white curtains. People cloaked in blue, dressed in small masks stand over me. God, the light is so bright. The tallest of the men speaks to me.
“John? Can you hear me, John?” he asked.
“Whe-Where am I?”
“You’re in a hospital. You gave us quite a scare. We thought we may have lost you for a while.”
“How-”
“How’d you get here?” he interrupts, “your sister found you. You’re a very lucky man.”
“Can I speak with her?” I ask.
“Yes, of course.”
The doctors shuffle out the room. A few minutes later Sara enters. Her hair is ruffled and dry, her eyes are red. She looks like hell. What on earth do I look like?
“John,” she whispers, taking my hand.
“Hey Sara, how you been?”
“John...why?” she asks, ignoring my question.
“Why what?"
“Why’d you try to kill yourself?”
I try to sit up, but I can’t.
“I didn’t! I was protecting myself!”
“By drinking Drano?” she asks, wildly.
“It was the ants.”
“Ants?”
“They were all over me, Sara,” I whisper, my eyes filling with tears, “they killed Sam.”
“John, you killed Sam.”
I look into her eyes.
“What?”
“John, Sam died of starvation.”
“No-” I begin, bust she places her finger to my lips. I fall silent.
“John, I don’t know about the drugs you were doing, but I know you would never neglect Sam. John, when the cops searched your house, your fridge was empty except for a carton of sour milk, some cheese, and a case of needles. I don’t know about Heroin, John, but I read something in a book a while ago. People who hallucinate about ants are often lonely. They imagine a creature that lives in unity, thousands living as one, and it helps them.”
She stands from the chair, letting go of my hand, and walks across the room.
“Try and get some sleep, John. I’ll cut the lights off but I have to leave the door open in case you try-” she stops, hesitates, “in case something goes wrong.”
She shuts off the lights and steps outside, leaving a crack in the doorway. I lay alone in total darkness, save for the narrow beam of light that issues from the door, spilling across my chest. I close my eyes and clear my mind, waiting for the sand man to take me.
Then I hear it, the low, quiet hiss. A shadow passes across my chest and I sit up. Across the room the dark centipede slithers across the floor, glittering in the shallow darkness. I lay back, closing my eyes, and smile.
