Chapter 13 #2
Black and yellow flies. I knew them, of course. I knew their shape intimately. I had labored over paintings, using the finest brush I had to draw in every tiny, bristling hair.
Cracked lips parted. A fly clung to the corner of his mouth. His gums had receded so far that his teeth looked as long and sharp as a dog’s.
“… who … are … you…”
I should have been moved to pity. I should have thrown myself on the shackles and tried to break him free. But the storm’s eye was moving still and the wind inside my head was picking up.
Oh god. All this time I thought the big mystery was what happened to Louisa, and really it was what was happening down here.
Underneath the mesh, the warbles began to sway.
“… who…”
Drops of swollen white flesh began to ripple. I watched with horrible fascination as dark, blunt bodies began to struggle loose, the wolf worms birthing themselves into the world.
I staggered backward and hit the wooden table with a thud. Rough boards dug into my back.
It broke the spell and I bolted.
The candle went out when I was halfway up the stairs, the flame extinguished as I splashed wax wildly. I dropped it, clutching for the drape.
Behind me, I heard a cry. Weaker than the one that I had heard a few weeks ago, but unmistakably the same—a shrill, rasping wail like sandpaper across my eardrums.
I flung the door back and made it out of the shed before I went to my knees, retching. Acid burned my throat, roared through the back of my nasal passages. It was agonizing but all I could think was, Please let it kill anything in there, please let them not have laid eggs in me, please God, please!
Even when I had stopped being sick, I couldn’t seem to get up. I wanted to run, I had to run, but I was shaking so hard that my teeth were chattering, and even in the midst of horror, some small part of me was annoyed by this. I am handling this all quite badly. I expected better of me, really.
I wanted, more than anything, to crawl into my bed and pull the blankets over my head. Then maybe the last few minutes would stop and I could push them into the past, into a thing that had happened, not a thing that was happening, right now, still.
Close the door. If I close the door, it’ll be over.
I wrestled with the drape, gasping through my raw throat, and swung the door shut. I understood now. It wasn’t to keep insects out for an experiment, it was to keep them in.
The lock clicked. I turned and staggered away, my stockings squelching inside my shoes.
Something touched the back of my head.
It wasn’t heavy. No harder than a tap of Smiley’s paw, really. It might have been a pine cone falling. I reached up a hand to the back of my head, unthinking, and felt … legs.
Legs and bristles and a brief, papery buzz of wings and oh god it was huge it was on me right now—
I slapped it away with a scream. Buzzing filled my ears but I was running like a rabbit.
Wet fabric slapped against my legs with every step but I didn’t care.
If I lost my footing, if I stepped in a hole, I could hurt myself terribly, but at that moment, I think I would have crawled on a broken leg rather than spend an instant longer in the woods.
I hit the back door, flung it open, and slammed it closed behind me. The clock in the hall chimed a quarter to ten as I passed. I had been gone barely twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes was long enough for something to have laid eggs.
What was it that Holder had said? Nasty fellows, botflies … The larva hatches out, waits for a host to walk by, latches on, and climbs inside. Mouth, nose, anus, open wound, they don’t discriminate … Proper little monsters, they are.
Were there wolf worms climbing across my skin right now, looking for an opening? Had the one that landed on the back of my head been laying eggs? Were they on my hands, already hatching out in response to the warmth of my skin?
Had I touched my face or wiped my nose since I’d slapped away the botfly?
I couldn’t remember.
My first thought was to scrub myself raw, remove anything the flies might have left behind, even if I had to use lye to do it. I was halfway to my room before I thought of the cistern and the insect parts that swam in my basin. Oh god, no, I can’t—I couldn’t—
The cold, scientific voice in the back of my head stepped in at last. I think perhaps I had disgusted myself completely. Think. You need clean water. How do you make sure water is clean?
Boil it, I answered. I wobbled on the stairs, nearly falling, turned back, and went to the kitchen. I put a pan of water on the stove to boil, then collapsed into a chair. It was warm and stoking the stove made it hotter, but I was still so horribly cold.
The water boiled. It seemed fast. Had I really been sitting at the table, staring at nothing, for the entire time?
It didn’t seem long at all. I pulled the pan from the heat, looking at the rolling water.
I had a wild urge to try and breathe it in and burn the larvae out with it, but the cold voice had taken over.
Don’t be ridiculous. You must wait for it to cool.
While you’re waiting, take off those wet boots and skirt.
I obeyed. My socks hung limp and sodden as I pulled them off and dropped them back into the boots. I started to shiver again. The room seemed dark or maybe it was just my vision going dark at the edges.
When the water had cooled enough that it was only somewhat painful instead of scalding, I went to the scullery and scrubbed my face, rinsed out my mouth, wiping at my nose.
God only knew if it would work. Maybe they were like the deer botfly and one had already flicked larvae into my mouth when I screamed, and they would gather in clusters inside my mouth, squirming like a dozen extra tongues …
I gargled until I nearly drowned. Then I poured more water over the back of my skull, scrubbing violently with the harsh kitchen soap.
Strands tore, but I didn’t care. I had to stop it now, before I ended up like him, before Halder locked me away on a wire table and the flies clustered around my flesh and my fingernails grew as long as knives …
Mrs. Kent found me in the morning, slumped over the kitchen table. My hair was matted with soap and a pan half full of tepid water stood at my elbow.
“Miss Wilson?” she said, and then, carefully, “Sonia?”
I looked up at her blearily. I had to tell her something. I had to tell her that there was a monster in the shed and that Halder was the monster who kept it. I had to warn her. She could tell Jackson and he could bring the sheriff and they would go down where I had gone and see …
“Sonia, hon, what’s wrong?” She took a few steps toward me.
My tongue felt thick. “Halder,” I mumbled. “He’s got a monster. The flies … the botflies…”
She pressed her wrist to my forehead and swore. “Sonia, you’re burning up.”
I shook my head. “Can’t be. Too cold. You’re cold.”
“Hon, you’re running a great big fever.” She shoved her arm under my shoulders and half lifted me out of the chair. “And you sitting here barefoot? In your underclothes?”
“No. Mrs. Kent. Rose. The flies. There’s so many flies! You have to listen!” I grabbed her arm, trying to make her understand, and then my vision swam sideways and Jackson was suddenly there. He swore and his wife didn’t scold him for it, which was surprising.
“Sonia,” said Mrs. Kent, in a no-nonsense voice, “you’re delirious.”
I blinked at her. “I am?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Unutterable relief swept through me. I was delirious. That meant it wasn’t real. “Oh thank god,” I said, and fainted.