“I’m sick of living here,” She cried as she ground moss into dirt with the ball of her foot. “It stinks and it’s too humid. Everything’s rotten, rusted, or growing so fast it moves. And nobody ever does anything. It’s always the same drama. The same arguments…”
Jean took her hand and pressed his skin against hers, so they could feel the warm movement beneath. Maggots wriggling, like how as kids they would crouch pondside to watch daphnia bob about below the surface. It always brought them back to what mattered. “You never found it beautiful? We’ve been here our whole lives. It’s a part of us.”
“You don’t think I know that?”
He turned, and saw her face frowning against the dew-laced birches. Squeezed her hand.
It squished.
“Eww!” She spun, hand flicked outward to swat invisible flies. “You killed one of them…” Comprehension caught in her throat. Speechless, she dropped to sit trembling on the ground, bent forward with feet flat and her head between her knees.
“I’m so sorry.” It came out flat.
She raised her head, echoes of life still tingled on her nerves. A lump burnt into palm like a tumour. “You’re right. We can’t escape it. The constant movement, the burrowing, the squirming. Looking at you and seeing the odd ripple making its way up your cheek or slowly spiralling down your arm. Going home and seeing slugs and worms in the dirt and the spiders always inside.” A deep breath. She dug a hand in the dirt, then raised her arm to watch centipedes, beetles, and larvae fall to the ground. “I just want it all to stop.”
“Go live in the caves then.”
She flung herself back to lie on the ground, jet-black hair spread out like a dark ocean. “You’re not serious,” as she looked at him, face in a pout.
“Dead. It’s as quiet as it gets. Well, quieter than around here anyway,” almost giggling, “and it’s not like you’ll be lonely.”
He couldn’t win that easy. “Shut up.” She lifted a leg and kicked to send him sprawling. “You know my sister still brings flies home in jars.”
“I remember the days. We used to take them all to school, and watch them talk.”
“Fuck. We had no idea what we were.”
“We wouldn’t have. Even when we’re dead the bugs don’t leave us alone.” “Speaking of,” he stood, brushed off his pants, “my brother’s first is tomorrow, maybe you could look after him in the caves. My parents were thinking of getting you to do it anyway. See if you can make it work.”
“Quite the sales pitch.” She rose to be next to him, wiped the last of the moisture from her eyes. “You really are serious. Fine. It’ll help. Hell, I might end up missing the place.” “You know I feel shit about what I did. Nobody would ever…”
“It was an accident, and you cheered me up pretty quick.” She was smiling now. Somehow it made him feel worse, his stomach dropped. He took a deep breath, and forced the same smile that had happened naturally a second ago. “Yeah. You have enough gear for the trip? It’s deeper than where we used to play as kids.”
“I know. Gear should be easy to find. It’s your brother I’m worried about.”
The sinking feeling passed. Another breath and the last of the anxiety disappeared. He tensed arms and legs, and relaxed.
A small crowd had gathered around the cave to send her off, members of family and church idling with small talk. The town was flooded with a mist that covered the valley like a ceiling, green walls rising up to pale in sickly white. Birds dipped and dived into visibility, chasing prey too small to see.
An Elder was stationed at the entrance, with darkness rearing its head up behind him. He cleared his voice, and began the usual speech with little Joey sleeping in his arms. Speaking let him stare out at the congregation as his face twitched around bloodshot eyes; he’d lost his legs, and was wheel-bound with a small red blanket covering the stumps. An embroidered blowfly. Sally stood next to him, a blue camping bag high on her shoulders. It was brimming with gear rugged enough to match the old caving boots strapped to her feet. She held a foot long torch like a weapon.
“Earth has creatures under her surface, and so do each of us,” the Elder continued. “All bodies present have made this journey, and all received Earth’s blessing.” He turned to Sally, and held out the bundle in his arms. “It is now his turn.”
“Thank you.” She made eye contact, watched a maggot squirm into view across his sclera. She cringed, forced it into a smile. Words laboured out of her mouth — “I’ll do my best” — to wriggle as a sentence in the air. Then, bowing, she took Joey and walked directly into the cave as the crowd outside broke into a nauseating round of applause. Her light beamed ahead to find only shadows, with the tunnel sloping down into forever.
Jean watched on, absently scratching his hand. He stayed after everyone else had left, and saw the first few raindrops fall like tears and turn the ground to mud.
He tripped on the way home, cutting open his arm on a stray piece of metal. A worm was half out. Stumbling through the front door he realised he was late, declined dinner on a not entirely deceitful account of feeling sick, and locked himself in his room. As soon as he was alone he peeled back the sleeve, and, slowly, pulled. It was pale, two centimetres long and more maggot than worm. His room tilting around him, he grabbed a saucer and sat near a candle. Sometimes moonlight was enough to see by, but there wasn’t any tonight.
The maggot had stopped wriggling. He splashed the thing in water to remove the blood. It was gritty, firm under pressure, but otherwise jelled like an egg yolk. There was something — squinting — there was a number on it: JWY58-4335Z. His stomach squirmed. Opening a drawer, rummaging, he found tweezers. Teeth gritted, tourniquet in place, he dug round in the wound. Pulled out another, rinsed, and lined it up with the original. This one was slightly smaller — JWY58-5161H. He let out a moan. Pinning the specimen in place, he cut using an edge of the tweezers. It was sharp enough. Under its anaemic skin, the grub contained bright orange fibre running head to tail; and the odd sphere, like clumps of red caught in seaweed. Cutting again, it spilled out like angel hair and dissolved, flowing into liquid amber.
Jean sat up all night squishing every worm under his skin as tears streamed down his face.
A white lake of milk stood off the peninsula, with slick cave walls forming an apse. Tunnel and cave behind her, Sally went to the edge to peer in. There were gentle waves far out, snake-like bodies moving just below the surface: muscles shifting under pale skin. The torch behind her, now pressed into a lantern, caught the movements to throw light across the ceiling. Dipping her finger in gave the illusion of it being cut off, lost in white. Into water which wasn’t warm or cold, but perfect, numbing. She withdrew it immediately, then, looking at the sleeping child, smiled. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?” She put her finger in her mouth. It tasted of blood, salty and granular.
Joey cooed, he was awake and looking at her.
“Ok then little guy, it’s your turn.” Kneeling lakeside, she gently lowered him into the water, keeping his face above the surface. It seemed to relax him.
The pool rippled around him, faux eels, smooth and black, breaching the surface to probe arms, face, and legs. One put out a little sucker that latched onto skin. Joey didn’t seem to notice as it detached, leaving a small circular hole with blood seeping out. They ignored her hands.
“Just a bit more, then we can rest.”
Joey remained calm while others came to lay their eggs.
Little hemispheres of white were visible in the wounds, which were healing quickly now. Before long, the last of the dark eels left. She lifted him out of the water and placed him on a blanket, where he slept immediately. Tired herself, Sally fished out her bottle and lay on her back, watching patterns swirl above before dimming the torch. Her mind drifted through old conversations.
“I can see why people used to turn to religion,” Jean had said. “That desire for a greater purpose. Wanting to leave your mark on the world. Be recognised for who you are. It would be so easy with God watching over us.”
She’d scrunched her face up at that one.
He explained: “The realisation smacked into me when I was out one day. Normal day-to-day life. And I thought, this is all we ever do. All we can ever do is go about living, never really focusing on the ‘goal’, you know. That the meaning of it all, the personal quest, falls away between the cracks of necessity. Belief in a God would focus lives away from the ‘distraction’, and into a sense of purpose. See, the church would use its energy to give spiritual fulfilment, while letting people get on with being people. After that, society grew away from the church as people began to express themselves more during the Information Age. They gave themselves their own sense of meaning. Leaving trails of personal achievement in the public eye. They were connected, could talk in real-time from half a world away. Didn’t need God to motivate anyone anymore.”
“You’re confusing me. What about nowadays?”
Eyes wide, eyebrows raised: “Well, where does our greater purpose exist, huh?”
His revelation only hit her now. It wasn’t about the old ways at all. Getting up; looking out at the waves again, Joey fast asleep. The here and now. She felt the maggots gently undulating under her skin.
No wonder she’d never felt the need for a greater purpose.
They felt him writhe in agony, a fly caught in the web. Jerked awake, Jean’s father, Marvin, jumped out of bed. He followed the strings of pain and found Jean curled up on the floor, bruised in a pool of blood littered with floating husks. His wife, Sarah, screamed at the sight. Kneeling beside him, they comforted Jean out of sheer confusion; he was covered in gashes, oozing sickly fluid, and not responding. A hand over his mouth felt a faint breeze. They froze, still enough to hear faint breathing.
Someone knocked on the door, impatient. One of the Elders, quick as always.
“He’s still alive.” Marvin, with son in arms, filled the doorway.
“No, the body is. But not the boy. However, he’s young enough that they might not be separate entities yet. We’re going to have to be quick, please, try to keep up.” The old man turned and started off into the night at a light jog. Bony, pale legs bounding over grass, mud, and bushes. Drowning in a sky that lit up the air like dark sapphire, they followed.
And reached the cave out of breath. The Elder whispered a prayer, as clasped hands motioned to rock and bowl of stars above.
The three of them entered, hurrying with boy in arms. Sarah went down the tunnel first, still riding the adrenalin high. Marvin, behind her, threw out words of reassurance that rattled in the dark. The Elder, still chanting, followed down last.
Sally had dimmed her lantern to sleep, she lied with Joey curled up in dreams. She was alone in a wooden country house, the only light in a sea of black. Wandering around its attic, she brushed aside bugs caught in forgotten webs. She was the only living thing in this world.
Footsteps, near. She went to hide, and found another room. A dance hall. Running, she reached the stage. It was a school assembly. They were yelling, a familiar, revolting round of applause.
“Sally”
Jean’s Mum was next to her, red faced with sweat and panting for breath. “Help us, Jean’s…”
Sally’s eyes followed hers to the edge of the lake, where an Elder was bathing Jean like she’d done with Joey just before. Joey…
“He’s alright. You did a good job.” Sarah was picking up her son, relieved, it looked like, for the first time in hours. He was still asleep.
“Thanks,” getting up, “why…” Then she saw him.
Small, blind mouths were sliding out of the water and taking chunks of Jean’s flesh. They were the same as she had seen with Joey, except now bleached little razors stabbed from the tiny mouths.
The old man had sprung out of the water, mouth drawn tight. “They must sense a presence in the body or else they wouldn’t…” He trailed off, went quiet.
“They’re eating him!”
“Quick,” the Elder squawked. A decision made: “Sally has to accept his network, or else he’ll be lost for good. She’s the only one his age.”
She didn’t even think about it. Climbing in, she waded to where he floated, as the final shreds of flesh disappeared. “What do I do?”
“Just wait.”
“I feel them.” Now screaming as needles pierce flesh. Lightning, stabbing ice-cold to suck away her thoughts. Head thrown back, eyes snapped wide. Crucified, she splashed down to float.
Then, writhing, as a tide of blowflies emerged from her boiling skin. Rising, the sick beating of a thousand wings; a murmuration that gyrated above, before it swarmed into the tunnel.
She flew, bursting from the cave to convulse in open air.
The corpse remained. The eels were laying eggs afresh. So many, fighting for surface area, spasming on the body. Afterwards, slinking back into the depths, they left her smooth and pale: a porcelain doll. With the lake’s surface marble-still, the Elder waded in to fish her out. In his arms, slowly (and Seemingly at his touch) the body bloomed with life; brushstrokes of warmth painted on new skin. He lay her down between Sarah and Marvin as they crowded around on tucked-in knees, silent.
Sally opened her eyes to looming silhouettes. She blinked as Jean’s parents, leaning over her, burst into tears. “Marvin? No… Mum, Dad? What happened to me?”
“Jean!” Sarah stammered as she stroked her son’s head.
The Elder interrupted. Voice firm, overpowering: “Welcome back, Sally.”
“No, I’m…” He looked up, confused. “You’re both.”
2018