Dark Surge

by Gina Ranalli

  Mick searched the living room for anything out of the ordinary, sometimes holding a palm up to certain objects, keeping her hand close, but not touching whatever it was that held her interest, whether it be a painting, a throw pillow or even the television.

  "What are you doing?" Tess finally asked when Mick hovered her hand above the ottoman.

  "Feeling their energy," Mick said, somewhat distractedly. "Vibes."

  Tess glanced at Speck, who could only offer a weak smile. She had no more idea of what Mick was doing than Tess did, but at least she was used to Mick and her sometimes odd behavior.

  The three of them travelled through the house with Mick now leading the procession and leaving no proverbial stone unturned. She wanted to examine-feel-everything.

  Eventually, Tess asked if the girls would like anything to drink and when Speck accepted the offer, she left to fetch a soda.

  By this time a half hour had passed and they had taken their search to the upstairs level of the house. Once Tess had gone, Mick said in a low voice, "There is something evil here."

  Speck shivered again. "But all the flies are dead."

  "I don't think so."

  "What do you mean? Look at them. None of them are moving."

  "Doesn't matter."

  "Then where are they? The ones that are alive, I mean? Tess said they're usually swarming all over the place."

  "They're hiding," Mick said as she peered into Tess's closet.

  Speck frowned. "From what?"

  "I don't know," Mick shook her head. "Probably me." She looked over her shoulder at Speck. "Or you."

  "Me? But I don't have...what you have."

  Mick turned to her. "I think you do. I saw your face when we first came in this house. You turned white as a sheet. You feel it too."

  "But, I..." Speck trailed off, uncertain of how to continue or if she even should. "This place just gives me the creeps," she said finally.

  "Yeah. It gives me the creeps too. Because there is something very wrong here."

  "What is it?"

  "I'm not sure yet." Mick resumed looking around the room, her brow furrowed in concentration.

  "What are you gonna tell Tess?" Speck asked.

  "Not sure about that either. But one thing's for sure: she shouldn't be staying here, especially not with her kid."

  Tess entered the room carrying a can of soda in each hand and Speck could tell by the expression on her face that she'd overheard at least some of the conversation between herself and Mick.

  Affirming this, Tess said, "What you should tell me is the truth." She handed the sodas to the girls. "It's not like I can take my daughter to a hotel. At least, not in the long term. And if you don't know what's going on here, then it seems silly to suggest that we have to leave."

  Speck opened her Diet Coke and took a sip, wishing she could fade into the wallpaper. Things were quickly becoming uncomfortable.

  "Just because I can't specify what it is yet," Mick said, "doesn't mean there's not evil here. There is."

  "Evil?" Tess repeated the word skeptically. "I think you might be exaggerating, Mick."

  Mick sighed, opened her own soda and took a long swallow. "We should check the rest of the house."

  "Maybe this was a mistake," Tess said. "The flies seem to be gone anyway and-"

  "But, they come and go, don't they?" Mick asked.

  Tess didn't reply and began toying with her earring.

  Moving passed her, Mick left the room and ventured into the hallway. Speck made it a point to appear very thirsty, draining half the soda can in a few quick gulps.

  "This is your daughter's bedroom?" Mick called from out of sight.

  Tess left the room, "Yes, but like I told you, we've already looked everywhere and there's really no need to-"

  Mick cried out suddenly and Speck also heard Tess gasp in what could have been either surprise or fear. Maybe both.

  She hurried from the master bedroom and what she saw caused the half-full soda can to slip from her fingers, splashing its contents into the rug and drenching her lower legs.

  A black surge of flies emerged from the child's bedroom as one dark, swirling cloud, surrounding Mick until she was nearly obscured from sight.

  Tess rushed forward, slapping at the cloud but it was of little use. It was clear what the insects were doing.

  They were attacking Mick.

  With purpose they swarmed her, landing on every surface of her body and by the sounds of her yelping, they were hurting her.

  Biting her.

  Speck raced to her friend's aid, waving away the flies as best she could, but they seemed unfazed, continuing to assail her friend while simultaneously diving at Speck and Tess's faces. As impossible as it seemed, the insects seemed to be aiming directly for their eyes and both Speck and Tess spent precious time swatting them from their own faces.

  Almost completely covered by the flies, Mick began to scream and thrash around the hallway, bouncing off one wall and then the other, knocking a vase off an antique telephone table, clawing at her own face and eyes until her screams were abruptly cut off and she was choking and gagging.

  Many of the flies were forcing themselves down her throat, and Mick, in blind, panicked desperation, was trying to dig them out with one hand as she flayed.

  Without even knowing she was about to do so, Speck burst into tears, shrieking Mick's name as she tried to help her friend.

  "Oh my God," Speck screamed. "God, help her. They're killing her!"

  Mick bashed her way by Speck and careened towards the top of the stairs. For one instant, everything seemed to shift into slow motion and Speck saw with perfect clarity what was about to happen.

  Tess apparently saw it too, for she shouted the word "NO!"-which echoed and seemed to drag on for an eternity.

  Both Speck and Tess grabbed for Mick; both missed and then the bald girl tumbled off the first step and hit the stairs face-first, flies buzzing furiously, as they went with her, travelling down, down, down...

  There was a sickening cracking, crunching sound when Mick landed on the hardwood floor at the bottom.

  Speck screamed again, but it was Tess who moved first, bolting down the stairs carelessly, oblivious to her own safety.

  "Jesus," she cried out and then Speck was on the steps herself, already seeing Mick at the bottom, crumpled and still, a crimson pool spreading beneath her cracked skull.

  By the time they both reached the still body, there was not a fly to be seen.

  CHAPTER 27

  Examining the contents of a tissue after a particularly violent sneeze, Josh saw tiny white maggots squirming through the green snot and it took every ounce of his willpower to not fling it across the room with a squeal of terror and disgust.

  Jesus God, what the fuck was happening to him? How did he become so ill? So infected with...whatever the hell he was infected with.

  He needed a hospital and he needed one now.

  Crumpling the used tissue in his fist, he squeezed as hard as he could, hoping to kill the little bastards that were invading his body before tossing it on the nightstand and throwing back the covers.

  He either had to make it to the kitchen and call for an ambulance or drive himself to the emergency room.

  Swinging his legs out of bed, he was about to test the sturdiness of his legs when he heard the front door open, then close. A moment later, he heard Emily's voice, asking where her daddy was.

  Gillian's voice drifted towards him, calm as ever. "In the bedroom. I told you, he's not feeling very well, though."

  "He'll want to see me," came Emily's reply. "He always wants to see me."

  "Okay, but only for a minute."

  Josh barely had time to plaster a smile across his face when his daughter came bounding into the bedroom, all smiles and enthusiasm herself.

  She flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and nuzzling her face into her bare chest. "Hi, Daddy!"

  Returning the hug fiercely, Josh said
, "Hey, you! How's it going?"

  He prayed she couldn't feel the tremendous beat of his heart and sense the terror he felt. He hoped it wasn't written all over his face, visible in his wide, panic-stricken eyes.

  Emily untangled herself from him and began chattering cheerfully, as she often did, hopping up onto the bed to sit beside him.

  Josh didn't hear a word she said. Gillian came into the room and their eyes met and Josh instantly felt like crying. He bit the inside of his cheek and did his best to plead with his girlfriend, hoping she would see his desperation, hoping that she would fix him, make this horrible-whatever it was-go away.

  Then he remembered the missing cell phone and he felt a flash of anger replace some of his self-pity.

  Cutting off Emily, he said, "Where is my cell?"

  Gillian offered him a puzzled smile. "I beg your pardon?"

  "You took my phone, didn't you? I want to know why."

  Her smile slipped a notch and Josh knew she had not expected him to notice. Or had she? Had she expected him to need to call for help but then be unable to? Is that why she took it? So he would be sick and helpless?

  "I dropped mine," she said, innocently enough. "It broke."

  "It broke." He repeated her words, unable to keep the disdain out of his voice. Or maybe, he didn't want to keep the disdain out of his voice. Maybe he wanted her to hear it, to know that he knew.

  "Yes, it broke." Gillian said again. "You know I don't like going anywhere without a phone."

  "So, you just left me here without one."

  She scowled. "There's a phone in the kitchen, Josh. I really didn't think it would be a big deal."

  "The phone in the kitchen," he said, "is in the fucking kitchen!"

  Gillian balked. "Josh! Watch your language!" She gestured at Emily who still sat quietly beside her father, though she was looking increasingly alarmed. "What's wrong with you?" Gillian demanded, her own temper on the verge of flaring.

  Instead of answering the question, Josh said, "Emily, go play in the other room."

  "But, Daddy, I wanted to tell you about the flies."

  "You can tell me later. Gillian and I have to have a grown-up talk now."

  "But they were biting me, Daddy. Look." She thrust her skinny arm up under his nose, but Josh pushed it away with irritation.

  "I said, go in the other room!"

  "Fine!" Emily snapped as she got up and ran out, slamming the door behind her.

  Gillian stared at the closed bedroom door for a moment before returning her attention to Josh. "Nicely done," she said. "Very nice, Josh. Good job."

  "Don't you talk to me about my daughter!" He attempted to stand, but quickly sank back down to the edge of the bed. "I can't even get up! Do you see this, Gillian? Do you fucking see how fucking weak I am?"

  "Lower your voice," she said angrily. "What the hell has gotten into you?"

  "What the hell has gotten into me? What the hell has gotten into me? I can't fucking stand up! I'm sick and I can't walk to the fucking kitchen to call an ambulance, and you! You take off with my phone! What, were you hoping I'd just die, helpless in bed? Is that what you wanted?"

  "Are you out of your mind? Jesus, Josh!"

  "Don't 'Jesus, Josh' me! I'm on to you! You...you..." Coughing hard, he was at first distressed that he couldn't finish his thought but then as the coughing continued and he couldn't catch his breath, being angry at Gillian was something that may as well have never happened.

  Immediately beside him, Gillian patted his back briefly and then announced she was getting him a glass of water. She disappeared into the bathroom emerging a moment later with the glass. "Can you hold it?"

  He continued to cough, but managed a slight nod and took the glass in one shaking hand. Sipping between hacks, he felt his chest burning in protest of the choking and his misery deepened. The anger was returning but he didn't feel as determined to share it with Gillian this time. Instead, he continued to drink until his breathing was almost back to normal and the glass was empty.

  Handing it back to Gillian, he mumbled a barely audible "Thanks."

  After putting the glass on the night table, Gillian placed the back of her hand against his forehead. "You don't seem to have a fever."

  "I'm burning up!" he blurted impatiently. "I can't believe you were ever a nurse. Look at me! I'm drenched in sweat!"

  Pressing her lips together in a hard line, it was nearly thirty seconds before Gillian responded. Josh had time to wonder if she was counting, trying to remain calm and not blow up at him.

  "You're probably sweating because you practically just coughed up a lung. Your heart-rate rose. It doesn't mean you have a fever."

  "Bullshit! Look at what's coming out of my body and tell me I'm not sick! Look at it!" He pointed to the balled up tissue on the night table. "Fucking maggots, Gillian! People don't have maggots coming out of every orifice of their bodies if they aren't sick!"

  Gillian flushed, but made an obvious attempt to keep her voice quiet and measured. "You cannot talk to me like this, Josh. I know you're not feeling well, but this is getting insane. I won't allow you to treat me like I'm just a stupid servant. Hell, even if I were a servant, I wouldn't let you speak to me like this. So you need to calm the fuck down, treat me with respect and then-then-I will listen to your complaints and see what I can do to make you more comfortable."

  "Make me more comfortable? Do you think you would be comfortable, Gillian? How about if fucking maggots were pouring out of your fucking pussy? Huh? What then? Do you think you'd be feeling comfortable then?"

  She stared at him, jaw agape.

  The silence hung between them like another presence in the room, a malevolent being that was anxious for them to tear into each other, was practically orgasming over the prospect.

  Finally, her voice barely above a whisper, she said, "I have to use the bathroom. Excuse me."

  When she was gone, Josh let out a long sigh and rubbed his hands together nervously. His back was aching and he sat up straighter, trying to flex and stretch it by moving his torso back and forth at the waist. He was tired too, quite suddenly. And hungry.

  Whatever it was that had gotten it's hooks into him, it certainly was a peculiar bug.

  Bug.

  Just the word gave him the urge to gag as he remembered the squirming white maggot things that had been vacating his body. He sniffled, trying to feel if anything unusual seemed to be hiding in his nostrils. Then, he decided to blow his nose again, carefully inspecting the contents that he'd spewed out, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  He tossed the second tissue beside the first and grimaced at the pain in his back again. He reached one hand around, trying to massage the area between his shoulder blades. It wasn't easy. He had to use the back of his hand to even reach the area and then he wasn't able to provide enough pressure to give him any relief. Plus, it was tweaking his shoulder painfully.

  About to give up and resign himself to taking more pain relievers, he paused as his knuckles scrapped across a rather large bump. He twisted his hand around, trying to probe it with his fingertips.

  What he felt was a firm lump, roughly the size of a dime, and sore to the touch.

  A pimple?

  He guided his fingers to explore the area around it and discovered two more, nearly identical lumps nearby, one higher on his back and one lower. The higher one caused him to wince when his fingers came into contact with it. Despite being raised, it felt like a tiny, particularly nasty sunburn.

  Not a pimple, then. A blister.

  But how did he get blisters on his back?

  And then the answer came to him. Of course. They were fever blisters. He'd never experienced them himself, but Emily had sometimes gotten them as an infant, usually around her mouth.

  "I don't have a fever, huh?" he shouted towards the closed bathroom door.

  Gillian made no response, causing him to wonder just what the hell she was doing in there anyway. How long had she been gone? He hadn't th
ought to check the time, but it certainly felt like it could have been-what?-fifteen minutes? Half an hour?

  And to think, just before she'd gone in there, he'd actually considered apologizing to her for yelling and swearing at her.

  Oh, that would have been rich. She would have loved that. She, not caring if he lived or died, and him actually apologizing for his bad behavior. For being rude to her. If he hadn't felt so shitty, he most definitely would be splitting a side laughing that one up.

  But he was sick. Very sick.

  "Very sick," he muttered, looking down at his lap. Quickly, he looked back up at the bathroom door and yelled, "I am sick! You need to take me to the goddamn emergency room! I'm sick!"

  Despite the outburst, Gillian still refused to emerge from the bathroom. He wanted to yell something further, but his back was so damn sore...

  He reached around, poking at the middle bump again, which somehow wasn't nearly as hard as it had been only a minute or two ago. Instead, it was soft and pliable.

  And then it broke open, oozing a warm, thick fluid over his fingertips and down his spine. He gasped, convinced it was blood, but when he examined his fingers, he saw that the liquid was a sickly shade of yellowish-white.

  He was still frowning down at his fingers, feeling queasy, when he heard a small pop, and then, no more than a second later, another one. If he, or anyone, had been speaking, the pops would have been undetectable to the human ear.

  But he heard them alright.

  And he felt the warmth flowing down his back in slow, lazy trickles.

  He also felt another, stranger sensation, which caused his heart to leap into his throat and tears to spring to his eyes.

  Something-something small and wriggling-was crawling down his skin towards his waistband.

  But, no. Not something.

  Somethings.

  CHAPTER 28

  Amazed that Josh had been so belligerent and distracted by not feeling well that he didn't even notice the plastic bag with the drugstore logo in her hand, she pulled out the contents and examined the box, suddenly not so sure she wanted him to participate in this.

  He was in what was probably the most foul mood she'd ever witnessed from him and she had no desire to share anything intimate with him right now, regardless of how involved he might be.