Taking the stairs two at a time, Lindsay made her way to the concrete landing on the second floor of the two-story building. She risked a look back and saw Dr. Scabs standing at the bottom of the stairway, looking up at her.
“No one is going to let you in, honey,” he said through heavy breaths. “There’s only one way down.”
Lindsay pounded at Chloe’s door. It opened and then closed abruptly. Lindsay pounded and pleaded, “It’s me, Chloe! It’s Lindsay! Let me in! I’m in trouble! I need help!” But her voice, like her appearance, didn’t resemble the friend Chloe had been waiting for all night.
She looked back at Dr. Scabs stoically standing at the bottom of the stairs, clutching the black iron handrails.
Lindsay pounded on Chloe’s door again. From within came a muffled, terrified voiced: “Get out of here or I’m calling the police.”
“Yes,” said Lindsay, “call the cops! Call them now!”
She went to every other door on the second floor, pounding and pleading for everyone to call the police. Blinds were ruffled, gasps were heard, and with any luck 911 was being dialed.
At the far end of the second-floor landing, Lindsay sat with her knobby, aching knees up to her chin, wrapping herself with grotesque throbbing arms. As Dr. Scabs ascended the stairs, she wept.
STD
David Bernstein
Brian awoke in a stranger’s bed, his bladder ready to burst. Glancing to his right, he saw the sleeping form of a female. He wasn’t sure who she was or where he was, but after a moment, it came rushing back to him.
Her name was Jackie. They’d met at a bar and shared a lot of drinks. She was a flight attendant in town on a three day layover and staying at a friend’s place who was on vacation. They had a night of crazy, drunken sex, the woman a veteran in the sack.
Creeping out of bed, he tip-toed to the bathroom. Barely able to get his boxers off, Brian relieved himself, but the relief was short-lived. The stream shot sideways, covering the side of the sink in piss. He tried to stop urinating, but it was no use. So he turned sideways and peed into the bowl. He had no idea what was causing the blockage, but figured his hole was partially clogged with dried body secretions or a piece of fabric from the bed. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had mornings when his stream went in two directions before. It was just more extreme this time. Looking down as he finished, making sure to get the last few drops out, his eyes bulged from their sockets. A bulbous white-headed growth sat at the tip of his penis. It hadn’t been there before this morning, at least that he could remember. The thing was huge—the size of a small pebble. It had to be something stuck to him. A piece of food or debris that fell onto the bed. He finished jiggling then went to pull the thing off, but lightning pain shot through his member. Nervous, confused, wanting it off, Brian pulled again, but the thing wouldn’t budge. Panic took hold. He went rigid with fear. What the hell was on his dick?
He thought about last night, his time with Jackie. There was no way it was there when they had sex, surely she would have felt it in her mouth and said something. And he would have definitely felt it rubbing against her vaginal wall.
They didn’t use a condom. Maybe she gave him something? Anger swelled within him as he wondered what the bitch gave him. The anger dissipated quickly, though, when he realized that there was no STD that showed up just hours after intercourse. None that he knew of, not that he was an expert.
Possibilities ran rampant. A microscopic tumor irritated by the sex? He was at a loss. All he knew was that it wasn’t there last night. In today’s day and age if something was wrong sexually, someone would say something. Fear was too great. If Jackie had felt it in her mouth, she never would have let him put it inside her.
Lowering the toilet’s lid, Brian sat down. Hunching over, pulling his penis as close to his face as possible, he studied the growth. He felt it. It was firm, but squishy, like a miniscule water balloon. The whitehead was gross; the thing reminded him of a giant zit.
He sat back, relief flooding over him. He had a fucking pimple on his dick.
Should he pop it or leave it be? Wanting the unpleasant thing gone, he pinched low on the zit and squeezed. Electric pain ran the length of his penis. Ignoring the agony, he pinched harder, hoping that once it popped, the pain would lessen and the swelling would subside.
Nicotine colored pus exploded from the lump. Brian continued to compress the skin, making sure to get out all the infected material. With the pus out, blood trickled.
Reaching for the toilet paper with his clean hand, he grabbed a few pieces and dabbed at the head of his bloodied penis. Finished, he tossed the paper into the waste basket. The area burned, as if someone had put out a cigarette on it, but the growth was gone, deflated like a bad tire, and was nothing more than a flap of skin.
He stood, pulling up his shorts. Finding a spray cleaner and roll of paper towels under the sink, he sprayed the floor where the pus landed, as well as the side of the sink still glistening with his urine, and cleaned up the areas. Replacing the cleaner and tossing the paper towels into the toilet—a no-no, but how would he explain using so much—he washed his hands with soap and hot water, then returned to the bedroom to catch a few more hours of sleep.
Sometime later, Brian was awakened by Jackie, rocking him and calling his name.
“What . . . what’s the matter?” he asked, one eye opening. He saw Jackie standing over him, still in her half-shirt and purple panties.
“You’re bleeding,” she said.
He sat up. Rubbing his eyes, he asked what she was talking about.
“You’re bleeding . . . down there.” She pointed to his crotch, beneath the sheet.
Looking down, he saw a crimson stain the size of a Frisbee.
“What the hell?”
Lifting the cover revealed blood-soaked pants, his thighs sticky with the red stuff.
“What happened?” Jackie asked, covering her mouth.
He contemplated telling her about his pimple, but didn’t want to gross her out. “Do you have anything?” he asked.
“What?” She had a confused look on her face.
“Any STDs I need to worry about?”
Jackie’s face reddened and her eyes became slits. “Are you kidding me? What the fuck? Of course not. Do you?” She backed away as if he was contagious.
“I’m clean. Don’t worry.”
“Why would you ask me that and why the hell are you bleeding?”
“It’s nothing,” he said softly, not really believing his own words. He had a hard time believing a pimple would bleed so much, although he’d also never seen one so large. Not wanting her to freak out, he decided to come clean.
“I had a…pimple on my…” he motioned toward his crotch.
Jackie’s eyes went wide. “I had that thing in my…you put it in me.” She shivered. “Gross.”
“It wasn’t there last night,” he told her. “Don’t you think you would’ve felt it?”
“I can’t believe you fucked me with that thing on your dick,” she went on as if she hadn’t heard him. “What if it exploded inside me?” She shivered again. “In my mouth?” She leaned over, gagging. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” he asked, climbing from the bed. “It wasn’t there last night. I swear.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. It was . . . huge. You would’ve… hell, I would’ve felt it.”
“I guess.” She was looking better, then smiled evilly. “Your dick was smooth. Smoother than most by the way. You treat that thing with something?”
He laughed. “No.”
“Yeah. I think you’re right. I would’ve felt it.”
“It was right at the tip—”
“Okay. Enough,” she said, holding out her arms. “I don’t need a fucking visual; especially if you plan on putting that thing inside me again.”
Brian got dressed and offered to wash the sheets, or at least pay for them, but Jackie declined, telling him she wa
s going to throw them out. She wasn’t about to try and explain what had happened to her friend, and would just have to hope the woman didn’t notice a couple of sheets were missing.
He went home and told her he would call her during the week.
~
The next morning, Brian woke in his own bed, relieved to see that his boxers weren’t soaked with blood. His bladder was full and needed to be emptied. Hopping out of bed, he headed into the bathroom and went to do his business when he looked down at his penis and nearly screamed.
The pimple, growth, whatever it was, was back and bigger than before. It was now the size of a golf ball. The thing was scarlet in color and the white head was back too, looking like a mound of whipped butter that had been left out too long. Letting go of his member, the thing plummeted, weighed down by the growth. He had to pee badly, but the urethra’s exit was completely blocked.
Sweat lined his forehead as he began to panic.
Lifting his penis, he felt the growth. It was harder than yesterday. He gently squeezed it and cringed. The thing was full of more pus, almost solid, like one of those rubber balls he purchased from the quarter machines at the grocery store when he was a kid.
The disturbing thing had come back with more determination than ever. He shook his head thinking he should’ve just left it alone. Due to his highly agitated nervous system his need to pee was even greater now.
Unsure of how to stand, wanting to get his piss into the bowl, he turned sideways, like he did at Jackie’s friend’s, and tried to release his bladder. Nothing came out. He nudged the growth to the side, biting his lip in pain, hoping to create enough space for his liquid waste to come through. The technique worked, and his urine spewed out in a messy torrent akin to a partially closed water main. The upraised toilet seat took the brunt of the waste and was soon streaked with tears of pee.
His feet tickled and he glanced down to see them getting splashed with urine as a dripping occurred at the same time he was peeing. He couldn’t stop the flow and let it do what it was going to do, the pressure engulfing his tip in a bee-sting like pain. Grabbing the slippery growth, he pushed it farther to the side, pain radiating up the shaft and into his stomach. The obstructed spray became a steady stream as the urine flowed unimpeded. Relief had never felt so satisfying.
When he was done, he released the mass and felt a final drip splash onto his toes. Maybe if he popped the thing again, and cleaned it with alcohol, it wouldn’t come back. He squeezed the growth until a stream of clear fluid leaked from where the crusty whitehead was attached to the flesh.
Brian picked at the crusty cap, using his fingernail to pry it up. He fought through the pain and pulled the entire thing off. It stuck to his finger and he flicked it away, aiming for the waste basket, but missing.
Looking at where the scab used to be, he saw yellow fluid inside, like the yolk of an uncooked egg. Placing his fingers around the mass, he was about to squeeze the pus out when he saw the gooey substance move as if something were inside.
Frozen in disbelief, eyes blinking, Brian couldn’t believe what he saw. It had to be the fluid settling, growths didn’t contain living things. Stretching his flaccid penis closer to his face, he eyed the olive-like bubble. Pinching the sack, the fluid inside rose. He could easily, but painfully, have the thing emptied in moments with one huge squeeze of his fingers and be left with just a large flap of hollow skin. But would the thing come back bigger? Not if he cleaned it with the alcohol, or maybe even glass cleaner—really go for the kill.
He contemplated leaving it alone and seeing a doctor instead, but with the scab off, the fluid would just leak out and soak his clothing. Ready to empty the sucker, Brian saw the ooze swirl. Letting his penis rest in his hand, staring in awe, the growth exploded, covering his face with warm, runny goo.
Brian jerked his head back, wiping his face with the back of his hand. Feeling movement at the tip of his dick, he looked down and saw something emanating from the deflated mass.
The creature had a snake-like body with arms and legs, and claws at least a half inch long. It had a wide mouth and opened it, revealing rows of tiny pointed teeth. Brian screamed. There was a monster, a fucking alien, in his penis. He screamed and went to grab the creature, wanting it out of him, but the thing jumped to the floor before he had a chance.
With pus and blood covering his penis and dripping onto the floor, he lifted his bare foot and tried stomping on the creature. He missed as the agile critter slid behind the commode.
He needed a weapon and the closest, deadliest thing he could find was a plunger. Snatching up the tool, he peered around the toilet, ready to strike, but the creature was gone. A slimy trail led to a small hole in the back of the cabinet that the sink rested on.
Putting down the plunger, he gathered up some toilet paper and cleaned himself off, then wrapped his member like a mummy and stuffed it into his boxers. He would tend to it more thoroughly later; he now had a more pressing matter to deal with.
Brian sprinted to the kitchen, grabbed the largest steak knife he owned and returned to the bathroom. Crouching down, knife out, he opened the cabinet’s right door. Then the left. Sweat dripped from his forehead into his eye, causing a moment of irritation, but he blinked through it.
He scanned the area, looking around and between the various cleaning supplies, but couldn’t see to the back. He would have to move some of the containers out of the way. He’d been meaning to clean out the place for some time, wishing to hell he had done so. The back of the cabinet was pitch dark. He wasn’t about to stick his hand in there for fear he’d lose a digit or two, remembering the creature’s pointy teeth.
Closing the cabinet doors, he bolted to the kitchen and retrieved a flashlight from the junk drawer and was back in the bathroom in less than thirty seconds. He checked the floor tiles for signs that the creature had slithered away, but found nothing to indicate it had fled.
Bending down, knife at the ready, he opened the doors and began removing the supplies near the front of the cabinet. Before long, he had a gathering of outdated cleaning supplies, brushes of various types, toilet paper, and unopened bars of soap. The cabinet had one disinfectant spray bottle remaining, easily wide enough to hide the monster’s body.
Keeping the light on it, Brian reached in with the knife and stabbed the blade around the bottle, hoping to stick whatever was hiding behind it. When nothing happened, he knocked the bottle on its side. Shining the light around, he noticed a gap between the sheetrock and the piping, the area glistening with slime. The alien thing had escaped into the wall, leaving some of its residue behind. That was another thing he had planned on doing when he first moved into the place—fill the damn gaps to keep the cockroaches and rodents out.
What was he supposed to do? Call the authorities? Animal control? Tell them an alien penis-creature was living in his walls?
He stood up and closed the doors. There wasn’t much he could do. He couldn’t believe such a thing had come out of him. Thinking about it, his stomach churned. Well, at least it was gone; out of his hands—and his penis.
Brian replaced the still-with-good-dates-on-them cleaners and carried the rest to the kitchen garbage where he threw them away.
He heard a knock at the door. “Just a second,” he told whoever it was and quickly washed his hands off in the sink. Going to the door, he looked through the peephole. He saw Jackie standing in the hallway dressed in her stewardess uniform. A piece of luggage rested behind her.
Brian hadn’t expected to see her again. He guessed she wanted to say goodbye. Maybe have a last go round before she left. He wasn’t showered and had morning breath. Screw it, he thought. With his dick in the condition it was, he wouldn’t be using it for awhile. If the woman wanted a romp, he’d simply have to tell her he wasn’t feeling good. Undoing the lock, he opened the door.
“Hello, Brian,” she said.
“Jackie, what are you doing here?”
“Can I come in?”
�
�Sure, sure.” He stepped aside, letting her pass, and closed the door behind her.
Facing the woman, Brian found his smile fading.
Jackie was staring at him, smiling, her teeth like miniature daggers. The whites of her eyes turned black, the irises disappearing. He staggered back, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Her teeth . . . they looked so familiar.
The woman shot a foot forward, kicking him in the abdomen. He sailed across the kitchen, unable to scream—the wind knocked from his lungs—and crashed into a wall. He felt the sheetrock give just before he plummeted to the linoleum.
Dazed and frightened, he pushed himself off the floor. Looking around, he didn’t see Jackie, or whatever she was. Had he imagined the whole thing? Was he cracking up? He closed his eyes for a moment then heard a low growl from above. Opening his eyes, he looked up.
Jackie was clinging to the ceiling, staring down at him with her eyes like voids. Her tongue protruded from her mouth, dangling loosely and dripping with sludge. She hissed as she fell on top of him and held him down. He struggled, but it was no use, the bitch was strong. She sunk her claws into his shoulders. He screamed, but it was short-lived as the thing threw up a vile green fluid into his maw. Brian gagged as his mouth flooded with a salty, sour taste, reminding him of his own jizz, having once tasted it out of curiosity.
His mouth burned. He tried turning his head to spit out the substance, but the bitch held a hand over his lips, forcing him to swallow it.
His insides were on fire. He’d never felt such agony. The Jackie-thing pushed itself away, letting him writhe on the floor. She—it—had poisoned him, like a spider injecting its prey with venom, turning the quarry into mush so that it could devour the kill later.
Brian convulsed. With the pain at its peak, his body went numb, his thoughts leaving him. Everything went black.
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