Coming Out Of Your Shell

Content warning: body horror, violence, manipulation

           I crawl out of bed as the sun comes up, my new position at work makes me want to go in as much as it makes me want to crawl back into bed and hide. I have always been rather soft spoken and a bit of a wallflower. I remember having been called ‘mousy’ on more than one occasion. Maybe getting out there and doing more public speaking and management will pull my head out of the sand. 

“Head of Produce at the Garden Center” my new job title. I know that it’s not that impressive an achievement, but it looks better when compared to the others I have earned. ‘That’s because I have none’ I laugh in my head as I grab my hat and scurry out the door. 

It's a short walk to the Center, which is nice. ‘I have left early enough that I can hurry and still make it on time if something happens. I have left enough time….’ I repeat this mantra as I head towards the road. I am not a very persuasive motivational speaker I note. Lucky for everyone that I am not taking on that roll.

I stop at the end of the shade and look both ways. I only have one intersection to be afraid of, but I don’t like sneaking myself in between cars, so I wait. Out of the corner of my eye I notice that a neighbor has some blackberries growing through their fence. I reach over and pick one. 

This really is the time of year they are best in. I consider grabbing a few more but the traffic has passed, and I need to head out. Scampering across the street I check that I have everything I need for the third time. It always has to be three. After all, everyone knows that the door is not fully locked unless you check it three times. ‘Hey, I don’t make the rules.’ I think, ‘But I like the rules. You know what to do and you do that thing, so you don’t get fired.’ I have never been one to color outside the lines, or to fail to clarify a non-committal bullet point.

I suppose that technically eating the berry could be considered theft. However, I never suspected that the simple act of eating one berry would change my life forever.

As I open the door, I see a little sign dictating where I am to go. I read it three times and note that it is going to be a half day since we are training. Penny and Nick are already seated when I get there. I stop for a minute, torn between doing the wrong thing by sitting and the other wrong thing by electing to stand. Penny saves me from myself by gesturing toward an empty chair by them. 

We all sit for a few hours watching a video covering things we already know. The tedium has taken its course and Mrs. Hatfield comes over and takes out the tape. I sit there wondering what will happen next as she gives the group a little half smile. She’s trying to lull us into a false sense of security; the half day and easy training videos must be setting us up for failure. 

I am not sure what to do now, so I am just going to hang back a second even though I have nothing to pack up. Penny and Nick have gotten their things and are heading to the door. ‘I better follow them.’ Either we are leaving for the day or going somewhere else for training. I was early to the meeting and now I may be late leaving it.

I catch up as Nick pushes his way through the door to the parking lot and holds it open for Penny and me to follow. I am secretly thankful that he gave me a clue. They both wave and head home, so I do the same. We go in opposite directions. They are lucky there I suppose. If they went the same way as I am I would be producing an awkward silence, trip over something, and then ruin it all by making conversation.

I got home, made dinner, read, and went to bed; just like any other night. By the end of the week, I was actually feeling pretty good about the new position, I was talking to more of the others without anxiety, making risky decisions that sometimes panned out without utter panic, and oddly I felt like I was coming out of my shell in other aspects of life. I even waved at a girl I have liked for years and, I think I came out into the sun a little I think as I fall asleep.

As I swim serene waters of the vein I think about the simple elegance of the plan. Our mission to take over the body is going beautifully. Our team is particularly critical in the continuation of the life cycle, and it has never failed yet; the progeny of each assault are carefully monitored. As Host Phase 1, everything we do must be perfect, stealth, and controlled. We bide our time as we take the scenic route through the body. Swirling along with the current on the river of blood I wait for the tides to turn.

As I float along waxing poetic the chemical signal comes through letting us know that we are ready to disembark and begin our assault on the brain. 

Encysted in our protective layer, which lets us fly below the radar of the immune system, we are simply following the flow. But now we swim with vigor, jet set to get to our final destination and get the ‘feel good’ neurochemicals rolling. 

This new signal is a chemical beacon in the body that tells us where to go. It is even more irresistible following the current to my destination than I will be as I gradually alter behavior to bring this body to Host 2. To accomplish this, I am going to infiltrate the region of the brain that weighs risk and reward, leading to bad decisions for the host and great decisions for me. I will be legion; my progeny will spread far and wide. The ‘many’ will remain unseen until they have already won. We lie in wait in around half of the hairless biped population, and we will be there forever. I am legion for we are many, and we are incurable. 

That’s the beauty of me; we can ride through your body unmolested, take up residence whenever we see fit, control your brain and behavior, kill you, and exit through the back door sight unseen. 

There are other ways we can spread our progeny; one surreptitious effort is to release our eggs in the animals feces which will lay there waiting for someone to step on it, or eat it. We also induce risky behavior and “risky business” as the Host cannot stop taking irresistible risks even though they know it is the wrong choice (this increases the likelihood of the Host 1 getting eaten, eggs and all). One I find particularly funny is that we can turn the male into a certified Casanova. It is particularly lucrative to be a sexually transmitted infection when your host is promiscuous, the more pups the better. The infected male will infect the female and any baby’s that come along with the encounter and any other. This gambit works because something in the way I smell attracts females even more than walking a puppy on the sidewalk.

           George smells pretty enticing to Harry the closer he gets. Crouched down low behind a overgrown spray of grass, George is at ready. His drive to hunt is in overdrive; there is just the kill. The calm clarity of the one-track mind (mine) gives the Host an advantage.

Harry is wondering why he went into the light. He couldn’t resist at the time but he has always been the type to hide in the shadows and walk along the wall, until now. He'd weighed the decisions and knew that he should stay back with every step he took forward. 

‘I am unprotected alone in the light’ I reflect. ‘Why couldn’t I just make what I already knew is the correct decision? I live a cautious life, not one that waves at their co-workers. ‘Oh, crap! I am a harasser!’’ This is my last clear thought. 

A shadow moves in on me from above, the bewitching smell has found me. I look up at the monster. ‘It is as beautiful as it is horrible.’ I feel like it approved of my assessment of it as it slowly smiled revealing two sets of fangs and teeth made for ripping. Its pupils are fully dilated as though there were a black hole encased in each one. The enchanting smell mixes with the metallic scent of his next meal. The initial shock wears off and I realize that I am the meal. I try to get away, but it proves to be futile as I see my dark red spleen roll out of the--I mean my--body. I am surprised that there is not more blood. Delerium has set in now. Through my stupor I can feel myself being picked up into the air. Now even in the light everything is black. 

Proud of my kill and the fact that I can resist eating it, I return home and go to the bathroom. I don’t like using someone else’s bathroom, so I always return to mine. 

I inleash my current earworm, “I’m the cat in the box’ I sing ‘Come clean up my wiz’ My voice is as melodic as ever. ‘Won’t you come and feed me? Feed me!” I like to make up my own original songs and sing them whenever I have the chance, which is pretty much always. My bald, bipedal animals do their best to sing along at times, but they can’t pronounce the words, so everything they say comes out ‘meow’.

“I’m the cat in the box!’ I sing as I clean off my feet. ‘Come clean up my shi….’ Crap! Someone is coming! I grab my thing and run up the stairs. 

 It is the bald bipedal woman and a friend. The woman’s friend stops her from cleaning the cat box just to ‘be safe’. This statement makes me stop and wonder what could possibly hurt someone in a cat box. That human has always been a little off anyway, I decide to ignore it and go back to my song. My beautiful melodic voice rings through the house. Like most cats, I have never needed to be mic’d.

‘Eat it! Just eat it!’ I sing on my way to the bedrooms. My poor human is looking funny, it is throwing up odd looking hairballs throughout the day, it looks like it has a mass and does not seem able to get her own food. ‘I hope they like this’ I think as I place the mouse I caught under the pillow as a surprise. 

~FIN~