Something Wicked

Standing naked in front of the mirror in her bathroom, Mary viewed all the "hickies" on her body. She hadn't been able to count them all, lost track every time she tried to reach a tally. They ranged from the tops of her feet to her freaking forehead, to the base of her neck, down to her heels. They were the size of a silver dollar, perfectly circular, dark red, and they stung a little.

She had an idea of where they had come from and what had put them there. The dreams told her. Outlandish dreams. Dreams of branches. Ivy. The forest behind her house. Her ax. Some things that couldn't come true. But she decided to investigate anyway.

Mary stood at the forest's edge with her ax in her hands. She was pissed off. "Okay, which one of you is it?" She scrutinized some of the dead branches, the longer ones, the branches that arched up into an “n” shape—one end buried under a sea of dark-green ivy that carpeted the forest floor, the other end originating at the base of a tree. There were five of them like that. They were as thick as Mary's muscular arms and gray...the color of gray that instantly made you feel grumpy and alone.

"Mnehhhhh."

Balancing the ax over her head, Mary widened her stance, her beefy legs anchoring her. She aimed and slammed the sharp edge of the ax into the protruding branch before her.

Nothing happened. "Okay, then."

She marched over to another of the n-shaped branches and smacked her ax into it. Again, nothing happened.

But what, exactly, was she expecting? Maybe something similar to the scene in The Thing where MacReady pressed a hot wire into a sample of blood? Was she expecting one of these particular branches to rise up with a squeal?

She wasn't sure, but she knew something wicked would happen when her timber-cutting instrument abruptly introduced itself into one of the suspicious boughs. Just knew it.

Certain parts of her dreams came to her. Was it possible she was about to battle that, and was she up for it? Should she continue?

"Goddamn right."

Again poised to strike, Mary brought down her ax, and when it split open the branch, that branch was not a fucking branch anymore.

Clear fluid erupted from the slice created by the ax. It nearly sprayed onto Mary, but she bolted away just in time. The spray landed in between her booted feet. And then the branch turned from one organic material into another organic material—flesh. The once gray, lifeless timber turned into an orange tentacle, the tentacle of an average octopus—it curled at one end, and suction cups embellished the length of it.

Holy hell. The dreams were coming true.

Mary yelled a barrage of profanities at the curling end of the tentacle as she swung her ax at it, back and forth, up and down. The tentacle flapped in the air with a high-pitched whine, attempting to play keep away from her weapon.

The tip of it struck her on her left side and she went flying, landing in a soft pile of ivy. "Balls?" She immediately got to her feet. The tentacle slammed down and smacked the earth before her with a massive thud. Dirt flew up. Luckily, Mary still had her ax in her hands, and she brought it down, but the tentacle was too fast for her. It flapped away just in time.

It swished to the right. One of the suction cups, the size of her fist, stuck to her thick flannel shirt and flung her to the ground again. Mary screamed as the cup slid off her, leaving a slime trail. "Ick!"

Moving to her feet from her knees, she saw the tentacle coming around and finally, she nailed it—she swung hard and chopped off that curly-Q end. More clear liquid poured from the injured end as it twisted in circles. Again, Mary backed away to avoid getting that crap on her. It smelled like the bastard stepchild of cow dung and wet gym socks.

The tentacle then retreated; it made a slurping sound as it backed into the base of the tree, disappearing from sight like a dog dick retreating into its shaft.

Mary held the handle of her ax in both hands above her head and jumped up and down, hollering, "Yay," over and over.

The severed curly-Q end writhed in the ivy like a poisoned animal, then became still. Calm now, Mary stared at the orange alien in the dark green depths of ivy and introduced it to one of her middle fingers. Then she tapped at it with her ax, expecting it to come alive again. It flattened, then turned into a gelatinous blob that slowly dissolved into a gray liquid. It reminded her of something from a different movie she had seen. "The Mist?" she muttered. "Really?"

Smiling, she and her weapon went into the house. She stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Hopefully, she had taken care of the reason for the hickies. Hopefully, those hickies would fade away.

###

As the woman slept, the tentacle flattened its brand-new tip, slid around the deadbolt, unlocked the back door, and silently entered. It remained flat as it moved along the hardwood floor. Its sensors at the tip picked up the woman's scent and it headed in that direction.

Up and beneath the thick blanket, along the bed, so very sly, the tentacle's tip rested on an inside thigh, on one of the numerous shells it had created.

The tip opened and secured itself around the edges of the perfect circle. Then the tentacle extended its needle-like projection from deep within itself and penetrated the center of the shell. It inserted one perfect cell beneath—one perfect life form below the woman's skin.

The tentacle moved to another shell and repeated the process until all 152 shells had been impregnated.

The woman wouldn't feel a thing.