I’m hiding under the covers tonight. Just like every night for the past 6 months. Groaning footsteps grow closer. They’re slow. Sounding all too familiar. There’s a drawn out creak from my door. She shuffles over closer to me. Standing over my bed. All she does is stare. I pretend not to notice.
It’s been just my mother and I for years. Until one night after a walk in the woods she came home ill. I tried to convince her to go into town to find a doctor. But she just said it was nothing more than the common cold and that it would be impolite to go bothering the doctor over nothing. Mom’s wrong, this isn’t just some common cold. I fear that something is seriously wrong with her. Mom always said I’m too young to be talking with strangers online. But after her abrupt loss of appetite, then followed by her most recent… craving, I feel as if I have no other choice.
I trudged through damp air, taking in the fresh scent of rain-soaked earth. Pine trees stood tall, pointed like spikes impaling through the earth. The blade of my shovel dragged behind me through the mud. I clutched my flashlight, lighting up the path ahead. The wind howled a low cry. Each time the underbush rustled from the wind I could feel the pace of my heart race and my chest tighten. I’d focus my flashlight on the noise, for there to be nothing.
After a few minutes of walking I found an open clearing. I struck the blade of my shovel into the mud. Digging my heel into the back of the blade I drove it deeper into the ground. Pulling back the handle a hunk of mud and grass overturned. The pink squirming bodies of worms, caked in wet mud, glistened in the moonlight. I took out the folded trash bag from my back pocket. I plucked each worm from the dirt mound and dropped them into the bag. One by one.
The writhing bag dragged behind me as I walked. I could see my family’s cabin up ahead. From the windows a yellow haze of light pours out into the night. The silhouette of a thin woman stood in the window. Unnaturally swaying where she stands. Her head turns to face me. Mom is watching me. As I entered through the back porch I could already feel her gaze piercing into me. I fastened the deadbolts to the porch door and placed the bag on the dining table.
“Hi mom, I’m home” I announced.
Mom wore a pale blue gown, the fabric hung limp over her frame. Her eyes sunk back into a dark gaze. The skin beneath her eyes sagged. Deep frown lines were etched into the surface of her face. Discolored hues and prominent blue veins decorated her skin. Her breathing was low and labored.
“Sit down Mom. You need your rest” I pleaded, with concern in my voice.
I held her, leading her back to bed. Mom’s thin fingers wrapped around mine. The pulse of her heart faintly tapped through her veins. Her skin felt taught, like leather bound over bone. She trembled with each step, leaning into me for support.
A squeaky creak let out from the door as I pushed it open. The light from the hallways spilled into her dark room. The cold air prickled at my skin. I guided her to the bed and propped up her pillows. Then laid her to rest.
Her body laid frail in her king bed. As if she’d disappear between the creases of the covers. Her trembling arm reached out to me. She stroked her through my hair. A familiar gesture of gentle comfort. Then interrupted by nails scratching into the flesh of my scalp.
I grabbed the remote from her night stand and turned on the TV. The soft glow of the screen filled the room. She didn’t turn to look at the TV. She fixed her gaze on me.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be right back Mom.” I whispered.
I closed the door behind me. Hurriedly I made my way back to the kitchen table. The bag had toppled over. A handful of worms spilled out onto the table. I flailed my hands, scooping them up and placing them back into the bag.
I pushed open the door to her room, bag in hand. She stood at the end of the bed. Her eyes were fixed on the doorway. I could hear a low growl from under her breath. Unsteady she swayed from side to side. Hesitantly I inched towards her.
“Mom, you know you need to rest. I’ve got your meal for tonight right here.” I shook the bag in my hand to show her.
She stilled. The low growling noise began to fade. I eased towards Mom, so as not to startle her. I rested my hand on mom’s shoulder as I guided her back to the bed. I propped her up on fluffed pillows. Inside the bag a teeming mass of worms awaited. I plucked one plump, slimy worm from the writhing mass. The pink body of the worm wiggled. Trying in vain to break free. Mom looked up at me, expectantly.
I plopped the first worm in her mouth. The worm went down, smooth and slow. Then from the bag I plucked another. One worm at a time. I could see the veins begin to squirm beneath her skin. Color began to flush across her face. A subtle brightness began showing in her eyes. Her lips crawled into a faint smile. One by one.
“All gone.” I shook the empty bag in front of her.
“Good night, don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
As I left I felt her eyes on me. Watching me. I closed the door behind me. The house is quiet tonight. Only the creaking of my footsteps echo out.
I’m hiding under the covers tonight. Just like every night for the past 6 months. Groaning footsteps grow closer. They’re slow. Sounding all too familiar. There’s a drawn out creak from my door. I hear her shuffling over. Closer to me. Standing over my bed. All she does is stare. I pretend not to notice.
I’m hiding with my phone under the covers. I can’t make the journey into town all alone by foot to get a doctor. Mom watches my every movement. I don’t think she’d let me leave. I’m writing out for someone, anyone to hear me. We need help. And I’m so afraid of being alone here.