I had to have yet another ear surgery. This time to remove one of the tiny bones, the stapes, that had become hardened and useless. I’ve always had ear troubles, from getting tubes to having a perforated ear drum. The latter disqualified me from getting into Army Airborne.
The nurse I had, Cindy, was incredibly nice, but irritating. She was attentive to every little detail, honestly concerned for my well-being, but a bit intrusive, almost obsessive. I was well experienced with hospital routines and procedures. I knew how often nurses were supposed to check your vitals. She was in and out of my room every five minutes. The strangest thing though was that every single time she came in the room she reintroduced herself as Cindy, my personal nurse. I wondered if there was some kind of commission or a bonus for a job well done. Was I required to answer a few short survey questions after my surgery?
Cindy, my personal nurse, along with some other nurses wheeled me down to another room to get prepared for surgery. The anesthesiologist had told me that we were going to count down from ten when we we’re ready. The IV was in place.
“You ready?” he asked.
The doctor put the mask over my face. I felt the cool gas flow into my nostrils. “Ten, nine, eight…….”
I started to wake up, still incoherent, in between conscious states, a purgatory of mental activity. I didn’t know exactly where I was, but then I felt a horrendous pain in my chest, which sobered my brain into focusing on my surroundings.
It wasn’t your typical operating room with sanitary white walls. They were hung with purple and scarlet drapes, embroidered with what looked like royal regalia, but nothing I recognized. It reminded me of the Roman Empire, but instead of an eagle, it had a majestic centipede like creature I had never seen nor heard of, and a ring of vegetation just as foreign. The only thing I recognized was the four thunderbolts projecting from the circle encompassing the alien symbolism. There were doctors and nurses, but also a few hooded figures dressed in priestly vestments.
I was laying on my back. I remember thinking that I shouldn’t be on my back if they are operating on my ear. I don’t know how I missed it before, but the ceiling was hung with mirrored tiles. The ceiling hung lower than normal giving me a direct view of what was happening. My chest was cut open, rib cage spread apart, exposing my beating heart. Several machines were nearby keeping me artificially alive. I screamed as loud as I could, yelling for help. I saw my heart beating faster and I could feel the blood flow with an unusual intensity.
“That’s it son. Get that heart rate up, but not too much. We don’t need you dying.” The doctor said peering down at me with his purple-speckled eyes.
The sight of his eyes evoked in me a fit of anxiety and a string of obscenities. I tried to pull my arms and legs free but they were strapped tight to the bed.
“You motherfuckers!!!”
“Good son. Good. Anger, fear, and hate. We need it all. Keep it going.”
I started weeping and pleading, but to no avail. The hooded figures started chanting. I could smell incense as they were swinging gold cannisters affixed to long chains, the smoke rising in thick plumes. They started circling my bed in some stoic ritualistic motion, never turning their heads or deviating from the script. After circling my bed a few times, they stopped in place. The one standing above my head walked over to a silver chest that was situated on top of an altar, with two candles on each side, burning not like a normal candle, but fading from purple to black and back to purple. I couldn’t watch what he was doing directly. I had to look up at the mirror to ascertain what horrors next awaited me.
The priest opened the chest and pulled out a clear crystal jar with an opulent black stopper. In the jar, swimming in a pinkish fluid, was the creature I had seen on the insignia. He walked over back to where I was, held the jar high, said some words I didn’t understand, and pulled the stopper out. He turned the jar over and emptied the contents of it on my chest. I convulsed and shook, trying my best to get free, not even thinking of the fact that my chest was splayed wide open. I looked up in the mirror. The creature squirmed around for a few seconds and then secured its many legs to my heart. It lifted its head. I looked from the mirror down to the creature. On the bottom side of his head was a circular row of teeth like a lamprey. It quickly snapped down its head and fastened its teeth into my heart, not to destroy it, but to settle in for the long haul.
“You’re going to live forever. It’s a gift. You’ll never have high blood pressure, high cholesterol, diabetes, cancer. You name it, you’re free from it. Well, you’re almost immortal. I mean of course you’re not going to survive a bomb or having your head cut off, but hell, are you going to go play with some bombs or tempt someone to blow your head off?” The doctor chuckled. “But you’re no longer alone either. You have to share your body now, but you’re sharing it with a god.”
“Let me go. This is a parasite, not a god. Get this thing out of me. I don’t want to live forever, not like this.”
“Just words my boy. Its all in how you define ‘parasite’ or ‘god’ for that matter. Power is god son and if that power comes from a parasite, then praise the parasite. This parasite doesn’t come from Earth, but it’s been here a lot longer than we have. It is a sentient being. You’ll find that out in time. There’s an Armageddon coming, and you are on the right side. Be content with that. Doctor lets finish this. Put him down.”
The mask was pushed down on my face. I heard the anesthesiologist counting down, “ten, nine, eight….”
I woke up in my hospital room. I had a headache, and I was sick to my stomach. This had happened to me before. The doctor had given me too much anesthesia and it had kicked my ass. I reached up to feel my forehead. I felt a bandage across my head and down over my ear. I was relieved. It must have been a horrible nightmare produced by the medication. I struggled out of bed and walked to the bathroom. I looked into the mirror to see the bandage across my head and ear. I needed to see it, not just feel it, but then I thought about my chest. I lifted up my gown. I was shocked and deflated. There was a long grotesque line of staples down the middle of my chest, each painted with yellow antiseptic. I panicked and began to swoon, trying to turn back toward my bed. As I began to fall, Cindy caught me and helped me back to bed. She pulled the cover up over my body. She backed away from the bed and began to unbutton her uniform. There in the middle of her chest was a long scar.
“My lord,” she said as she knelt down in front of the bed.
It’s been two years now. I haven’t heard or seen anyone else who might also be affected or possessed, or at least that I know of. They are waiting for the right time, I imagine. Armageddon. That’s what the doctor said. Am I the Antichrist or just an alien invader. I’ve often thought about ending it, killing myself. I don’t want to be responsible for any kind of genocide, but then I convince myself that none of it was real. Then again, I feel great. I feel a power growing in me, a power that I don’t want to end. Whatever I am or whatever is in me doesn’t seem all that evil… at least not yet.