I need some help, some advice, and fast. What is the best way to cut off your own arm?
I have green veins spider-webbing their way up my forearm, a puss-filled infected wound at the center.
If I don’t remove my arm, and soon, I fear I will end up like Josh, my cousin, in a matter of days, a fate I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
Josh and I were supposed to catch up for lunch today, Sunday, but I couldn’t get hold of him. The last I spoke with him was Thursday after he sent me some disturbing photos with nothing but gibberish accompanying the images. Earlier in the week, he had said he was feeling a bit sick and had a weird wound on his leg he was worried was infected. I convinced him to switch to a video call so I could see it, which he reluctantly agreed to.
He leaned his phone against something on the floor so he could free up both hands. He sat on a chair in front of the camera, his leg filling up most of the screen. He gently pulled up his track pant leg, exposing his bandaged-up calf. The bandage was stained, yellow and red liquid seeping through. He slowly started unwrapping the bandage and I could tell it was drenched as it sagged down, heavy from the body fluids. Finally, the last of the bandage fell away to the floor. An oozing wound wept puss and blood down his calf. Green veins spread out across his skin in all directions from the injury. It looked like it spread as low as his ankle and up above his knee.
“It stinks”, he said off camera. “I took some anti-biotics this morning so I’m hoping it’ll be clear by Sunday.”
“It looks bad, you seen a doctor?”
“Nah” he replied, grabbing a damp cloth and dabbing it against the wound. “If the antibiotics don’t work by Friday then I’ll book something in, see if I can get something stronger.”
“What happened?” I asked, the macabre sight of his leg making me gag a little.
“Not a hundred percent sure” he said, a confused tone in his voice. “It happened while I was camping last weekend.” He started unrolling a new bandage as he spoke. “It was on the last night, and I had found a clearing to set up camp. I thought at the time the clearing was a bit weird, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it straight away though. I had enough space to set up the tent and started a fire. It got dark and I popped on some tunes as I sat by the fire.”
He was wrapping his leg slowly, I could see his face grimace as the bandage went over the wound.
“Ow. So, anyway” he continued. “I must have fallen asleep next to the fire, coz the next thing I know I woke to this sharp stinging pain in my leg. I jumped up thinking I’d just been bitten by a snake or a spider. To be honest I was panicking pretty bad, the pain was intense man.”
“Yeah right, that would be freaky. Did you see what it was?” I asked.
“The fire had died down, but I could see what looked like a snake on the ground. I grabbed my torch from on top of my backpack and flicked it on, but it wasn’t a snake.” He finished wrapping his leg and pulled his track pants back down. Before the track pants had covered the bandage, I noticed a dark spot already forming where the weeping wound was.
“Well”, I asked. “What was it?”
He stood up and picked up the phone from the floor and held it way too close to his face.
“It was a vine”.
“A vine?”
“Yeah, a vine. Here’s the thing. I know that it wasn’t there when I set up the tent and started the fire. I know this because the penny dropped on why the clearing felt weird when I first got there. It was weird because it was completely barren. Thick vegetation surrounded the clearing, trees and grass, shrubs and weeds. The whole hike was pretty dense with bush. But this spot. Completely clear.”
“Maybe someone had cleared it before you?” I suggested.
“Yeah maybe. Anyway, this vine definitely wasn’t there before. I got up close to it to have a look, and it was covered in these nasty-looking thorns. These things liked more like sharks’ teeth than thorns, and it was covered in them.”
“Mate, that’s a story. Did you snap photos of it?”
“Yeah, I did. Then I cut it up with my hatchet and kicked it back into the bush” he laughed. “So yeah, I’m fairly sure my leg must have rolled onto one of those thorns, but I’ve never heard of thorns that feel more like a bite ya know? That’s why I’m not a hundred percent sure.”
“Yeah neither. Send me those photos, I’ve got a friend who’s into that sort of thing, he’s a botanist, or almost finished his studies to be one, he might know what type of vine it is. And keep me updated on how you’re feeling, if you still a bit rough we can catch up the following weekend instead.”
“Nah, I’ll be fine. I’ll catch you this weekend for sure.”
“Alright, sounds good. I’ll chat to you later then.”
With that, I ended the call.
A couple of minutes later my phone vibrated. I opened it up to see Josh had sent some photos of the vine, as well as some of his leg.
The vine was all twisted and appeared to reflect a shiny surface from the camera’s flash, making me think it might be coated in a moisture of some kind – maybe one to attract insects. The colour was a spectrum of greens and purples, while the thorns looked a dark crimson. The thorns looked to be an inch or so long and were jagged and razor-sharp looking. I zoomed in and could see beads of moisture forming at the tip of each thorn.
I hit the forward button and typed in my friends contact details.
Hey Tim, how’s things. My cousin came across this the other day hiking, any idea what type it is?
I hit the send button and popped my phone back into my pocket. And that was that, until Thursday.
Thursday evening, I was sitting on the couch eating some pizza and noodles I had just heated up while watching a movie. My phone buzzed on the coffee table, vibrating across the glass. Moments later it vibrated again, then again.
I shoved the slice of pizza I was eating into my mouth and picked up the phone. It was Josh. He had just sent 3 pictures over. I unlocked my phone and opened my messages.
The first image was of his calf. The wound looked so much worse than it had the other day. The green veins were thicker and more pronounced now, and I could see they had spread up his thigh and under the shorts he was wearing. A dark liquid oozed down his leg and over his ankle.
The second image was of his eyes. They looked bloodshot and tired. The eyelids looked heavy and dark. I could tell he probably hadn’t slept since I last spoke with him. I zoomed in and could see little green lines weaving their way through the whites of his eyes.
The last image took me a while to comprehend.
It was his chest. That part was obvious enough. But there were bumps and ridges under his skin that didn’t look right at all. They snaked up from his abdomen and were dark. Initially, I thought it was some tribal tattoo weaving its way up his torso, but I could see it was raised, as if something sat just under his skin.
I shook my head.
There’s no way, I thought.
Hey mate, that looks really bad. Have you seen a doctor? I text him.
After 10 minutes of waiting for a reply, I hit the call icon in the top corner and the phone started ringing. After a dozen or so rings it went to voice mail. I hung up and tried again. This time he answered, and he sounded bad.
“Josh? You sound rough, you need me to come round?” I asked, unable to hide the concern in my voice.
“No” he croaked. “I’m feeling a bit better than yesterday. But I’ve booked the doctors tomorrow.”
“I’m glad to hear that. What time?”
He coughed a couple of times, then said “11”.
“OK, let me know how you go then ok?” I said.
“Yeah, I will. I’m gonna lie down now, so tired. Chat later” He said, hanging up before I could respond.
Friday came and went. I had slept in, again, so the morning was a rush. I was working the long shift and only realised I had left my phone on the bathroom sink counter as I pulled up to work. So, it wasn’t until 11 pm that night that I got a chance to check up on Josh.
He hadn’t messaged, and I figured there might be a chance he was asleep already if he was still feeling rough, but I sent him a message anyway.
Hey mate, how’d you go at the doctors today?
I plugged my phone into the charger and jumped in jumped in bed.
I woke up Saturday morning and checked my phone. Josh hadn’t replied, but I assured myself he likely hadn’t seen the message yet.
I did have a message from Tim, though.
Hey Shane. I can’t say I recognize that one, but the lighting is not great. Do you know if he has better photos?
I decided I would check with Josh and reply later. I made sure to take my phone with me to work and checked it multiple times throughout the day. My concern for Josh grew as the morning turned into afternoon, the afternoon into evening, and Josh still hadn’t replied.
I was heading out with some work colleagues that night, but I was starting to get worried about Josh’s lack of communication. He didn’t live on his phone, but I would normally hear back within a few hours of messaging him, or worse case at least by the evening when he would kick back and watch TV. I tried calling his mobile, but it went straight to voice mail. I sent him text messages while at the bar, but he didn’t respond. I even tried to send him a message on messenger, but the icon said last online 27 hours ago. So, I decided that I would head to his place first thing Sunday morning.
First thing Sunday morning ended up being closer to lunchtime, as the effects of a big night of drinking took its toll. I pulled up to Josh’s place around 11:30 am and made my way up his path to the front door.
I knocked on his door loudly. “Hey Josh, you in there?” I yelled. I pressed the doorbell and knocked again. No answer. After trying the door, and confirming it was locked, I walked around to the front window and peered in. The blinds were drawn, the interior of the room was dark despite the midday sun overhead. “Hey Josh” I yelled, my face against the window, eyes scanning the room.
Thin lines of light penetrated through the window and blinds, and my eyes slowly adjusted. I could make out his kitchen bench on the far side of the room, piles of dishes covering the bench top. In the living room I could see the tv and cabinet, piles of rubbish littering the floor. The coffee table was covered in pizza boxes and takeaway cups, a sign Josh was back off his yoyo diet again. The mismatched couches and armschairs he had picked up for free from marketplace were covered in laundry and other rubbish. The dining table was the only thing that looked clear of junk.
I thought I would go around the back and see if he was in the backyard when the pile of laundry on the couch moved ever so slightly. That’s when I realised the pile of laundry was Josh.
“Josh” I yelled, looking harder into the room, trying to force my irises open more so I could see better in the dark. “Yo, can you hear me? Are you ok?”.
He didn’t respond, but I noticed him move again.
I went back to the front door and flipped over some pots to see if he had a key anywhere. I kicked away the doormat, then reached above the frame of the door. Bingo.
I grabbed the key and inserted it into the lock, then opened the door.
The first thing that hit me was the smell. A vomit-inducing odor flooded out the door in a wave, making me gag and step back. It smelt like rotting meat mixed with spoiled vegetables and stagnant water. The stench clawed its way into my nostrils, assaulting my senses with an overwhelming wave of foulness.
I waved one hand around in front of me, the other I held over my mouth and nose, and made my way into Josh’s place.
I went and opened the blinds and window to let in fresh air as well as some light. I repeated the same in the kitchen, slowly letting fresh air fill his home.
I made my way over to Josh who was lying on the couch under a pile of blankets and towels. “Hey, Josh, you ok?” I asked.
I could now hear his breaths, raspy and labored. His head was mostly covered by a towel that looked stained with some blood and puss. I could see the pile of laundry on top of him rise and fall in unison with his breaths.
“Josh?” I said as I pulled back the blanket.
My eyes widened in horror, my knees threatened to buckle underneath me. Overwhelmed by the grotesque scene, I couldn’t hold back the waves of nausea that crashed over me. I vomited uncontrollably, my mind reeling from the shocking revelation before me. Josh had become a grotesque amalgamation of flesh, thorns and vines. Blood oozed from the hundreds of tears in Josh’s skin where the thorns had torn through. The vines pulsed and moved, lapping over each other as they slowly searched their surroundings. They seemed to have emerged through some of the openings in Josh’s flesh that had been created by the thorns.
Josh’s breathing worsened, more rapid and pained. His raspy voice croaked “Help me.” I looked at his face, his eyes were wide, conveying a look of absolute terror and agony.
Wiping the vomit from my lips, I just nodded, dumbfounded. I had no idea what was happening, or what to do, so I decided to call an ambulance. I figured they would know best what to do. I told them he was bleeding and cut all over. I left out the part about the thorns and vines. They said they were going to be at least 45 minutes, as there was a multi-car accident they were attending to, so to do the best I could with slowing the bleeding until they got there.
“Water” Josh croaked as soon as I got off the phone.
“Yeah, of course,” I stuttered, fumbling my way to the kitchen. I grabbed a cup from the sink and filled it up with water.
I half ran, half stumbled back to him. “Here you go man” holding it in front of him. He painfully tried to raise his head towards the cup but looked weak and tired. Without thinking, I reached my hand behind his head to assist him. And that’s when I felt a sharp sting on my wrist.
I am sitting outside Josh’s place right now, waiting for the ambulance to show up. It has been about an hour since the thorn on Josh’s neck pierced me, you can already see green veins webbing their way up my forearm, the wound leaking puss and blood. I’m scared. Scared I will end up like Josh. I think my best chance to survive is to cut off my arm. So, if you know the best, most efficient way to cut off your own arm, while minimizing the chance of bleeding out or going into shock, please tell me.