I awoke to hear a strange scuttling sound. I sat up in bed and looked around. The room was dark, the sun not even caressing the horizon. The world was silent and so I lay back down. My eyes closed, and sleep once again wrapped me in its warm embrace.
I don’t know how long it was that I slept, but I was wrenched from my slumber by a burning pain in my leg. I opened my eyes and watched in terror as the bed covers rose and fell in a direction that led from my feet to my head. There was something under the covers; of that much I was certain. I was also sure that whatever it was, was also the cause of the burning pain I felt.
I began to sweat almost instantly, and while the fear of what creature I would see under the covers was certainly a factor; the poison that I could feel filtering into my bloodstream was doubtlessly the real cause.
I knew there was only one thing to do, and so I grabbed the covers, my fingers already begging to grow stiff. The covers came away, and for a moment I saw nothing. I was blinded, and I think it was because my mind was unable to comprehend what it was I saw. The creature was the size of a rat. Its body was black, and distinctly narrow by the head and more bulbous in the rear. A pear would be the closest I could come to describe it. There were three thick legs that protruded from either side of its flank, and the tip of each was round and flat. Later, when I went to examine my injured leg, I would observe that the underside of each foot had what I could only presume to be a suction cup which would bite into whatever flesh it came into contact with. Whether for purchase or for more sinister purposes I still cannot fathom.
A kind of standoff developed between us, and only when the creature moved did I react. I curse myself, for it had been a trap. The creature it seemed was brighter than even I could estimate. With my hand open, I swatted down upon the beast. Only then did I find that its body was covered in barbed hairs, fine to the point of invisibility. So strong was their grip that when I raised my arm, the creature rose with it.
All six legs kicked at air, each one a challenge thrown down to me. Its body wriggled and after a time it pulled itself free. Not before I saw its face, and I swear, even in my fever ridden state, it smiled at me.
I shook the creature free. Its body landed on the bed, and while I still had my wits about me, I slapped it across the room whereupon it hit the wall and slid out of sight. I listened for the scuttling sound that had first woken me. I heard nothing, nothing but a faint ringing sound in my ears that was. My eyes grew heavy, but not with sleep.
When I next came too, the first fingertips of the encroaching dawn had begun to chase away the darkness in the room. Save for the far corner, which remained impervious to the suns growing power. My body raged with fever, as it does even now, while I write this. Undoubtedly, these will be my last words. How can I write so clearly, while claiming a fever induced delirium you ask? I cannot give you those answers; they do not make up part of my tale. Know just this, if I am not dying from fever, then the imps and elves that now prance on the walls in this small room would have to be real. Their naked bodies are slick with blood and they intertwine in dance, and convulse in evil pleasure before my very eyes.
I know now how much time has passed since I was first bit. Judging by the smell of my rotting flesh I would say it has been some days. Nobody will come looking for me; I chased away all those that ever cared for me. My fingers are now tacky, a strange secretion seeps from my pours. It is a liquid web as best I can tell. My body is wrapping itself within the cocoon. I have not seen the creature since its abrupt departure from my side, but maybe it hides in the shadow that still occupies that far corner.
I have slept, fitfully, my mind filled with images and dreams that have left me aroused yet sickened. The smell of my own flesh has me feeling hungry, and more than once I have found my tongue exploring the skin of my non-writing arm. I wonder, would I taste as bad as I smell? Where has this hunger come from?
I now realize what will become of me. Several large boils have erupted on my abdomen. At first I thought them to be my imagination, but as they grew, so sobered my mind. Now they are the size of tennis balls. My skin has stretched so thing that I can see the fetuses gestating within the fluid sacks that now pulse with a rhythm that I do not control. Three creatures are feeding on my flesh, and now my hunger has a reason. I need to feed the children that I am to bring into this world.
I can resist it no longer; the hunger within me must be satiated. I have bitten three of my fingers from my left hand. Two I have eaten, their crisp texture has done nothing to quell the hunger. If anything, it has grown.
I have become more aware of my surroundings, and I see now that the shadow in the corner is not a shadow, but the creature itself. It has spun itself a cocoon and taken residence in that corner. I can still see its eyes watching me. Just like any parent, it can never rest while its young are so vulnerable.
I have eaten my hand to the write, the bones discarded on the ground beside me. I am woozy from the blood loss, but cannot stop neither the telling of my tale nor the devouring of my flesh. It really is the sweetest of tastes. It is a delicate meat that others should take the opportunity to try at least once.
The time has come. I know these sentences will be my last. With only one arm left which extends beyond the elbow, and but one side of paper in my lap, I can see no other destination. All I can say, now that the fluid has begun to seep through the cracks in my engorged flesh, is that I hope someone at least finds these words and knows just what it was that befell me.
The first sac has ruptured; the creature is tiny, its body burning hot against my skin. I know it will grow quickly. My flesh is healthy, it will make them strong. It is strange, the sense of pride that fills you the moment you become a parent. Now, as the last two eggs break, I look at my children and smile. My sacrifice was worth every moment of suffering.
The cocoon has also ruptured, and from it emerges a butterfly creature, with wings t dripping with putrefaction. Even had I been of sound mind and able body, I would not have been able to find the words necessary to sufficiently describe what the best as become. It hovers above me. It is watching as its young feed. I cannot feel their bites, not any more. So I must now lay down my pen. My fate is sealed, and my final words I refuse to bequeath to these monsters. So Lord, be merciful to me… a sinner.