by Joe Stanley

4

Stephens lead the team, with the warrant in his hand, he pounded on the door. There was no answer, and there was no sign of life inside. Some of the team had tried looking into the windows, but they saw and heard nothing.

James’ car was still in the driveway, and Stephens walked around it to the high door in the fence. He pushed it and found it was locked. He started to turn, but instead pulled out his pocket knife, sliding it up until he felt the latch. He wiggled the blade until the hook that held it shut came free.

The gate opened and he stepped into the back yard. His mouth fell open.

The beautiful garden was gone. Each and every plant had withered and died. Even the grass was yellow-gray and sickly. There was what appeared to be a trail of thin, clear plastic, fading out in all directions.

He poked it with his knife and found that it was a sheet of mucus-like slime. It was thickest in the middle of the yard and lead directly to the backdoor. At the bottom of the door, dozens of tiny holes had nearly splintered it. He braced himself against the door to have a closer look, and to his surprise the door swung open.

Inside was the kitchen, the refrigerator door was open. The slime was thick, and there was a blood covered slipper coated with it. Smears of blood lead back into the dining room, where the other slipper lay beneath an overturned chair. The blood was visible beneath the slime.

Taking care where he stepped, Stephens took a small camera from his pocket and began to follow the trail, taking pictures.

It lead around to the staircase, where about half-way up a puddle of blood congealed below a step marked with a bloody edge. Here the trail of slime stopped. He found himself thinking “She fell and hit her head here and was briefly unconscious.”

Then there were more bloody footprints, each in a thick smear of slime. There were bloody handprints on the railing and on the upstairs wall. A gruesome handprint waited on the white bedroom door, which was slightly ajar.

For the first time in his career, Stephens was afraid to go closer and called out, “Ms. James?” There was no answer. Now he forced himself to move, and slowly he pushed the door open.

James was seated on the floor with her back against the wall. Her bare feet were spotted with countless tiny red specks. “Ms. James!” he called again, and noticed, despite her blank expression, a small muscle twitch.

She was alive!

“Just hang on, we’ll get you an ambulance…” he began, as he felt for a pulse. Her skin felt strange, like something was moving beneath it. She was cold, he noticed, too cold to be alive, but somehow…

Her mouth fell open and a bloody fountain spewed. Mixed in the blood were countless wriggling worms. He stumbled backwards, and watched as he plump body began to deflate. Worms spewed from her mouth, nose and eyes, and then her skin began to burst open. He found himself thinking that she looked like a caterpillar nest, the way her skin was draped across the bones in bloody ribbons. Around her, the puddle of worms began to slow and then, like James, was still and lifeless.

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