Infestation By: Hayley Locke
Infestation
When I was small, Pa would often pick me up and carry me around my room during my lessons. He'd teach me small things like what the things in my room were called, how to count the little holes in my window, and the difference between the white plastic gloves the grown-ups wear and the black rubber gloves he carried around. He once told me that it was against the rules for him to touch me without a pair of gloves, but I've never seen him actually wear them. That was one of our little secrets, among others. One day, Pa wanted to teach me about the world outside of my room. I remember I was a bit bigger at the time, too big to fit into Pa's arms, so we'd settled on him holding my hands while I played with the dangly chest-hearing thingy around his neck. As he spoke, he pulled out these little cards with pictures on them. The first picture was of a big box with a pointed top. He called it a "house" and proceeded to repeat the word slowly in an attempt to get me to repeat it, but Pa knew I wasn't a very good speaker. He'd do this again and again with each card, each one depicting something I'd never seen before. Eventually, he was showing me pictures of living creatures, creatures that looked nothing like me or Pa or the grown-ups. One of these was called a "dog", another was called a "cat", another was a "bird", and the list went on. It was strange but interesting. Before then, I never really considered the idea of living things other than myself and the people I knew existing in this world. He had paused when he got to a certain card showing a small, fuzzy-looking creature. He told me it was called a "spider". I remember getting excited when I saw the picture. I had pointed to and counted the number of eyes and limbs the creature had. Pa smiled at me as I waved my arms and quickly blinked my eyes. He could tell how happy I was to see something that was a little abnormal, just like me. He'd continue to come and teach me new things about the outside world, but as I got bigger, Pa's visits started to become less frequent. On the days when I wouldn't see him, one of the grown-ups would come into my room instead. Some of them put in a bit of effort when they were with me, their attempts ranging from reading a book to me to playing some music for me to listen to, while others didn't seem to care much at all. They also never took their white gloves off when touching me. I remember one of the grown-ups even scolded me after I tried peeling a glove off of her hand. Needless to say, none of them were as good as Pa.
One day when Pa came to visit me, I could tell he wasn’t being himself. I always knew him as a very chipper person who smiled a lot, but at that time he seemed tired and I couldn’t see his mouth past the mask he wore. He told me he was alright as he pet the top of my head. He also said that the mask was there so I wouldn’t “catch anything”, whatever that meant. I remember how my stomach felt uneasy when I saw him have trouble breathing, but even then Pa did what he could to assure me that everything was ok. After that day, I wouldn’t see Pa again. Every day I’d wait for him but he’d never come. Whenever one of the grown-ups came into my room I wanted to ask where he was, but I didn’t know how. I would point to the stack of cards Pa had left for me to look at, but the grown-ups never understood what I was trying to say. They always thought I wanted to play some type of game with them or something like that. Before long, I became frustrated with the grown-ups and I refused to acknowledge any of them. This led to them growing frustrated with my frustration and their visits becoming less and less frequent, but I didn’t care, if they weren’t Pa then I didn’t want to see them anyway. At first, I was fine with spending my days alone. I’d walk around my room and remember the names of all the little thingies and whatchamacallits that Pa had told me about when I was little, count the little holes in my window, though the number of holes never changed, and look through the pictured cards that Pa had left behind. I especially liked coming back to the cards with the creatures on them. I even made up my own game that involved them where I’d choose one at random and I would then try to mimic the creature on the card. It was fun to copy how playful the dog in the picture looked or how peaceful the bird seemed to be. There were some pictures in the stack that showed some bigger, scarier-looking creatures, those were some of the most fun to mimic. Like the “lion” card, I would bare my teeth and like the “bull” card, I would romp around my room. However, it seemed that the grown-ups had different ideas of what was fun and what wasn’t. They didn’t exactly like it when I would act all aggressive for the sake of my game, but if anything, their negative reactions only made me want to do it more. They weren’t my Pa, so why should I have listened to them?
When they weren’t coming into my room, I’d sometimes see the grown-ups outside my window. I would ignore them for a while and focus on my game, but I couldn’t help but notice that when I did my impressions of the scarier creatures some of them had stopped looking at me to write something down on the papers they held. It wasn’t that weird since the grown-ups have taken notes on my behavior before, but that day I eventually decided that I just didn’t feel like getting the extra attention. I had picked up the card showing off a tough-looking creature, I think Pa called it a “gorilla”, and I balled up my fists. I made sure the grown-ups still had their eyes on me before I jumped towards the window and pounded on the unbreakable glass. Everyone on the other side screamed and immediately scattered. I can’t remember what, but there was something about that instance that I found really funny, so I would do the same thing every time I saw one or more of the grown-ups at my window. A while after I started doing this, one of the grown-ups came to visit my room. This one wasn’t as good as Pa, but she was still one of the better people who sometimes came to see me. She usually brought those colorful picture books with her that she’d read to me, but that time she came empty-handed. Her voice was soft as she spoke to me. She was good at that, talking in a certain way that made me feel calm. I was sitting on my table as she pressed her own dangly chest-hearing thing against my body and asked me if I was having a good day. I nodded. After a few more questions and some playful banter, she asked me about my cards. She asked if I liked to copy the animals I saw on them and I nodded again. She didn’t seem to like this answer as her smile quickly disappeared. I then realized that I made some kind of mistake by confirming this. Her voice became more stern as she started going on about how I “shouldn’t be playing those types of games” and that they “don’t like seeing me act this way.” Her voice eventually became soft again before she walked over to the spot on the floor where I left my cards. My throat felt tight as I watched her pick them up and sort them out in her hands. Suddenly, I felt an overwhelmingly horrible feeling wash over me. How dare this person touch my Pa’s cards? Those belonged to him and he left them for me to keep, not for them to take away. She was still speaking, but at that point, I’d stopped listening. When she had started walking towards the door with my Pa’s cards still in hand, I lept from my table and reached for her arm. I tried to grab her and at first, I did, but she sort of moved in a way I didn’t expect so my hand lost its grip. She screamed. I looked down to see my nails were digging into her skin and her sleeve was turning a dark red color. I hurt her. I didn’t mean to, but I’d hurt her. She screamed again and I pulled my hand back.
Before I knew it, more of the grown-ups had started pouring into my room, some came to the aid of the person I hurt, and others started yelling at me while pointing these long yellow stick things at me. I backed away from them, my hands were raised, but after a few seconds, one of them must’ve thought I wasn’t backing up fast enough since they jabbed their stick right into my side. A jolt of electricity had stunned me for a moment when the stick connected with my skin. My focus immediately zoned in on the grown-up that shocked me. He must’ve noticed how he got my attention because I could tell from the look in his eyes that he'd become scared. I might have been willing to forgive him, but he had gotten a bit too defensive and became more aggressive with his jabbing. After either the third or fourth time he'd shocked me, I yanked the stick from his hands and threw it against the wall. I remember it sparked a couple of times when it hit the floor. In my rage, I grabbed him as well and lifted him off the floor with ease. He and the others were now all yelling, but I didn't bother to listen to what they were saying. I then took all of that anger and used it to grip his neck. We locked eyes one more time before, like the stick, I threw him with every bit of strength I had. I don't think I'll ever forget the snapping sound that came from his body as he collided with the wall.
Of course, I regret it. I was just so angry. After that, the rage faded and realization started to set in. The grown-up I threw didn't move after he fell to the floor, his back was bent in a grossly impossible way. I doubt he survived the hit, but I wasn't willing to stick around and find out if he'd actually make it. As the other grown-ups screamed and fled to a corner of the room, I looked to the door, the door that they forgot to close on the way in. I then looked back at the grown-ups, some of them had started crying. I finally looked at the body of the grown-up I threw, a red puddle had started forming around him. I stumbled forward, which made the grown-ups yelp and huddle even closer together in the corner, before running for the open door, leaving my room for the first time in my life. I had soon been met with many winding hallways and more scared grown-ups littered throughout, but I wouldn't stop running. I was occasionally slowed down by more grown-ups carrying bigger, more painful sticks and one carrying a smaller thing that seemed to shoot some weird-looking needles, but I pushed through. After what felt like forever, I found a window. It wasn't quite like the window I had in my room, this one had no holes and appeared to be much thinner. I balled up my fists. It wasn't a perfect escape plan, but at that point, I was willing to try anything. I brought my fists down with all my might and I had to close my eyes when the glass shattered and flew out in all different directions. I remember hearing the grown-ups' voices coming closer to me, so I wasted no time leaping through the opening I created for myself. I only partially regret doing that, as I was up much higher than I thought and I landed in something short and prickly. Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure Pa had told me about those, he called it a "bush". Anyway, after recovering from the fall, I ran and ran as fast and as far away as I could. I didn't care where I ended up, just if it means I never had to go back there again. Now, however, I might be caring just a little. My run had turned into a slow walk a while ago. It's cold and I can barely see where I'm going. I've started marking the tall things that Pa once called "trees" just to make sure I'm not going in circles. I've been walking past trees for what felt like hours, so I stopped when I suddenly found myself in a more open area. It didn't look like there was much in the area, other than a big box with a pointed top. A house.
I make my way over to the house and peek into one of its windows. I can't see much with how dark it is inside. For a moment, I consider punching the window like how I did with the other one, but that idea is forgotten when I remember something else Pa told me about houses. He said that people like him live inside of them. If that's true, then breaking the window probably isn't the best solution. I walk back and look at the house from each side until I get to the back. I see at the very top is a single open window. Fortunately for me, the outside of the house isn't perfect and has enough cracks and crevices for me to hold onto and climb up. Before long, I squeeze into the window and end up in a dark room. It's nothing like my old room, this one has an uneven floor, is cluttered with small boxes, and is honestly kind of dirty. But it's warmer in here than out there, so the rest doesn't really matter right now. I can feel my eyelids getting heavy. My knees and feet hurt, too. I can see a blanket covering one of the many boxes, so I grab it and wrap it around myself. I do my best to lay down on the uneven floor with boxes on each side of me. This would be easier if I were in my bed right now… No, I can't ever go back, not after everything that happened. It takes a while, but I eventually close my eyes and fall asleep in my new room.
When I wake up, there’s light coming in through the window and I can actually see everything around me. I peel off my blanket, but I quickly put it back on because of the chill in the air. I stay on the hard floor for a few minutes, waiting and listening for anything to suggest that Pa was right and that people really can be found in houses. I wait, but all I can hear is a high-pitched chirping sound from outside. That’s probably not a person, I don’t remember Pa or any of the grown-ups ever making sounds like that. After just one more minute of waiting, I finally get up and do my best to maneuver around the boxes all around me. Closer to the middle of the room, there’s a part of the floor that’s a bit different from the rest. It’s squared off and instead of a box, there’s a small ladder on top of it. I had one of those in my old room, but I’d stopped using it when I got too big for it. I get on my hands and knees and move my face closer to the ladder. Some dust tickles my nostrils and I sneeze. I pull my head back and reach one of my hands towards it instead. It feels rough as a run a couple of fingers over it. Then, I lightly push down. The section of the floor seems to move downward as I push and when I push down a little harder, some light comes in through the opening it creates. I hold the ladder in place as I look through the crack. The section of the floor seemed to lead to another room, or rather a hallway, similar to the ones outside my old room, but this one looked nicer and more colorful. The floor is a nice blue color and looks kind of soft while the walls are a light yellow with an intricate pattern of shapes along its lower half. I also can’t help but notice the sweet scent in the air of the hallway. It makes my mouth water and I would’ve stayed this way for longer if it wasn’t for the sudden sound of footsteps coming closer and closer. I close the opening as fast as I can without making too much noise and jump up from the spot I was crouching. I back away when it sounds like the footsteps stop right beneath me. My eyes dart to the blanket I used the night before and I run to grab it. I see that the section of the floor that I just closed is starting to open again. I hide behind the stack of boxes that are closest to me and throw the blanket over me. I become stiff when I hear the footsteps come up the ladder and into the room. The footsteps are slow as I hear them move around the room. I try to hold my breath so I don’t move even a little bit.
It doesn’t take long for whoever it is to leave again, but it feels like even longer thanks to the tension in my body. I breathe out when I hear the entrance on the floor close, but I don't take off the blanket until after the footsteps get farther away. I rub my head. I don't know how long I'll be, but for however long it is, I'm definitely staying up here. As the hours go by, I sometimes hear the person walking beneath me, but aside from that, I don't think I have to worry about them. Besides, I probably have bigger problems to worry about. I wrap my arms around my middle as my stomach makes another rumbling sound. It's frustrating, I've already looked through most of the boxes and there was nothing even remotely resembling food inside any of them. Back in my old room, the grown-ups would give me stuff to eat through this little hole in the wall right beneath my window. If I behaved well enough, I'd sometimes get something sweet after my evening meal. My stomach aches even more as I think about it. More time passes and I start to walk around the room, very quietly, of course, to try and distract myself from the feeling in my middle. It becomes obvious that distracting myself this way isn't quite working since my hunger is still at the front of my thoughts. I look to the window. It's starting to get dark again, too. I stand for just a few more minutes before I grab my blanket. This time, I move to the corner of the room farthest from the window. I like to think that I'll be warmer this way, but I don't really know that for sure. I move around some of the smaller boxes to make enough space for myself before I finally lay down on the floor. It's harder to get comfortable compared to yesterday. My stomach still twists and growls, which only makes it even more difficult. I might be wrong, but I swear the air feels even colder tonight as well. I hate this. My eyes start stinging. I just want to be little again and have my Pa hold me in his arms. I just want him to pet my head and tell me everything will be alright.
But there’s something else. As I lay with my ear pressed against the floor, I can hear something just below me. It’s subtle, but there’s definitely something there. There are a shifting and two different voices. One voice is higher, which I’m guessing belongs to a female person, while the other is lower, which might belong to a male person. Though that’s just a guess. For a short while, all I could hear was shuffling and incoherent noises coming from the two people. It comes suddenly and I’m sure I wouldn’t have caught it if I wasn’t paying attention as intently as I was, but I hear the lower, potentially male voice say something. He said “Jessie.” He said it with a slurred voice, though, like it was closer to a groan than anything else. Huh. Jessie. Unless the male was randomly referring to himself for whatever reason, that was quite possibly the name of the female. I would listen for a little while longer. The shuffling and voices would eventually stop and the female, or rather Jessie, never spoke any actual words, but that didn’t bother me. Listening to them managed to take my mind off of my stomach for long enough that I can comfortably fall asleep. I’m woken up the next morning by more noises from the people, but this time it’s a lot louder and a lot clearer for me to make out. I recognize one of the voices as Jessie’s, but the second one I don’t think I’ve heard before. It doesn’t belong to the male from last night, I know that much. This unknown person sounds angry and so does Jessie. I grip my blanket a bit tighter as I listen. Jessie soon refers to this person as “Mom”, so I guess that clears up one mystery. Mom is yelling something about “sleeping around”... Not sure what that’s supposed to mean or why she’s angry about it. I also hear her use the word “whore” a few times, but I can’t figure out what that’s supposed to mean either. Jessie yells back. Some of it is muffled, but when she raises her voice again, I hear her say that they “can’t get by” on Mom’s money and that they’d be “struggling” without her. Mom isn’t having any of it, it seems. I hear something hit a wall beneath me and I flinch at the noise. Mom is still yelling and Jessie is crying now. It’s chilly in my room, but I can feel myself starting to sweat. A couple more blunt hits reach my ears and the yelling stops. I hear footsteps, presumably Mom’s, until they become faint. Jessie is still there, though, and all I can hear is her sobbing. Even after hearing the whole thing, I still can’t quite figure out what it was all about. However, just hearing how upset Jessie is makes me want to cry too. It’s hard to explain exactly, but it's almost like we're feeling the same pain. We're both alone in our own ways.
At this moment, I feel like I want nothing more than to leave my room and be with Jessie so I can comfort her and she can comfort me. There were a couple of small problems with that, though… She doesn't even know I exist and on top of that, we aren't exactly…the same. Somewhere deep down I think I've always known I'm different from everyone else. Even if Pa had always treated me like we were the same, I still knew about our differences. There were my eyes and arms among other things… That's why I was so excited to see a spider for the first time, its eyes weren't like a person's eyes, but like mine. It also didn't have a normal amount of limbs, once again like me. It seemed like something that could bridge the gap between me and everybody around me. But it's not normal, what I am. I know that. Even the grown-ups had made that clear to me. Normal people don't need to be observed through glass or shocked with sticks. ent?
Normal people don't like abnormal things. Who's to say Jessie feels any differUnless…
I look at the piles of boxes beside me. I throw off my blanket and start digging into the top box’s contents. This one is mostly filled with books, which are pretty much useless to me since I can’t read but that doesn’t matter right now. I find a smaller book that’s different from the rest in that all of the pages are plastic. I flip open the pages and see that there are no words, just pictures. They remind me of my Pa’s cards. I stop to look at one image in particular, this one shows a male and female person sitting side by side with a smaller female person right next to them. The people in the picture are all smiling. I try to smile like them, but after a few seconds, it just feels more awkward than anything. I also close some of my eyes, only leaving two open, like them. In the picture, the male is wearing a kind of coat. It looks nice on him, or at least I assume it does, I doubt I’m a good judge of people fashion. If not nice, then it at least makes him look average, average enough to fit in well with the two other people with him.
I set down the book, though I make sure it stays open on that picture. I move around the room and peek into most of the boxes before I find one filled with stacks of neatly folded clothing. Some of it is similar to what Pa and the grown-ups would wear, but they usually didn’t wear anything with much color. The clothes in the box seem to be much more diverse in terms of looks. It’s all nice to look at, but I’m only really looking for one thing in particular. I put down the rest of the clothing when I find a dark blue coat. It feels smooth on my fingers. I bring the coat over to the book I’d set down and compare it to the one the male is wearing in the picture. The coats are almost identical if not completely identical. I examine the coat one more time before I carefully slip one of my arms into the left sleeve, then the right. It’s here that I run into a problem. There are only two sleeves. My two arms fit just fine, but now I have nowhere to put the rest of them. I look back at the picture. The male only has two arms and so do the other people. I first try to tuck in my arms beneath the coat… No, I can still see them. I then try to cross my arms behind my back…but I can still tell that they’re there thanks to the bulge they create in the back of the coat. I start shifting my arms around with no real idea of how to hide them. The whole thing makes me a little too angry and before I can realize what I’m doing, I’ve already ripped several holes in the jacket that the rest of my arms are now poking through. I completely ruined the coat. I suddenly feel like crying again. I tear the damaged coat off of me and throw it against the wall. The grown-ups never approved when I’d get upset like this, but I don’t care anymore. I want to cry, I want to yell, I want to smash something. I snatch the coat off of the ground and sink my teeth into it, ripping it to pieces. My tears and anger remind me of the pain in my stomach as they make my hunger flare up. I occasionally swallow a few pieces of the coat, but the cloth only makes my middle hurt more. I don’t stop until roughly an hour later. The coat is unrecognizable now, just a pile of blue fuzz. My cheeks are cold now and my tears dried a while ago. I stand, grab my blanket, move to the corner, and lay down for the rest of the day. There’s another male with Jessie tonight. It’s not the same male from yesterday, this one has a different voice. I press my ear against the floor and listen to the shifting beneath me. I take a deep breath. It sounds the same as it did yesterday and like yesterday, I let the rhythm distract me from whatever I’m feeling.
As I listen, I let my mind wander. I can easily never leave this room, but if I don’t, I’ll probably starve sooner or later. In a few years, the people might come up here, find my deteriorated body, and wonder what exactly was hiding out in their house. But even if that does happen to me, I think I’m ok with that. Because I have Jessie. I have one last person who made me feel like I was understood, albeit indirectly. If I die, I won’t be sad about it, as long as I get to die while hearing Jessie’s voice. The shifting from below stops all of a sudden, cut off by the sound of someone yelling. It’s Mom. She’s yelling something at Jessie and Jessie yells back. The male person says something too but whatever he says doesn’t sound very interesting. Then the hitting starts again, quickly leading to crying from Jessie and shouts of protest from the male. I start to feel anxious. It made me uncomfortable before, but now I just can’t stand the sound of Jessie’s sobs. I wrap my arms around my body and I can feel myself starting to sweat. It keeps going and I can’t tell if it’s just my imagination or not, but it sounds like the noise is getting louder and more chaotic. I can’t take it. I internally beg for it to stop. Please, stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop! STOP!
My chest is pounding when I rip off the opening on the floor and force myself through. I hit the floor below with a loud thud. I barely get up all the way as I’m already screeching at the top of my lungs and barrelling into the room in front of me. I come in so fast that the people inside almost don’t have time to react before I throw a clenched fist at the female standing over a second female person. Red liquid flies from her head and paints the wall the moment my hand connects. She’s instantly knocked to the floor and I keep going. I hear screaming as I rear up all of my fists to pound on her head over and over and over and over… My hands are covered in red and her head starts to resemble a wet, mushy, deflated ball long before I finally slow down. Just as I catch my breath, there’s a loud bang and I feel something tear through the back of my shoulder. It’s agonizing, whatever it was. My hand goes to my shoulder and I can feel something gushing out of a sizable hole that wasn’t there a minute ago. I whip my head around and see the male person holding a small contraption in his hands. It looks similar to the ones the grown-ups used as I was running away, but instead of small needles, this one seemed to shoot…mini pellets? I don’t know, but whatever it shot it hurt in a way I never thought possible. He points the contraption at me again and pulls the trigger. With another bang, it gets me just below my collarbone and I reel backward. I almost fall over a piece of furniture before I compose myself and leap toward the male. He shoots me one more time as I get closer, this time in the side of my stomach, but I grab his hand and pull as hard as I can. Instead of being thrown with his arm, a stream of red liquid poured from the shoulder area as his arm detached from his body completely. He started to fall backward and was about to scream when I cut him off with a hard blow to his head. Again, I got on my knees and thrashed until the head at the mercy of my hands became an unrecognizable pile. I want to breathe out a sigh, but there’s a voice in the room that’s still screaming horrifically. I stand and turn around. There, on the floor with tears in her eyes, is Jessie. I have never seen her before now, but I just knew this was her. She isn’t wearing any clothes and is covering the front of her body with a sheet. I can see a few bruises on her shoulders. Her hair is long and wavy and her eyes are a bright green color. I take a step forward and she stumbles back, screaming and shaking. I can see some red splattered on her face and body. Some of the liquid probably got on her when I-
I pause. To my left, there’s a large mirror mounted on the wall. I turn my head slowly and look into it. I see…me. And Jessie. I’m covered in red, especially on my hands, but it’s everywhere. My arms are big and they look strong. I see that my eyes are wide and almost look empty. Jessie’s reflection is there, too. Her arms are skinny and quivering while her eyes are glossy with tears. In the mirror, we look so different. Our shapes, they don’t match.
I look back at Jessie again. She seems frozen in place like she’s too scared to move. Around us on the floor are two bodies, one belonging to Mom and the other to the nameless male. They don’t look like people anymore, they don’t look like anything, but they’re still more like Jessie than I’ll ever be. I feel my head start to buzz as the situation finally starts to settle in my thoughts. These two, they’re dead, I killed them. And Jessie probably thinks I’m going to kill her. She thinks I’m an animal, a beast, a monster. Maybe she’s right. No, not maybe. I am a monster, and I slaughtered them just like how a monster would I almost lose my balance as I stagger towards the doorway. I can’t look at Jessie anymore. I slip around on the red liquid that’s stuck to my feet as I run through the house. I try to look for a door, a window, anything I can escape through. It doesn’t look like I’ll be needing to punch any more glass once I find a door leading outside. My hands are still slippery from the liquid so I fumble with the knob before I can get the door open. I run out of the house and I shiver as the cold air hits my body. I don’t slow down. Just keep running. Just keepI make it as far as a long path made of stone before I stop. Several pairs of moving bright lights meet my eyes and I throw up my hands to shield my face. There’s a screeching sound as the lights stop. I uncover my eyes to see many people coming out of these large vehicles topped with flashing red and blue lights. One of them shouts. “What the hell is that?” he says. I don’t have an answer for him. They all back away slightly and pull out the same kind of contraption the one male had back at Jessie’s house. I feel like I know what’s coming, but I don’t care anymore. They can do what they want to me. Still, as a living being, I instinctually try to save myself and I start to run again in the opposite direction of the people. Mere seconds later, I hear several loud bangs all at once. It feels like fire is ripping through my body. I don’t know why, but at that moment, I imagine Jessie’s voice. Before I can even hit the ground, the whole world slows down before going dark.
DCAD Spring 2022