cracking inside of me, bones breaking, muscle tearing, as this thing, this creature, makes room for itself. The last tentacle, the slowest of the bunch, slithers along my spine, along the inside. It climbs up, and up. My body spasms as it climbs through my spine, and into my brain.
The two men watch, faces expressionless. Finally the doctor reaches down, pulling my skin back into place and begins sewing me back together.
As he does, I move. My hand raises up in front of me, and my head turns to look at it. My fingers curl into a fist, then uncurl.
But it isn’t me moving them.
It isn’t me.
I sit up. No. Not me. It sits up, the thing wearing me sits up, and looks around.
“Do you know who you are?” The Doctor asks.
The thing wearing me opens my mouth, then closes it. I can feel something happening in my brain. Not physically, the brain doesn’t have any nerves, but I can feel . . . something.
The thing wearing me opens my mouth again, using me like a puppet, its slimy tentacles manipulating my body from the inside in a way that makes me feel ill.
“Wilson.” The thing says.
“Good.” The doctor pats his shoulder. “Lay back down. We need to take you back to your room. Tomorrow night we’ll practice more.”
The thing wearing me lies back down and closes its eyes.
I scream in my mind. I howl, and grind my teeth, I weep. In my mind.
The thing wearing me takes no notice.
The thing wearing me.
It can’t do this to me. It can’t. It can’t use my body while I’m still in it.
I’m not dead!
The two men watch, faces expressionless. Finally the doctor reaches down, pulling my skin back into place and begins sewing me back together.
As he does, I move. My hand raises up in front of me, and my head turns to look at it. My fingers curl into a fist, then uncurl.
But it isn’t me moving them.
It isn’t me.
I sit up. No. Not me. It sits up, the thing wearing me sits up, and looks around.
“Do you know who you are?” The Doctor asks.
The thing wearing me opens my mouth, then closes it. I can feel something happening in my brain. Not physically, the brain doesn’t have any nerves, but I can feel . . . something.
The thing wearing me opens my mouth again, using me like a puppet, its slimy tentacles manipulating my body from the inside in a way that makes me feel ill.
“Wilson.” The thing says.
“Good.” The doctor pats his shoulder. “Lay back down. We need to take you back to your room. Tomorrow night we’ll practice more.”
The thing wearing me lies back down and closes its eyes.
I scream in my mind. I howl, and grind my teeth, I weep. In my mind.
The thing wearing me takes no notice.
The thing wearing me.
It can’t do this to me. It can’t. It can’t use my body while I’m still in it.
I’m not dead!
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