Food for Worms
Short Horror.
Consumed by the complete and utter darkness, Mr. Wilhelm laid perfectly still. There was little for him to do, but reflect upon the yesteryear's and the people he once knew. Anyone else in Mr. Wilhelm's situation would think that time was all they had. To lay there under the cover of earth, to slowly rot away. But now more than ever, Mr. Wilhelm knew that time was a precious commodity. For he could feel them... Tiny little bodies, drawling ever so close.
He could always feel and hear things beyond the average person's comprehension. So keen where his senses, that he could tell you the time by the arrival of trains at a station, from well over five miles away. He could hear there whistles blowing as the ground shook from the rumble of heavy locomotives. You might say that his acute senses were a gift? Sure, at times He would agree with you.
But secretly he possessed a dreadful knowledge. And if he had the choice he would gladly surrender his talents for the blissful ignorance from what he understood as fate. He was merely a boy when he first became aware of these little reapers of death. His older brother had decided to go fishing one day. Bobby Wilhelm wanted to go with him, but his brother grew impatient. Bobby never went anywhere without his shoes. He was afraid he might step on a bee. But desperate to catch up with him he did not bother, and raced out the door of there modest farmhouse, barefoot. "Wait up!" he cried But he did not listen. Bobby had to hurry to catch up.
Along the way, they past a field. Bobby's older brother stopped dead in his tracks as bobby walked right into him. He watched his brother's face light up, at the freshly plowed field of loose dirt. "We need bait!" he exclaimed. Bobby fallowed him into the field and watched him dig through the soil. Then he pulled out a fat, juicy worm. "Come on and dig!" He commanded. But Bobby did not. He just watched as the defenseless worm squirmed within his hands.
It was then he noticed something... A subtle vibration if you will. He wasn't sure at first, but he could swear it felt like the tunneling of hundreds of little bodies, just below the surface. As his brother pulled another one up from the ground, he became convinced that it must be the worms, squirming deep within the earth. As he felt them barreling closer, he listened. What started off as a faint whisper muffled by layers of dirt grew into an ensemble of little voices calling out in unison, "Bobby! Bobby!"
A tidal wave of fear had washed over him. He stood perfectly still as he felt them creep closer and closer. Unable to contain himself any longer he dropped his fishing pole and ran home. As he ran he heard his brother call out from behind, "What the hell's Gotten into you?!" This was the last time he ever went anywhere without shoes.
Mr. Wilhelm's consciousness had returned to him. He could feel the worms almost upon his casket now. There little voices confirmed his immortal fears. "Bobby... We have waited so long for you..." Then like little fingers they scraped against the coffin walls... searching for a way in. He always knew it would end this way, but relied on the false notions of death to comfort him. Perhaps there was a heaven waiting for him? Or simply, death is death. The end of existence. Then he heard one of them squeezing it's slimy body through a crack in the coffin lid.
The worm fell directly onto his forehead. If he could have moved he would have jump out of his skin. But his arms and limbs just laid there cold and stiff as the worm probed the surface of his skin. Soon he heard another one. This one fell onto his leg. Then another... and another. They fell like the first drops of rain. Till finally the cracks of the coffin lid leaked like a sieve with hungry worms. They made their way slowly, up his paint legs, his sleeves and down his shirt. Many of them began to dig themselves into his flesh wile others decided to skip the appetizers and crawl through any orifice they could find.
Some crawled up his nose wile others crawled into his ears. Why, even some crawled up his... You get the point. As Mr. Wilhelm felt his body progress into Swiss cheese, one final memory entered his mind. It was the argument he had with his wife wile he laid dying on the very bed they shared for thirty years. "Please... Just cremate me," he pleaded with her with an empty, dry moan. Not turning away from her task of putting away the laundry, she replied sternly in a thick Hungarian accent, "Nonsense! How do you expect to enter heaven without a body?"
A stubborn, devout catholic, she was... Too weak to argue with her, he simply muttered to himself, "Perhaps my soul belongs to God, if he so choices to take it... But my body... belongs to the worms."
The end...
He could always feel and hear things beyond the average person's comprehension. So keen where his senses, that he could tell you the time by the arrival of trains at a station, from well over five miles away. He could hear there whistles blowing as the ground shook from the rumble of heavy locomotives. You might say that his acute senses were a gift? Sure, at times He would agree with you.
But secretly he possessed a dreadful knowledge. And if he had the choice he would gladly surrender his talents for the blissful ignorance from what he understood as fate. He was merely a boy when he first became aware of these little reapers of death. His older brother had decided to go fishing one day. Bobby Wilhelm wanted to go with him, but his brother grew impatient. Bobby never went anywhere without his shoes. He was afraid he might step on a bee. But desperate to catch up with him he did not bother, and raced out the door of there modest farmhouse, barefoot. "Wait up!" he cried But he did not listen. Bobby had to hurry to catch up.
Along the way, they past a field. Bobby's older brother stopped dead in his tracks as bobby walked right into him. He watched his brother's face light up, at the freshly plowed field of loose dirt. "We need bait!" he exclaimed. Bobby fallowed him into the field and watched him dig through the soil. Then he pulled out a fat, juicy worm. "Come on and dig!" He commanded. But Bobby did not. He just watched as the defenseless worm squirmed within his hands.
It was then he noticed something... A subtle vibration if you will. He wasn't sure at first, but he could swear it felt like the tunneling of hundreds of little bodies, just below the surface. As his brother pulled another one up from the ground, he became convinced that it must be the worms, squirming deep within the earth. As he felt them barreling closer, he listened. What started off as a faint whisper muffled by layers of dirt grew into an ensemble of little voices calling out in unison, "Bobby! Bobby!"
A tidal wave of fear had washed over him. He stood perfectly still as he felt them creep closer and closer. Unable to contain himself any longer he dropped his fishing pole and ran home. As he ran he heard his brother call out from behind, "What the hell's Gotten into you?!" This was the last time he ever went anywhere without shoes.
Mr. Wilhelm's consciousness had returned to him. He could feel the worms almost upon his casket now. There little voices confirmed his immortal fears. "Bobby... We have waited so long for you..." Then like little fingers they scraped against the coffin walls... searching for a way in. He always knew it would end this way, but relied on the false notions of death to comfort him. Perhaps there was a heaven waiting for him? Or simply, death is death. The end of existence. Then he heard one of them squeezing it's slimy body through a crack in the coffin lid.
The worm fell directly onto his forehead. If he could have moved he would have jump out of his skin. But his arms and limbs just laid there cold and stiff as the worm probed the surface of his skin. Soon he heard another one. This one fell onto his leg. Then another... and another. They fell like the first drops of rain. Till finally the cracks of the coffin lid leaked like a sieve with hungry worms. They made their way slowly, up his paint legs, his sleeves and down his shirt. Many of them began to dig themselves into his flesh wile others decided to skip the appetizers and crawl through any orifice they could find.
Some crawled up his nose wile others crawled into his ears. Why, even some crawled up his... You get the point. As Mr. Wilhelm felt his body progress into Swiss cheese, one final memory entered his mind. It was the argument he had with his wife wile he laid dying on the very bed they shared for thirty years. "Please... Just cremate me," he pleaded with her with an empty, dry moan. Not turning away from her task of putting away the laundry, she replied sternly in a thick Hungarian accent, "Nonsense! How do you expect to enter heaven without a body?"
A stubborn, devout catholic, she was... Too weak to argue with her, he simply muttered to himself, "Perhaps my soul belongs to God, if he so choices to take it... But my body... belongs to the worms."
The end...
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