The Thing Inside

A body horror story.

This is my response to day 17 of the Halls of Pandemonium. Today’s challenge was to write a short story or poem about somebody’s trauma manifesting in physical form on their body.

TRIGGER WARNING: DISCUSSION OF ATTEMPTED SUICIDE.

During his three-week stay in the psychiatric ward at Wilthrone Memorial Hospital, Maurice’s mother came to see him every day. His father did not come at all. He didn’t send a letter or a card, like the rest of Maurice’s family and friends did. He was one of only two people allowed to come see Maurice while he recovered (both physically and mentally) from attempting to drown himself, but Maurice’s father did not visit him even once. He didn’t even acknowledge that his son was in the hospital.

That is why Maurice was shocked to see his father waiting with his mother in the parking lot of the hospital when he walked out of the main entrance. His mother, Shaquesha, held a bouquet of flowers and a “Welcome Home” balloon. His father, Antonio, had a look of contempt on his face and stood with his hands in his pockets.

When Maurice was just a few steps away from her, Shaquesha bolted forward, her arms outstretched. “My baby!” she shouted. “I’m so happy you’re coming home!” Still holding her gifts, she threw her arms around her son and pulled him close. “I’ve missed you so much!”

Maurice returned her hug, not holding quite as tightly on to his mother as she did on to him. “Mom, you’ve seen me everyday.”

Shaqueha stepped back and looked her son in the eye. “I’ve talked to you for thirty minutes a day. Now, you’re back home with me and your father where you belong and I can come into your room and know you’re safe and happy.”

Maurice smiled and accepted the flowers and balloon from his mother. He looked at Antonio and dipped his chin in a respectful nod. “Hey Dad.”

Antonio grunted and walked around to the driver’s side door of his car. He got in and turned on the ignition.

Maurice let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I guess he’s not so happy to see him.”

Shaquesha stroked Maurice’s arm. “What you did shocked your father. He’s still not quite over it. He does miss you though.”

“Really? How much has he talked about since I’ve been gone?”

“Now, you know your father. He’s always got to be the strong silent type. Come on now. Let’s go home. I’m making smoked sausage with cabbage and macaroni and cheese tonight for supper.”

Maurice did perk up at the mention of his favorite meal. “That sure beats hospital food.”

#

The next night, Maurice sat in his room playing his favorite video game. None of his friends were online, so he was playing single-player mode. He had played through this game multiple times, but the therapist at the hospital had told him he should focus on the things that bring him comfort and joy. Few things brought him comfort and joy quite like exploring his favorite virtual world.

Antonio burst through the door to his room. “No closed doors in this house. Not anymore.” It was the first words he had said to his son since Maurice came home from the hospital.

Maurice paused his game. “I can’t shut my door anymore?”

“Not since you decided to get stupid.”

Maurice felt a tear form in his eye. “Dad, I said I was sorry for what I did.”

He may as well not have even said a word. “I’m the senior pastor at our church, boy. Do you know how people have been talking? Do you know the questions I’ve had to answer?”

More tears formed and poured out of Maurice’s eyes. “I wasn’t in a good place. I was under a lot of pressure—”

“Because your life is so hard. You live rent-free in my home. The only thing you’ve got to worry about is passing your classes and graduating from high school. What kind of pressure could you possibly be under that would make you do something so stupid as try to kill yourself?”

At that moment, Maurice felt like he was back in the tub, sitting with the water up to his chest, about to go under and never come back up. All of the anxiety, sadness and fear he had felt came crashing back. “Dad, I’m sorry.”

“You’re selfish, boy. You’re just a self-centered teenager obsessed with drama. You’ll do anything to call attention to yourself. You don’t care how it affects me or your mother. You’ve got the Devil inside you, and I hope all day, every day, you’re reminded of that.”

Antonio marched off down the hallway. Maurice turned off his game and crawled into bed, all of a sudden not in the mood to play.

#

The next morning, Maurice woke up with a weighty pain in his chest. It felt like there was something just in front of his lungs, on top of his rib cage, trying to push itself out of his body. When he took his shirt off to change into his school clothes, he noticed that there was a sizable lump in the middle of his upper torso.

He ran his hand over the lump. It twitched and moved. He felt the thing—whatever it was—writhe within him. He gasped and jumped back, tripping back onto his bed. The thing lurched once more, pulsating and thrashing around. Maurice stood back up and examined himself in his full-length mirror. The lump was darker than his natural skin tone and was shaped like a broken circle.

“Maurice, it’s almost time for the bus!” Shaquesha shouted from the living room. Maurice threw his school clothes on and rushed through the house. He said a hurried goodbye to his mom as he passed by her and went into the kitchen to grab a toaster pastry for breakfast before heading out the front door.

“Have a good day!” his mother called out as she booted up her laptop, ready to start her day’s work.

“You too, Mom.” Maurice decided he would worry about the lump—and whatever was causing it—later. The bus pulled up just as he stepped outside, sticking the pasty into his mouth. He hurried to eat it before stepping aboard.

When he climbed the stairs to the bus, he scanned the crowd of students inside. Everyone was quiet for a moment, before his friend Emmanuel shouted out “Welcome back, bruh! We’ve missed you.” Maurice walked among the choruses of cheers and greetings as he took his normal seat.

#

Maurice couldn’t help but notice the thing in his body during the day. He felt it move a few times. The sensation was weird and uncomfortable, and it was a constant distraction during class or while he was conversing with his friends.

When he came home at the end of the day, Shaquesha looked up from her laptop and greeted him. “How was school today?” she asked.

“It was good. Nobody acted like I had been gone for three weeks and nobody mentioned what I tried to do.”

Shaquesha smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. I’m sure they were all happy to see you.”

“I was happy to see them.” He crossed the living room to head to his bedroom. “I’m going to get started on my homework.”

“Getting started on the weekend’s homework early! I’m impressed.”

“I don’t want life to pass me by,” he said. He went on to his room and dropped his book bag on the floor. He didn’t have any homework to start on; he just didn’t want his mom to worry when he tried to steal a few moments alone. He slipped off his shirt and examined the lump. It was larger than this morning and it moved almost constantly, sending ripples along its length as it throbbed and spasmed under his skin. He poked at it, and it twitched again.

He thought about telling his mom about it, but she had already been through enough that he didn’t want to give her more to worry about. He knew his father would show no sympathy, and would likely blame him for this condition. He put his shirt back on and laid on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as if the answer to his dilemma was there. He stayed there until his mother called him to dinner.

When he reached the dining room table, Maurice noticed that his father was not present. “Where’s Dad?”

“He’s working late tonight. Revival is Sunday. He’s got a lot to prepare for.” She held a plate full of spaghetti out to him. He took it and set it on the table.

“I could get used to having my favorite foods so often,” he said.

Shaquesha leaned over and put her hand on his shoulder. “You promise me I won’t lose you, and I’ll cook your favorites four days out of seven. I would say every day, but I have to keep your father in mind.” She blinked away the tears in her eyes and held her son close.

#

The next morning, the thing had more than doubled in size. The skin above it appeared to tear open; blood seeped out of several open wounds along the lump. It was more active than ever before, slithering around over Maurice’s ribs like a snake on the hunt. He sweated and shook as he observed the thing in his mirror, scared that if he touched it, it would jump right out of his skin.

He put a shirt on and went to the kitchen. His father sat at the table, his breakfast and a cup of coffee in front of him. He was reading the paper. Maurice noticed that there was no food prepared for him, so he made a bowl of cereal. He sat down across from Antonio and started to eat.

Between bites, he asked, “Where’s Mom?”

“Meeting her friends for breakfast.” He turned the page. “You’re going to church tomorrow.”

Maurice swallowed his bite of cereal. “I had planned on it.”

“And you’re sitting in the front row, not in the back with your friends. I want everyone to see that you’re normal and perfectly fine. I don’t want anyone thinking you’re not right in the head.”

“Dad, I really wish you’d let me sit with my friends. I haven’t seen them in almost a month.”

“You should have thought about that before you tried to take your own life and send your soul to Hell. Front row. No arguments.”

Maurice nodded and finished his cereal. He went back to his room and spent the day playing his favorite video game, stopping only to eat meals and briefly speak to his mother. He went to bed not long after eating dinner, knowing he had to be up early tomorrow for church.

All the while, the thing inside of him wriggled and rolled, twisted and turned, slid and slithered.

#

By Sunday morning, the thing extended from Maurice’s shoulder down to his navel. It was more of a writhing mass than a serpentine lump like it had been. He could feel it, squishy and slimy, on top of his bones. Maurice worried that it would be noticeable under his dress shirt, but he feared bringing it up to his parents. He didn’t want to go back to the hospital after having just come home.

He dressed for church and went out to his mother’s car. Antonio, having to be at church before nearly everybody else, had already left. When he climbed into the passenger seat, Shaquesha cocked her eyebrow at him. “Are you okay?” she asked. “You look like you don’t feel well. You need to stay home?”

Maurice shook his head with urgency. “No. Dad made it quite clear I was to be seen in church today.” He did feel light-headed now that he had been up and moving around. He attributed that to the mass inside of his body.

Shaquesha backed out of the driveway. Once she was heading down the road, she turned on her usual contemporary gospel radio station. She sang along to the music; everything seemed ten times louder to Maurice, from the roar of the car’s engine to the (usually beautiful) sound of his mother’s singing voice.

When they parked at church, Maurice got out of the car in a greater hurry than he intended. He left his mother behind as he strode to the entrance to the church. He gave the usher a limp handshake and nodded at the enthusiastic greeting he gave him. He only wanted to sit down. Everything was swirling around him and his legs felt weak.

Maurice breezed past everybody that spoke to him and finally found an empty seat on the front row. He sat and stretched out. He felt the thing inside of him twitch and roll. He saw his shirt move as it pressed against his skin. Maurice prayed that nobody else noticed.

The choir started singing. He usually enjoyed their singing but, much like he had experienced the car, every sound was amplified tenfold. What should have been beautiful harmony sounded like unearthly shrieking. The congregation stood and joined in with the choir and Maurice felt dizzy from the auditory assault.

Maurice felt the thing shift, and he suddenly felt a tightness in his neck. He felt the mass slither up his throat and he struggled to breathe. Just as the chorus stopped singing and his father took his place at the podium, he could feel the thing just behind his teeth.

“Welcome, family!” his father shouted from his place on the stage. “Welcome to Revival Sunday!”

Maurice lurched forward. He vomited up a fleshy, dark mass. It landed on the floor with a splat and a thud. The people standing around him shouted and jumped back. Antonio stared, his jaw agape, silent and still.

The thing was nothing but corded muscle and sharp-teethed mouths. It was covered in blood and screeched in a dozen different simultaneous pitches. It expanded and contracted and appeared to attempt to move.

“Dear God!” Antonio shouted. “Dear God help us!” He backed up and tripped over the chair behind him, landing hard on the floor. The congregation, as one, headed to the exit of the church, screaming and pushing against each other.

Maurice flopped onto the pew, gasping for breath. He looked at the mass that had come out of his body. It was nearly as large as he was, having grown exponentially since that morning. It started moving toward Antonio.

“No!” the preacher shouted. “No, please, back away! Get away from me!”

The thing slunk over Antonio’s body, pinning him to the floor. One part of its mass extended out to Antonio’s lips and forced his jaws open. Antonio continued to scream as the thing slid into his mouth, down his throat, and into his body.

When the writhing mass finally disappeared into Antonio, the preacher sat up and patted his body. “Get this out of me,” he said, repeating himself, louder and louder each time. “Get this out of me!”

He ran to the exit of the church, out into the street, and did not stop when the eighteen-wheeler came barreling down the road.

#

Maurice was out of school another week. He stayed caught up on his work and emailed his teachers every day. He was determined to pass all of his classes. Shaquesha took the same amount of time off work. Visitors came nearly every day, bringing food and offering condolences. She sat and spoke with all of them with Maurice by her side.

It was the night before the funeral that Maurice told his mother what his father had said to him the night after he came home from the hospital.

Shaquesha picked at her food as she had done every night since that bizarre day at church. “Why didn’t you mention this sooner, and why are you mentioning it now?”

Maurice shook his head. “I don’t know. I guess my conscience is bothering me. I didn’t try to make things okay with Dad before he died.”

Shaquesha put her fork down and grabbed her son’s hand. “Maurice, I loved your father, and I am full of sadness that he is gone. But he was a grown man and responsible for his own actions. He will be held accountable for what he said to you and how he treated you, and I don’t feel the least bit sorry for him.”

“Really?”

“Really. You’re my child. However much I loved your father, I love you ten times—a thousand times—more.”

Maurice squeezed his mother’s hand. He finished eating and went to his room to play his favorite video game, shutting his door behind himself.

---

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