Crabs

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is one of my dark stories. I dreamt this as a complete finished story which is most unusual. It gives me the creeps and I've got to stop doing whatever it is that caused this before I go to bed.

Submitted: March 05, 2017

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Content

Submitted: March 05, 2017

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I stepped out of the taxi around 2.00am. 

My name is Miranda, a 30-something socialite living it up on the Sydney party circuit.  I was kind of drunk and a little bit high from things socialites do.

It was eerily dark on my mansion’s porch, I must have forgotten to turn the lights on before I left.

I was stumbling slightly in my high-heels and scrabbling haphazardly in my handbag for my phone, to switch the torch on, when I tripped over something.  Something squishy that moaned. 

I screamed as I lost my balance, landing on top of an amorphous blob which elicited a groan.  Whatever it was, it was hot and sticky and not in a good way.

‘Kill me,’ the blob groaned as I frantically felt for the torch button to see who I’d landed on.  The glaring light blared and the creature blinked eyes that cried fat tears of blood.

The light revealed the amorphous blob as the husk of a man, a man that I knew.

He repeated, ‘Kill me.’

I stared at him horrified.  This was my porch, not a murderer’s killing ground.  Why was he here?  He was covered in blood.

A knife was thrust through his abdomen, I thought they were guts rolling out on the ground.  Blood oozed from his nose and the side of his mouth, his lips thick with red spittle.

I scuttled backwards and dialled triple zero.

‘What’s your emergency?’

‘A man,’ I panted, ‘on my doorstep.  He has been stabbed.’

‘Do you know who he is?’

‘Yes.  It’s Dr Zarkova, he’s my psychiatrist.  He’s still alive.  Could you please really hurry?’  I gave my address.

He glared at me.  ‘Kill them.’ 

‘What?  Kill who?’  I madly swung the torch around to search for attackers.

White bugs swarmed around him, like tiny crabs.  They were climbing on me!

I stomped and brushed at my high-end name pants trying to fling them away. Their little claws kept on climbing.  There was one in my mouth and I spat it out, but there were far too many.

I was unconscious as the ambulance arrived to collect him.  He was now very dead and the crabs were now gone except for those that were flat, wedged stilettos will do that.

I couldn’t answer their questions.  I was clearly distressed but they took me away, they said to “ask further questions”.

They held me for 48 hours before they sent me for tests.  They didn’t tell me the story, I suppose not to bias, and it didn’t get a mention in the news.

Dr Zarkova had been gutted, from the inside out, all his organs were chewed.  The squashed crabs were unknown.

‘Did I know where he got them?’

I was out of my depth.

They closed the formal report with a big rubber stamp—“death by misadventure”—and kept me contained in a biomedical facility for more than 3 months before they gave me all clear.

The recurring nightmares were horrendous.

I got healthy, gave up the drugs and booze, and stopped going to parties unless socially required.  My boyfriend defected while I was away, I became a nervous recluse.  One occasion I couldn’t avoid was on the yacht of a long-time friend.  New Year’s Eve, end 2017.

It felt odd get dressed in my finery. 

I noticed a fine line of blood in my right eye before I left but was not really worried.  I started to feel sick with just minutes to go.  At midnight on the dot my insides ripped open in glorious shreds that erupted in crablets, my whole face became a fountain of blood as they sought to escape it.

I stumbled out on deck grasping at people who saw me.  ‘Help me … please.’

The truebloods staggered in horror and ran away screaming.  I vaguely heard someone on the phone calling water police through my torn ruptured ears.

Blood pooled in sticky, slippery pools around my feet now.  Crabs scuttled everywhere, they were leaving tiny red tracers as they go. 

My system shut down, there was nothing left, I raised an arm to a sequinned hem and my best friend kicked me. 

Her husband shielded her from view as I collapsed to the deck.

I turned my head and watched as the white crabs circled their feet and began to climb upwards.



© Copyright 2017 Megan Fox. All rights reserved.

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