I am Melanie Sue: creator of the curiously eerie. I write from the shadows. Everything that leaks from my pen comes out dark and odd, twisted and creepy. I walk a fine line; I guess. But that's what makes me who I am.
Connect with Melanie right HERE.
Bugs!
by
Melanie Sue
“Urinal,” he muttered.
“What, Dad?” I reached to turn down the hospice tv that he had tuned to the 6 o’clock news.
“Ur-In-Al.” He enunciated at me. Damn, old man. I didn’t care if he was dying; two could play at that game.
“Cath-Ed-Der.” I said. “You have a catheter in, Dad.” Always, when he wanted to make a point, he enunciated. Or if he didn’t hear us, he told us to speak one-word-at-a-time.
“Oh, crap. I forgot,” he giggled.
For a week, we had been there while the facility gave us a different story every day. Dad’s getting better: they might move him. Dad’s getting worse: they’re going to make him comfortable. I think they were trying to make us all crazy. That day, we were expecting a definitive diagnosis to see if he actually had cancer. His lungs had been bleeding into a bag for almost a month.
Just as my brother showed up with dinner, the doctor appeared. Test results. I could tell the diagnosis was grim.
“Stage 4 lung cancer,” the doctor said. “We’ll make sure the death certificate says the cause was Agent Orange.”
My dad’s face dropped. Before this, he was holding onto hope. I had never seen such a change in emotion from him.
The nurses explained the next steps were drugs to keep him comfortable until he passed. They injected his drug port right away. No wasting time. There were bodies to move.
“I’m surprised they don’t kill the bugs,” Dad said, staring at the ceiling.
“What bugs, Dad?” my brother asked.
“The ones up by the TV.”
We both looked up, then back at Dad. We saw nothing. Drugs must’ve been kicking in.
“No bugs, Dad. Here, look.” My brother reached up.
Dad’s eyes widened as my brother moved his hand around by the TV.
“Over a little… over,” he directed, “There! A ton of them!”
“Those are just cables.” My brother grabbed a wire and shook. Dad’s eyes got wider.
“Leave those damn things alone! I don’t mind bugs, but not in my room!”
For hours, we sat there talking about things, making sure Dad was comfortable and watching him eyeball the “bugs” on the ceiling. Every once in a while, he would mention that there was one over by the sink and we would have to shoo it down the drain.
As they pumped more drugs into Dad’s port, the bugs got weirder. They talked to him.
“NO!”
“No what, Dad, what’s up?” I asked.
“God damn bug wants to take me away. I just want to go peacefully. Why couldn’t it have been a pretty bug? Why does it have to be these ugly-ass things?” he asked.
“What do they look like?”
“They have backs like a cockroach, armored. They have black wings that come out from under the shell, almost moth-like but not fluffy. More like a wasp. Their eyes are enormous, like a dragonfly on each side of their head. They have roach legs and pinchers in the front. Pinchers are what they use to chomp meat.”
“I don’t think they chomp meat, Dad,” I said.
“I think they do,” he said.
“I’m sorry, Dad. We won’t let the bugs get to you. Can we get you anything? What do you need? I brought strawberry shortcake.”
His eyes lit up. It was his favorite dessert. It was the cake we made him for every birthday when we were kids. Even my grandma made him strawberry shortcake whenever she saw him.
“Yes, please,” he said with a grin.
After the three of us had a nice piece of cake and something to wash it down, the nurse came in again to drug Dad’s port. I started cleaning the room to disperse my nervous energy while my brother watched “bugs” with my dad. Seems they had grown to about a thousand and were getting restless.
Just then, the nurse popped her head in. Could I see you two for a minute?
My brother and I looked at each other, annoyed.
After making sure Dad could reach the tv remote and had something to drink, we ambled down the hall to the nurses' station. Typical BS. Sign this, read that. Why couldn’t she ask all these questions in the morning? We both just wanted to spend every minute with Dad.
When we got back to the room, Dad was not there. Impossible. He couldn’t walk. He was too weak, with a bag of fluid draining from his lungs.
“NURSE!” I yelled. I pressed the nurses’ station button.
“What in the actual hell?” I questioned my brother.
Then we heard it. There was a clicking sound. We followed it until it led us to the bed. On the bed, there was a hump moving under the sheet. I looked at my brother with tears of fear in my eyes.
“I’m not doing it.” I said. No way was I pulling the sheet back.
“Together?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“One, two, three!” We ripped back the sheet to see a slimy red mass that looked a lot like a regurgitated strawberry shortcake with giant black seeds in it, but the seeds were moving. The seeds were… BUGS! Thumb sized, roach-looking bugs with giant eyes! They paused for a moment in the light, then rolled into balls and scattered. They rolled off the bed, away from us, then opened their wasp wings and took flight down the hall.
I screamed with anger and fear while my brother stood there in awe, unsure of what had just happened. Just then, the nurse walked in.
“WHAT DID YOU DO?” my brother asked.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “You signed the paperwork to have your father resolved in the quickest way possible. We have handled it. You can finally go home and rest.”
In shock, we realized our Dad was gone, and this was going to bug us for the rest of our lives.