The Shivering

It was ninety degrees in the middle of a Hot Arizona Summer, but Nicole frantically grabbed the wool blankets, pulling them tight against her chin. She planted her bare feet on the hardwood floor, shivering violently with every movement. A deep sweat coated her dry, burning skin as the midday sun beamed through the window. She took a ragged breath that seemed to empty her lungs, her teeth chattering in the stifling room. She plants both feet on the hardwood floor, strains to force herself up, and takes a step, shivering with each movement. Nicole creeps slowly into the kitchen. With each step she takes, she feels weaker, her body burning, yet her mind has her feeling frigid. She takes another breath. She finally creeps over to the stove, each creak of the hardwood floor screeches like a banshee; she stops. Her frail hands caressing the stove eye. With a little effort, she turns the nob, and the blue flame ignites. The brutal, frigid feeling makes her completely oblivious to her hands in the flame. Yet she feels no pain, no burns, no reaction whatsoever. Nicole realizes her nervous system is completely failing; she quickly pulls her hand away, staring in disbelief. “What the hell?” She whispers. The hiss of the steam seemed deafening as the shrieking was piercing her skull like daggers. The rumble of the grate vibrated through the floorboards, mirroring the frantic pace of her own heart. She takes her numb, rabidly blackening hand, grabs the plastic handle, and lifts it over the teacup. She feels a shooting pain run from her hand through her entire arm, and she winces in pain. She struggled but rarely mustered the strength to tilt the kettle. The scalding hot water poured into the cup, steam slowly oozing from its sides like a thickening mist; she set down the kettle with a loud thud. A single drop of water drops onto her foot, and she watches her skin peel off as it pierces her skin like hellfire, yet in her mind it feels like an ice cube melting on her skin. Her mind flashed back to a hike she took yesterday into the Superstition Mountains. It was over 115 degrees, yet she seemed fine; she’s a veteran hiker. She’d been hiking these mountains for 10 years. She walked past a strange-looking cactus. She stopped to examine the anomalous structure. She felt a pain in her foot as she moved closer, not realizing she had stepped on a thorn. It seemed harmless; she pulled it from her running shoe, glanced at the orange thorn, tossed it, and kept walking. She tries to lift the cup, her muscles stiffening and her tissues hardening, her insides like an active volcano yet still cold. Her blackened fingers scraping against the ceramic cup, she groans as she begins to lose her grip. The cup tips, and the scalding water splashes onto her numb hands. Steam once again rises from her deadened skin. She looks at the microwave to see a gruesome discovery; her veins were pitching black, tracing up her neck, throbbing with black tissue inside, her eyes turning into hollow inkwells, her jaw stiffening. She collapsed against the edge of the kitchen counter, her chest heaving as a wave of understanding came smacking into her. Her nails begin to peel as her skin hardens; her heart pounds as she lets out a blood-curdling scream. An intense hunger comes upon her. All of a sudden, a knock on the door distracts her: “Miss Miller, are you okay? said in a small voice. She tries to walk toward the entryway, but her brittle, hardened skin makes her movements jerky and inhuman; she can barely breathe as her jaw continues to stiffen. She peeks through the window to see her sweet elderly neighbor holding a plate of summer cookies. She feels her temperature rising, her mouth watering, but not for tea; she senses her neighbor’s heartbeat, her smell, her pulse, and her hunger continues to grow, but she tries to fight it as she’s losing her mind. She raises her hand and forces herself to lock the deadbolt. She slowly backs away into the dark hallway, sliding down the wall. The simple wooden door seems like the only thing keeping this creature from tearing the world apart. Nicole slumps against the wall, trembling. For now, the woman inside has silenced the monster. But she knows hunger always returns. Nicole left a long smudge of black sweat on the wall. Outside, the elder lady waits for another moment; the soft sound of cookies moving side to side on the plate is almost soothing; she sighs and walks away with the soft flaps of her orthopedic shoes padding the wood floors. With her new senses, she hears each step, smells her perfume, and feels her warm blood slowly fade away. The vanishing smell leaves Nicole gasping for air. She takes a few more breaths before panting an inhuman wheeze. She stands up and slowly puts her head against the door, her mind still racing but no longer human. She still has her human consciousness for the time being; she never had her tea, her final thought. She peered down the dark hallway to see her teacup still on the counter, fresh and hot, still steaming. She takes a step, and her a claws scratched the wood floors with each step, she growths and hisses and her humanity begins to fade, she reached out to grab her cup, she slowly pours the sizzling liquid down her throat as her eyes continue to darken, the hot tea felt like ice cubes, her hands completely peeled away her eyes black as coal she’d completely transformed. Still, she was able to take one last sip; her hands overpowered the small cup, and it ground into dust with an accidental squeeze. Finally, she stares out the window, and the sun shines on her scaly skin. Nicole knew the monster inside her was only growing stronger with every heartbeat