Attack of the Worm Man

Dark dirty dollops of soil flare up into the air as I kick back my blazers into the hazy night sky. My feet, mind, and body flee but the fear that engulfs me doesn’t. Leaving the cemetery gates, my grimy hands fumble for my keys. I’m sixteen and my parents just brought me my first vehicle. So, I’m not exactly used to digging for my car keys out of my pocket yet, let alone doing it while running from a monster in the late night. I remember when I was younger, I used to stay up past midnight watching all these creature features until my eyes fluttered and shut or static would envelop the tv screen. Now, I am living in the creature feature. I’m not sure what’s chasing me. But what I do know is that it’s zombie-like and resembles a worm man. The figure is covered in dirt and grime. He’s so wet and slick to the touch. And leaves cling to his body like wet newspaper strips wrapped around clay structures.

Once I make it to my car, I grasp my keys from my pocket and turn the key in the driver side door lock. The door flings open along with my sanity. I can’t believe what I just experienced. I look back and make the number one mistake not to make in any cheesy b-level horror slasher flick. But I can’t help it. I feel compelled to turn. To look and see what’s there beyond the grave. Literally. But hey, at least I haven’t fallen and tripped over nothing yet. The grass could very well be less green.

I don’t see the man covered in worms anymore. I want to believe that I think he may be gone, but now that I’m in my own version of a horror movie, I know that is not true. The question is, where is he lurking, and when will he come about?

I nearly dive into the driver’s seat. The walls within this hatchback may not be able to protect me for long but I’m hoping they will act as enough of a barrier until I make it out of here. If I make it out of here that is. I anxiously jam the keys into the ignition and turn it over. My stomach flips with it. The Worm Man fastly approaches and splays his wet slimy fingers apart and flat hands my window until it cracks and shatters. I scream and sputter my words as his grip seizes me. I watch as the worms crawl around his eyes and stream down his horrid face. I’m applauded by the visual to say the least.

The car lurches forward. I’m so terrified and frozen within my fear that I don’t even realize I’m accelerating into my escape yet. I feel his grasp loosen around my wrist bone until it’s gone. I drive off into my own hellish nightmare while lingering worms creep along the surface of my skin. Like bees on honey, they just won’t leave. That is until I start to pick at these fleshy beings and fling them off like pickles on a burger. I despise pickles. My AMC Gremlin descends and plummets into the eerie chilling darkness of the midnight hour.

The thick white smoldering fog envelops the road in front of me. So much so that when the obligatory moment happens when the killer walks and stands in front of my car, I don’t see it coming. I slam on my brakes far too late. The brakes crunch and the tires sputter along the blacktop as The Worm Man ascends and flies over the hood of my car. The worms take flight with him and attack the fog. I can’t see the front of my car, but I know the dent is going to be big enough to the point where my parents are going to be pissed. I’ll be lucky if their blood doesn’t boil. Smoke underneath the hood of my car mixes with the fog and I grow hysterical as I turn around to look behind me for the soon to be infamous worm man. I realize that I now regret setting myself up for this makeshift blockbuster.

I see fragments of a figure leap up and dart off to the side away from the trunk of my car. Of course he’s still alive. Because killing a slasher icon in any horror flick is never that simple. Something pries at the passenger side door, and I leap back in hysterics. The door creaks open slightly ajar and my fear paralyzes me. A cluster of worms crawl up the door, shut it, and push the manual lock down. What is this Night of the Killer Worms? They squirm towards me and my skin crawls just by watching. I can feel everything that I can see. The worms crawl across my center console and I begin to swat at the creepy crawlies with my shaky hands. The ones who live begin to snake along my right arm and are headed for my brain. Goosebumps begin to lift and poke out of the surface of my skin as I frantically claw them off of me. But nothing about this is surface level.

Looking forward, I am about to shift the gear into drive when The Worm Man sprints around to the side of my car and sticks his grubby hands inside my driver's side window. His putrid hands envelop my face, and I can taste the rot. It stings my tongue and causes me to wretch all over the interior of my vehicle. Vinyl and leather are now coated in vomit. He manhandles me like he is about to maim me. I feel my body being harshly wiped back and forth and extracted out of my vehicle. I stare down into the eye of the storm, thrashing my wimpy puny arms, and I can’t tell if I should be enthralled or petrified by what I’m looking at. Worms crawl around my throat so pervasively I can feel them slither everywhere. The tension builds and the pressure tightens. I spring my arms out and grab hold of The Worm Man and stick my hands as deeply as they will go. On the surface he’s so wet and slimy. But underneath his skin feels so scabrous. I almost feel unwilling to venture any further, but I yearn to keep breathing in my youth. So I press down on a pressure point and all the worms scream an ear-splitting screech. The worms catapult off of him. I guess all bees need to leave the hive at some point.

The not so worm man releases me, and what’s left of him when the worms evade is a typical rotten man. Nothing out of the ordinary. The only thing that covers him is dirt, grime, and the broken years of his past that trail him. The shell that his body once wore has now been vanquished. I turn and watch hundreds of worm's scamper and hunch down the moon burned asphalt. I crawl back into my car and drive off. Running over all the worms, feeling the wet slimy crunch beneath, and leaving the broken man behind in my foggy rearview mirror with my crazed fragmented memories. I don’t see a sense in attempting to annihilate his physical body when his mind has clearly already suffered a blow bigger than I am capable of fathoming.

I watch as I pass a sign that says “Shadowville Cemetery". Because this is my movie. And for once, there is going to be a final boy. I shouldn’t have made it out alive, but I did. The only question that remains as I drive through the fog and the rest of my adolescence is, how do I explain that the massive dent in the smoldering hood of my car is from a worm man monster who chased me out of the cemetery?