The lesson went as usual. That’s of no import. Afterwards, I saw the first impossibility of that evening in the lab. There, pinned down, was a specimen I can simply describe as strange. Armadillidium vulgare, which wouldn’t be shocking if it weren’t the size of my arm. I still have that picture in my briefcase, actually. It could have made my career. Just my luck. 

It’s probably connected, isn’t it? I’ll ask Bottleneck. Wonder what ended up happening to it — did it disappear like the other “hoaxes” of its kind? I can only assume the other hoax was legitimate. 

How many hoaxes and legends are real? We can’t be the only freaks of nature out there, can we? 

This still doesn’t make sense, but I’m rambling. Back to it. I went home for dinner, readied the table, and Sally was late. The bigots-in-law showed up first, and it went as well as I expected. He called my handshake feminine. I don’t even know how a handshake can be feminine. I wish I could shake his hand now. I’d love to see him call me weak again. 

They sat down to watch some insufferable program on the television until Sally finally arrived, and it was straight to arguing. Her Jezebel of a sister’s pregnant again, and they’re real up in arms over the fact that we’d been married for a year and a half and hadn’t yet populated a daycare. He was pissed she worked, pissed she didn’t cook enough, all the misogynistic bullshit he could spew. I tried to calm down the tensions, to mediate, but she ran into the room and told them she was a lesbian.

I was upset in the moment, fearing for myself, but honestly? Maybe he was right, in a way. I was weak. I wish I had that courage while there was still time. I’ve never been more proud of her. Does she know that? I hope she and Jennifer are able to sort things out. I really do. At least one of us deserves a happy ending. 

Sally left in tears, and I bolted out the door to head for the Tracks. I.. don’t know why, but I wanted to see James again. I wanted answers, comfort, a shoulder to cry on. I wanted to feel that bliss again. I ran into Maya — oh, goodness, I’m going to miss her. She comforted me and we spoke for a while, but I was distracted.

I felt watched, just over my shoulder. I should have ran, but I kept drinking. Wretched buzzing. Whole ride home, eyes over my shoulder. Something in the tunnel. I should have rode that metro right out of town, far, far away, in the morning when he couldn’t have followed. Why didn’t I notice it was always at night? I should have noticed. 

It attacked me that night. I know now I wasn’t losing my mind, wasn’t in a drunken stupor when I felt the shadows grow heavy atop me, when my vision went black. He took all of my pets, every last one — I’m so glad they’re okay, poor darlings. I hope they’ve been fed and cared for correctly. Will they recognize me? Maybe they’ll like me more now that they can understand me. Isn’t that what I wanted? To be understood?

I’d say I looked like shit then, but I’d give anything to look how I did that morning. A bit of acne seems like nothing now. Still, I covered the mirrors and borrowed Sally’s concealer.

Anyways, Maya didn’t answer, Annika told me to call the police. I knew they’d be useless, but I underestimated just how utterly useless they were. Fucking bitch at the other end, treating me like some lunatic. Non-emergency my ass. How would she feel if she woke up to a missing dog? A missing child? A missing part of her? No one cared. I’m realizing that now. It’s overwhelming how little I mattered to the people I tried so desperately to appease. Why was I so polite to her? I should have given her and those useless cops a piece of my mind. What stopped me?

I can’t wait for that dispatch team to realize I’m missing. Maybe they already know.

I hope it weighs on them. All of them. It fucking better. 

Of course, I didn’t want to sleep that night. It wasn’t safe and I knew that, so I grabbed some caffeine and kept myself up. It started wearing off, so I went down for another cup, and there he was. Something watching me, again. I grabbed a knife as if it would protect me — of course, I didn’t know yet how helpless I truly was. 

I checked every window, every lock. Nothing. No one was there. Perhaps it was foolish looking back, but I cannot blame myself for assuming I was safe. I was exhausted, under severe stress, and already exceedingly paranoid - there was no reason to believe it was anything beyond my own mind playing tricks on me.

I decided to sleep. I barricaded my bedroom door with chairs, locked my window, and I slept. I felt watched again. That buzzing I’d grown to know so well returned, but I was alone. I was alone! I didn’t know. I need to stop blaming myself. My window was closed and locked, and I slept. I dreamt of honey that night.

There was a bottlefly on my nose as I awoke that morning, and my barricade was gone. I knew no one would believe me. They’d think I was crazy, laugh at me again. Nothing would get done. I couldn’t bring myself to care, awash in a whirlwind of mania I scarcely understood. It was as if every part of me was stronger, better. I could see so much. I nearly tripped in my own swift descent down the stairs. 

I suppose I thought I’d look better since I felt so much better, but it’d gotten much worse when I uncovered the mirror. A pustule at the corner of my eye is still preferable to the withered husk that inhabits my socket now. 

James had called. Left a voicemail. He told me I was beautiful, but I didn’t feel it. Said he left his walkman under my bed when he was over. When was he over? Why didn’t I remember it? How did he get my number? I was unnerved. I didn’t want to see him. Or my book club. Or anyone. 

There was a fly on my wall as I made my morning coffee. A beautiful green bottlefly, the same one that had landed on my nose. I didn’t think anything of it when I gently cajoled it, speaking to it much like someone else might address a puppy. I asked it to leave, expecting to have to shoo it out. It was just.. habit. I always speak to insects like that. Sally found it endearing. 

It listened, though. When it looked into my eyes, I knew it understood. I didn’t know why, but as my shiny green friend flew off, I couldn’t help but stare at the patch of wall it had perched on in disbelief. 

I went upstairs for the walkman, and what I found disturbed me. There was a tape, labeled “Beautiful.” That was what he called me, so I played it. 

Love songs. Fucking creepy love songs. Once I realized I heard the dreaded buzzing behind it, I turned it off in a panic and left my house for skincare products. I didn’t want to be in the same room as that walkman, and yet, I couldn’t help but think of James. My firm decision to avoid him had all but left my mind, replaced by thoughts of him that encroached upon my sanity. I bought every product the pharmacy had. I couldn’t think well enough to decide. 

Once I reached my home, I felt starved as if I hadn’t eaten for days. I went to make an omelette, and some primal urge possessed me. Before I even understood what I was doing, I’d swallowed the yolks raw. They didn’t sate me. I cooked an omelette. It didn’t sate me. Something else, then. I ate ice cream straight from the tub. It didn’t sate me. Too sweet. I made a chicken breast caked in cayenne  That was better, but I still hungered for something else. I assumed I needed to smoke, and the familiar ritual of it calmed me for a time. 

I sat on my couch watching mindless cartoons for hours where I usually would have been planning lessons or reading through journals. I needed stimulation, something to take my mind off of the dread that threatened to consume me. 

I needed to look my best, I realized. I needed to be beautiful for James. When did I even decide to see him? I’m not sure I had a choice. I don’t think I did. I slathered my face in creams, oils, astringents, masks. It burned, but I assumed that meant it was working. I put on some makeup to the best of my ability - I thought it looked quite good - and once I had my sunglasses, coat, and scarf on I was ready to leave. 

I felt watched on the metro. Unsafe. I decided to take another route, and I got lost. It was rather embarrassing, actually. Not as if I don’t know the area. I’ll spare all the details, but to summarize:

• Heard a buzzing, felt watched. It was “just a cat.” It was most definitely not just a cat.

• Tried to backtrack, got more hopelessly lost. 

• Saw some thugs headed my way. Freaked out. Hid behind a dumpster. (Not my finest moment.)

• Had to wait while they did… some sort of drugs. 

• Eventually moved out and found my way back to the Tracks. 

I waited in line, and behind me was a voice I should have recognized. He asked for a lighter. I handed it behind me, not wanting to be seen, and he seemed amused. It was James, obviously. He’d been behind me the whole time. Those three whole days, and who knows how much longer before. But I’m getting ahead of myself. We’re not there yet. 

I wanted to confront him. I know I had enough of a mind for that. But he was so convincing, so charming. He told me I was beautiful, even more than before. Before I knew it, I’d agreed to head to his house. What was I thinking? I should have run. 

Running wouldn’t have helped. Hiding wouldn’t have helped. He’d have found me no matter what I did. I’d only have delayed the inevitable. At least I went with him on my terms. Were they really my terms? Did I even have a choice in that?

He took me to an abandoned, bare bones squat. I didn’t judge it. I didn’t stop to think that I was going to be killed if I stepped through that door. I gladly followed him in, accepted his offer of a beer. Didn’t drink it, though. I never drink anything that I didn’t see being poured. Neither did he. Faked it. Went through the motions. It all seems so obvious now, but I suppose I just assumed he was a recovering alcoholic or something. I didn’t press him on it. 

He asked about my bugs, and he listened. He listened. He let me ramble on about my projects, and he asked if he could kiss me afterwards. I’d all but forgotten the creepy tape, the suspicions of stalking. The flies buzzing around us were merely set dressing. Background noise. In that moment, it was just us. Him and I. I kissed him, and it was bliss, just as I’d remembered. 

And then it all went black. 

I knew I was being dragged somewhere before I came to, I think. He tied me to a chair in a rotten-smelling cell, seated across from me. His voice was different. That charming voice I knew was gone. I remember my sense of betrayal and confusion more than anything as he spoke to me. His words were static in my mind, mindless buzzing that made no sense and yet too much all the same. 

That was when he transformed. Or… Not really transformed. There was no gradual change, no shifting of flesh. It simply became clear to me what I’d seen the whole time. I was horrified at the time. Screamed like I was in a horror movie, which I frankly was. Worse than a horror movie. At least those typically have survivors.

 I am fascinated now, however, at the masses of flies on his neck, the matted fur and scaly patches covering his grotesque body, the fact that what we are is possible. I can’t help but ponder the biology of his form, of mine, the twisting of once-human flesh into something new. I wonder what we look like inside. I shouldn’t be thinking about such things. 

I’m ahead of myself again. I’m sorry. So much is on my mind. He attacked me, then, and I fruitlessly resisted. I wanted to die fighting, and I did. He fed me blood from a pustule, and to my revulsion, he had to practically force me off. I knew then that I’d tasted it before as the fog dissipated from the last three nights. I knew I’d been attacked by him, and the illusion of the romance my mind had conjured quickly faded into the cold reality I was faced with. 

He left me, and I screamed until my voice went hoarse. No use. At least I found out what the buckets were for, because it wasn’t long until I began to throw up my own viscera. No, not just blood, actual fucking organs. The pain was indescribable, but I refused to give in to my lethargy. I think the past nights had left me terrified of what would happen if I slept again, but my body had other plans. 

The nights blended together after that. So much lost time. I nearly screamed once I caught my reflection and realized what I was becoming. The flies, though, they stayed with me. They kept me company, shiny emeralds that fluttered around me in a blanket of sympathy. They didn’t quite mind my looks, I found. I looked through their eyes, and they didn’t see me as I saw myself. They understood me, somehow, and I understood them. We were no longer different, scientist and specimen, but rather one and the same. It was comforting, oddly. That comfort was the thread that kept my mind from unraveling along with my body. 

With all the viscera around me, I should have been dead. I wanted to know what was beneath my twisting skin, and I cut into my arm, revealing the withered musculature beneath. I didn’t get to look for long before the flesh healed seamlessly before my eyes. That remains fascinating to me. 

Bottleneck came back a handful of times, always cryptic and vague. I wonder if my disorientation entertained him. He’d likely been through the same, and yet I did not pick up on an ounce of empathy. Still, he gave me some useful information. Told me it’d last a week, that I’d been chosen for my entomological knowledge, and that we were “creatures of the night”. That makes sense now, but I wasn’t in the mind to process it then. I asked if we were monsters. He said the skins above might say that — I’d certainly say that after what my hunger drove me to. What am I if not a monster? At the least, he told me my pets were safe. The thought of being reunited with them helped. 

He trapped some rats in the cell with me. Poor things. They looked at me with big, innocent eyes, sweet little creatures that sympathized with what they saw. They wanted an escape too, looked for holes to burrow through. My heart ached for them. 

I need a moment before I get back to the rats. 

I’ve avoided writing about my.. changes, but I think it would help to process what happened.

It started with the vomiting, obviously. Twisting flesh, my body rebuilding itself bit by bit. Unbearable agony. Bottleneck likened me to a caterpillar undergoing metamorphosis; I suppose in that regard the cell was my cocoon. I don’t feel quite like the beautiful butterfly he described me as, but I suppose the metaphor works well enough. It’s certainly a more comfortable way of framing what happened to me that week. 

My left eye crusted shut and withered while the other grew enlarged and split into ommatidia, but I can see so much more. I scratched my itching, crawling forehead open and tasted my own blood on my fingertips, and from the gashes emerged eyes. New eyes - similar to a honeybee’s ocelli, I’d say. I could see colors I’d never previously known, the sight of my own viscera a swirling rainbow of color so beautiful I was driven to tears. I can’t say I minded that aspect of my transformation, at least. It’s hard to find a bright side when one is relegated to the shadows, but I’m trying. Mother would be proud. She always said I needed to focus more on the positives. I don’t know that she could look at me if she saw me now.

I didn’t want to hurt the rats. 

They were my friends. I didn’t want to hurt them. I tried. I tried. I resisted my hunger until I was feeling dead again, the fire animating me fading into the empty cold of starvation. The new organ within me pleaded with me to eat, and I had to. I had to. They would have starved alongside me in that cell if I hadn’t. I cried, I apologized, but they just looked confused. So immensely trusting. So naive. 

They hopped into my hands of their own volition, one after the other. I couldn’t help but feel that I’d taken after Bottleneck as I charmed them into willingly walking into their own deaths. I didn’t even mean to. I almost wish they’d been afraid. Even as they were drained within my maw, they were content. Blissful. Complicit within their own demise. We weren’t that different. 

At least they stayed dead. Kept that sense of peace as they passed on. Better than starvation. I keep telling myself that. 

Bottleneck came back the next night, and I was finally freed from my cage. Freedom felt hollow after what I’d done to obtain it, but I was out. Changed, broken down and rebuilt, but still me, I think. 

…Not unlike a caterpillar, actually.