Shop Bug

He woke up with wings.

Two protrusions fluttered from beneath his skin. Slapping the bug in panic, he smeared blood down his arm. He took his hat and swatted a few more bloodsuckers circling around in his car. That’s what he got for sleeping with the windows down during summer.

Finn liked to steal some shut eye on his afternoon break, burrowing in his car away from the rest of his coworkers. Work hours were brutal, so every chance he got was spent in restorative slumber. Jobs were constant this time of year and the summer heat was so intense, air conditions barely provided relief. The clock said break was over, so he turned off his car and filed in with the rest of his crew, emerging from their own vehicles to crawl back inside.

Finn was a lanky, pale man. His long red beard offset his baldness and when he smiled he revealed a silver tooth. He could operate a forklift better than his own vehicle and knew every inch of the shop he worked in. His hands were stained with the dull gray that came with years spent inside of a warehouse. The white skin of his Irish heritage only ever shone through when he could stay away from work for more than a few days, which wasn’t often.
He was happy. Shop life had become his colony and he loved being part of its survival. He had been there so long, he could pretty much handle anything thrown his way.

“How long you think he’s been inside?” asked the new guy, shining bright in his neon training shirt.

Chaz stared from behind dark sunglasses. Exhaling smoke, he shook his head. “That wall’s been here longer than I have.”

Hearing the wreck from inside, Finn walked over to the men huddled around the damage saying, “What do I have to fix now?”

Chaz pointed toward the shed with his cigarette.

“Jesus.” Cocked to the side and nearly broken, the skeleton’s jaw hung open. Roaches raced through its hollow eyes. “Is that…?”

“Looks like it,” said Chaz.

“What do we do?” asked another neon shirt behind the wheel of the wrecked forklift.

“Twenty years,” Chaz said, shaking his head. “Twenty years and never broke through this wall. You green shirts manage to do it within your first week.”

Finn climbed over the rubble to get a closer look, careful to avoid the jagged pieces of tin and loose rock. There was no clue to why or how this man had gotten pinned in the hollow gap, but hundreds of black stones covered the frame of what was left. On the right hand there was a large ring.

“At least the sorry bloke left us a gift,” said Finn, reaching for the ring.

When he took hold of the hand, a black spiral uncoiled itself from around the skeleton’s neck.

“Agh!”

“Forget that!”

The men jumped back and scrambled for distance, terrified at the serpent disappearing into the wall. The snake’s departure brought the black stones to life. They poured from the skeleton’s insides and crawled through cracks and crevices all around. A few of them scurried up onto Finn. He fell back and flailed in an attempt to get the black things off of him. Some of them sprouted wings and shot off while others fell to the ground.

When things stopped moving, Finn opened his hand and admired his new treasure. The band was thick and it resembled a beetle. Exactly like the things that covered the corpse. He slipped it on his middle finger.

“Looks quite nice actually.”

“Oh, right!” shouted a green shirt. “We uncover a plague and you’re gloating about jewelry!”
He sensed it before he felt it. Traveling up his spine to the side of his neck, something bit into him and he swatted it away. Out of both fear and anger, Finn brought a boot down on top of the black insect with a satisfying crunch.

“That’s what you get,” said Chaz. “Come on. Let’s clean this up.”

The deliveries came and went. Hand drills screamed throughout the shop. Welders zapped parts into place. Machines boomed as they punched and shaped steel into the appropriate designs. The atmosphere of the warehouse continued on as if it too had forgotten the death it concealed for years.

Their owner just told them to bury the bones back in the wall. He didn’t want to involve authorities. He said it was, “bad for business.” Finn thought it odd that nothing else came of the whole ordeal, but instead of arguing he continued on with his work. Late afternoon came and Finn retired to his desk to finish inputting the invoices from today’s jobs. While his fingers moved across the keys, he once again noticed the ring. The metal was a sharp silver and caught the light carefully. The beetle had two pincers at the top, wings folded down the back engraved with markings that Finn could not begin to understand. A stack of papers slammed down on his desk, startling him from his curiosity.

“Invoices,” Luis said. Luis was their delivery driver, returning for the day.

Finn felt him lingering and turned to see him looking down at his ring.

“Ay dios mio…”

“Do you know what this means?”

“Enough to know you should put it back where you found it. No good will come of it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Finn, with no intention of getting rid of his new prize.

By the time Finn got home, his neck was throbbing and his skin irritated. He assumed it was from the insulation and dust around the wreck that morning. After grabbing a cold beer from the fridge to wash down a few Ibuprofen, he settled into a hot bath before turning in for the night.

Letting the warm water soothe his muscles, he began drifting off to sleep. When Finn blinked his eyes open, one of the wings on the ring fluttered slightly under the light.

He shot upright, throwing water onto the floor, but when he steadied his hand the insect lay motionless. Whether it was a trick of the light, or Luis’s superstitions were getting to him, he knew he needed sleep.

He dressed, turned the thermostat down to freezing, and cut the lights.
The ring, however, remained on his hand as he slipped into darkness.

His transformation was subtle.

The irritation on his skin had begun to discolor as yellow welts blistered down his back and arms. His left eye developed a twitch, which he just attributed to dehydration. He resolved to up his dose of Ibuprofen and press on. There were deliveries that needed to be made.
Word had gotten around that Finn had been cursed by whatever lay inside the wall. Luis constantly claimed that he was engulfed by a shadow. Others said whatever soul that had once inhabited the bones of the dead now resided inside Finn himself, having found refuge in a new host. Not everyone knew the details of the crash a couple days prior, but knew that Finn was changing and they weren’t getting the whole story.

When waking up from afternoon naps, he would be buried beneath a hundred mosquitoes perched peacefully around him. Without a slurp or swallow they simply sat, digesting the harvest they drew from someone else’s veins. At one point, while Finn was refilling coffee in the break room, his hands kept tearing the cups. That’s when he noticed dozens of tiny claws beginning to grow inside his palm.

Food soon lost its appeal. The grease and saltiness of gas station plate lunches were now tasteless to him. Beer was just carbonation. Even ice cold water didn’t quench the uneasiness that had slowly developed over the past few days. He needed something…more.

By the end of the week, Finn was exhausted and unrecognizable. His clammy skin was constantly soaking his clothes and his dilated eyes nearly protruded from their sockets. “Bug-eyed” was an understatement.

Workers avoided him either because they were terrified they might catch whatever curse Finn had adopted, or simply because they thought him strange. Regardless, they were weary of him and his unnatural symptoms.

He wasn’t one to make excuses, however, so he tried to fend off his cravings and focus on his work. Despite the amount of Styrofoam coffee he guzzled, Camels he bummed, or Monsters he downed, his mind still strayed from the tasks assigned to him. Sitting at his desk with paperwork, he would hear crawling along the walls and scratching from the ceiling above him. Large shadows appeared fleeing from corners headed straight outside into the shed.

The worst were the blackouts. One moment he would be lowering a pallet of sheet metal down from the racks and the next a coworker was shouting at him, forklift alarm whining in reverse, trying to shake him from a trance. Anytime his view caught the ceiling lights, he became fixated on their pulsing glow. The most recent occasion was while organizing material in the back only to notice a large spider web full of victims stretched out over the shed. The hunger too strong for food was still burning and at the sight of the web, his mouth began to water. Normally he would have been advised to use a ladder or the man lift to reach that height, but when you’ve been in the shop as long as he had safety precautions become more like guidelines. Later he would claim no recollection of scurrying up the steel beams, into the rafters, to reach his feast. Little did he know, Luis had come out to load up a job and watched in disgust as Finn ate the June bugs and sucked the mosquitoes dry, relishing the blood they harvested just for him.

Luis quit that day and was never seen again.

Finn needed something to wash his condition away and distract him from whatever sickness was eating him from the inside. And he knew just the place. After washing up, he found his best pair of jeans, downed a whole bottle of Ibuprofen (his new miracle drug) and set his sights on Uncle T’s Oyster House.

Off the railroad tracks on the outside of town, Uncle T’s had the best oysters in the state.
Raw or charbroiled, they kept the shells shucked and grills hot for anyone who was ready for a dozen. He frequented the bar so often he had become a part of the family. A barfly some might say.

“Hey Kelly,” said Finn, crawling into a bar stool. Kelly was the owner’s wife and had been bartending since they had opened. Before Finn could get settled she had swiped a Miller Lite from the cooler, popped the top and had it waiting for him.

Her smile dropped when she saw the state he was in. “Rough week?”

“Something like that,” said Finn, tapping the beer bottle with the ring resting on his finger. “I’ll take the usual. Raw. And-”

Finn’s head snapped to the side. The flames of a grill in the kitchen flaring up, rising high and flicking smoke before falling down once more. His head cocked again, eye twitching and settling on Kelly.

“And…?” asked Kelly, now looking disturbed.

“Never mind. That’s fine for now.”

“Sure.”

Finn was embarrassed. He wished he could keep it together and get over whatever was happening to him. Maybe after a few drinks his body would return to normal and he wouldn’t overthink so much. The last thing he wanted was to cause a scene, so he finished his beer and ordered another, this time with a shot of Fireball. That would do the trick. All he wanted was to disappear into the rhythm of a Friday night.

And a Friday night it was. Groups of people started swarming the front door eager for a spot anywhere so they could kick back and wash away their own worries. Hostesses were constantly watching for a table clearing out so they could reset it and get another hungry customer off their hands, servers were circling the room delivering platters of bottom feeders, fried assortments and fresh drinks, and the manager’s head was on a swivel trying to control it all. Kelly was sprinting back and forth trying to keep up with the tickets coming through as well as a bar top that was now packed with those lucky enough to snag a seat. Finn was caught up in it all, starting a conversation with anyone who ended up sitting next to him.

The oysters and fried shrimp Po-boy he scarfed down didn’t do much for the hunger that was constant, but he didn’t want to draw any more unwanted attention to his condition. His eyes started to swell again, twitching wildly with all the excitement around him. His skin also began clamming up worse than before. Overwhelmed, he replenished his beer and stepped outside for a cigarette, hoping the fresh air would settle his nerves.

He made his way around the corner of the building, away from the crowd of diners, near the back of the restaurant. A man in a black apron was outside tossing trash into the dumpster, the clatter causing a group of roaches to scatter out the bottom of the rusted away container. As the worker wheeled the trash bins past Finn, he caught the scent of old seafood. In the warm night air, the aroma was harsh, pungent, and…intoxicating.

Before he knew what he was doing, Finn was climbing into the dumpster, tearing through bags and scarfing down this new delicacy that had been presented to him. The roaches had returned to join him in his feast as black flies buzzed all around. For the first time since he had lost taste, the hunger within had finally begun to subside. He ate a long while to ensure that he was fully satiated. He was oblivious to people walking by, horrified at the sight of a man rummaging through everything they couldn’t find room for in their own stomachs, which were now on the verge of throwing it all back up. When he had his fill, Finn brushed off what he could and headed back to the front, replenished and looking forward to a fresh drink at the bar.

“Good god!” screamed a couple at the bar, recoiling at the stench that surrounded Finn as he returned to his seat.

“Kelly! Another beer please!” called Finn, wiping away the spittle in his beard on his sleeve.
Whoever wasn’t watching him before now shot unwelcome glares in his direction and those of impatience at the staff as if it was their fault they weren’t taking control of the situation.

“Are you insane!”

“Throw him out!”

“There are children!”

Kelly waved down the manager and was pointing toward Finn, waiting patiently for his drink while covered in grease and slime and who knows what else. The manager marched over as quick as he could, taking Finn by his arm and shoving him through the restaurant and out into the parking lot.

“What’s going on?” asked Finn.

“Look at yourself!” The manager was trying hard to keep his composure. “You’ve always been a valued customer Finn and we appreciate that, but there is something wrong with you. You need to leave.”

Finn saw Kelly and the other customers watching from the patio, making sure he wouldn’t be allowed back inside.

“That’s a load of rubbish!” Finn stumbled back. “I pay good money here. I act no more insane than any other one of the psychos you deal with! Remember the lady who thought ‘raw oysters’ was just the name and sent them back because they weren’t cooked enough? Or the man who complained his boiled crawfish still had tails on them? They never got thrown out. Did they?”

“They didn’t upset my guests! Look at you, you’re disgusting! What were you even…never mind. I don’t care. You are making people uncomfortable. You need to go.”

Having made his point, the manager went back inside, leaving Finn alone in the parking lot.
Unnerved by everyone watching him and feeling like a fool, Finn walked back to his truck. In the reflection, he saw his features were distorted, bastardizing his appearance even more. His beard had grown matted. His skin had turned a sickeningly greenish hue. His pupils appeared as if they had doubled in size. Then there was the stabbing pain in his head. He took out his bottle of Ibuprofen.

Empty.

He threw it away and punched the side of his truck. The street light was powerful, as if it was funneling energy directly into him.

Finn opened his passenger door. He searched for more pain relief but had none.

He was furious. First work had been disrupted and now he lost his one place of solitude and sanity! It was too much.

He sat festering in his truck. His knuckles whitened from his grip on the steering wheel. The silver beetle beamed under the reflection of the parking lot lights. Suddenly the back of the restaurant was split open with light from inside and he watched the worker from before dumping more trash cans. Insects collected around the dumpster, off to enjoy tonight’s feast. A savoriness Finn would not know any longer.

Unless…

The hinges screamed as Finn pushed in the chain link gates. Rocking along the gravel path, his truck carried him to his destination. Every movement echoed for miles around the barren warehouse. Finn wasted no time, craving the rush of another dumpster dive without the threat of being interrupted. A raccoon poked its head out and then ran off as Finn approached the dumpster, pulled back the slide doors and climbed inside.

He wasn’t long in finding what was to be eaten inside the container. Slightly disappointed, he called off the search and climbed back out. Gnawing on an old chicken bone, he continued to graze the grounds for trash cans left unemptied.

Behind the shop, the shed waited for his return. He stepped into a flood of fluorescence and felt it. The shed was calling to him.

His neck craned while the sound of silence surrounded him. Something moved on his hand. Being that near to the shed, so close in its vicinity, this far into his transformation, the ring came to life. The silver cracked open, making way for the beetle inside. This time, Finn wasn’t afraid. He let the creature make its way along his arm, across his chest, and finally around the back of his neck to where he had been stung a few days ago. The beetle sunk its sharp pincers in and burrowed beneath his skin.

Footsteps echoed just around the corner.

Finn crouched down onto all fours, gripped the ground with the firm claws on his hands and scurried up the wall to settle in the corner above the shed. His eyes, deep black, were set on Chaz who was coming out to top his overtime off with a final cigarette. Exhausted and distracted in a mindless video on his phone, he never recognized the hatching of the shadow that prepared to take him.

The factory was as productive as ever. The only problem was jobs weren’t getting delivered. Pallets of finished orders sat in the corner of Shipping And Receiving that were supposed to have been shipped out days ago.

The boss was performing his end of the month walk through to check in on production, very pleased on the front end of things as reports were showing that jobs were being completed at a rapid pace, however, none of the companies were receiving their products, meaning he didn’t get paid. He understood why when he made it to the back of the shop and saw the cluster of jobs waiting for approval by quality control.

“Where is Chaz?” he asked, getting nothing but shrugs and silence.

“Haven’t seen him since Friday,” said one of the green shirts.

They continued outside, around to the back of the shop. All seemed quiet and still until they reached the shed. One by one, the workers began to cover their noses to protect from the rot that was leaking out into the open. Thick tubes spiraled down from a giant cocoon and connected themselves to the center of multiple shapes ensnared in black sludge. Within the sludge, blank, pale faces stared out at nothing, each one frozen in their last effort to scream before being taken over by this…thing. Chaz was among them, mouth hanging open and sunglasses still sitting on his face.

Perched upside down, the cocoon pulsed, drawing in a portion of fluid inside the tubes with every beat. It was like an insect nest waiting to be consumed at a future time.

“Dear God!” whispered one of the green shirts. “It’s sucking them dry!”

The comment caused stirring within the cocoon and everyone watched as it unfolded itself and arched its neck back to look at them. The creature who used to be Finn, opened its mouth layered with rows of pointed fangs and blasted them with a high pitched, rhythmic shrill.

A few of the workers broke away, shouting curses as they ran, the sight too horrific for them to handle. The creature’s head snapped to the side and flung from the wall, wings jetting into view as it dived on top of new prey trying to flee the nest. More began making their escape, screams filling the air. Some got away. Some weren’t so lucky. The creature was fast. Using its bite to stun, one minute it would be zipping through the air, the next crawling across the wall to cut off whoever was brave enough to run.

Workers were dropping like flies as the creature paralyzed anyone it could. While it sank its fangs into another neck, two men appeared carrying a large propane tank.

“Hey! Ant-man!” shouted a green shirt. Enlarged eyes shot his way. “Time to die!” He opened the propane valve, releasing a deep, hollow roar of gas.

The striker sparked.

Orange flames burst from the nozzle as the gas stream ignited. The creature was engulfed by the fire, shrilling and twitching wildly. It took flight in an effort to avoid the attack, but the worker’s aim was steady. The creature fell to the ground, rolling and crying out for the last time.

The worker let the tank spit out a few more seconds before cutting it off.

“Exterminated!”

They slowly approached the torched body.

Whether it was the heat or the act of death, its form had shifted. The wings regressed and eyes shrunk back into their sockets. While the skin was still black and damaged from the fire, they recognized the shape of a man.

“My God,” said the boss. “I guess it’s time to get authorities in here. And someone call an ambulance! I need these bodies cleaned up.”

The police came a half hour later and the ambulance soon after.

While the boss gave his statement to the cops, two paramedics began piling up the bodies. When they finally carried Finn’s torched body over to the others, one of the paramedics noticed something.

“Hey,” he said, kneeling next to Finn. “Check this out.”

“Looks fake,” said his partner.

“I don’t know. I think it might be worth something.”

“Whatever. Come on, we still got work to do.”

The paramedic slipped off his glove. Testing it out, he found that the ring fit nicely on his middle finger.

“Perfect.”

Satisfied, he slipped on a fresh pair of gloves and continued to clean up the dead.

Credit: C. Scott Raborn

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