Shadowed Realms Issue 8

CONGO JENGA

By Shane Jiraiya Cummings

"Wriggly little shit." He stabbed the blade into his thigh. Stifled the scream. Withdrew the blade with clumsy palms amid a gush of blood.

Stabbing himself had become a problem since his fingers had withered off.

The worm squirmed, just beneath his skin, toward his groin.

He fumbled the slick knife. Pressed it between his palms. Stabbed again into his thigh, inches above the first wound. Gritted teeth didn't silence his cry a second time.

The worm continued upwards. The blade had missed once more.

Tears trickled down his face as he slid the knife out. It clattered to the floor.

"Please God, no." He slumped to the ground, dizzy from blood loss. Again.

The worm burrowed towards his anus.

A fingerless hand swatted at it, the effort futile. His fingers, like his hair, nose, and toes, had withered and dropped off. All thanks to the fucking little worm crawling inside him.

His body was scabbed and scarred—desperate attempts to cut the little bastard out, time and again, dozens of times over.

It started on his return from Africa. After the loss of his hair, the doctors rationalised it as a parasite contracted in the Congo. It took six weeks, and just as many toes, for him to realise the worm was more than a parasite.

The boy in Lagos had been a diversion. A piece of arse, willing or otherwise. So were the ones in Kinshasa. And the little boy from the village near Kisangani. The worm whispered of those sins when it chewed through his ear canals.

He rolled onto his back, feeling the worm tunnel around his bowels and towards his stomach.

Its curses flowed like acid through his veins, declaring the next target. After weeks of hosting the prick, he'd learned how to tune into the creature's rage.

Its voice was that of the Congo boy's mother, the village shaman—the Bone Mother. It screamed the same curses as her, from the day she found him with her son's carcass. The worm now screamed of all the naked boys, the debauchery, the evils his eyes had seen.

His eyes. Next.

He knew it. His dick would be saved for last.

The worm wriggled along his stomach and into his chest. It bulged his skin, dipped below a rib, bulged again. A sliver of fire burning his chest.

He eased the bloodied knife to his side. Clumsily at first, he clasped it again between his palms. Ragged breaths punctured the room.

Blade poised below his eye, he waited for the worm to claim its prize.

He'd get the bastard this time.

* * *

Author Biography:

Shane Jiraiya Cummings is a West Australian writer, a graduate of Clarion South, and a member of the Horror Writers Association. His short fiction credits include Aurealis, The Book of Dark Wisdom, Borderlands, Ticonderoga Online, Simulacrum, and many more.

Shane has edited a range of forthcoming anthologies including Australian Dark Fantasy & Horror: The Best of 2005, Shadow Box, and Robots & Time. He is also the Managing Editor of HorrorScope: The Australian Horror Web Log, and the Australian columnist for Hellnotes.

His website is www.jiraiya.com.au