Greetings, dearest readers. A few days ago The Book of Hangman celebrated one full year online, and in celebration of such a milestone I have decided to celebrate it in the only way befitting the celebration of such a celebration-worthy occasion: by using the word “celebration” a lot. And also posting a story about a worm. Yes, it’s fitting in a “not really fitting at all” kind of way. I do hope you enjoy my worm. Originally written on the 28th February 2017.
Clarence sat and waited patiently as the creature crawled out of his nose. It twisted and wriggled, even screamed a little – Clarence thought it might be stuck – but eventually it fell out and landed with a splash in his cornflakes.
The thing’s tiny head emerged from the surface and looked up at him. “Hello,” it said hesitantly.
“Hello,” replied Clarence.
It was some sort of worm, a pale orange in colour with streaks of black running up and down its sides. Maybe it was a wireworm.
“Who are you?” asked Clarence, picking up his spoon.
“I’m Fletcher,” stated the thing, shaking its head free of a soggy cornflake. “Get me out of this bowl, please”.
Clarence scooped the creature up and let it wriggle off the spoon and onto the table with a plop.
“Now,” began Fletcher, craning his neck and looking around the kitchen. “Where am I?”
Clarence regarded the odd little thing on his kitchen table for a moment. It had been some time since a creature had emerged from his nose. Many years in fact. He’d thought that had all stopped now, that’s what the exorcist had told him anyway. “No more beasties,” Reverend Scott had promised as he fired a water pistol containing holy water up Clarence’s nose. “No more beasties”.
“You’re in my kitchen,” replied Clarence, motioning around the room with a gesture which Fletcher followed, nodding.
“I see,” mused the worm. “And tell me, how do I get back home?”
This was always the problem. Whenever something crawled out of Clarence’s nose it always wanted to go right back home again. A slug-like creature had once told him it had performed a magical ritual with a coven of witch slugs and a portal had appeared, it had been the bravest slug-thing and so offered to enter it. That’s when it had found itself in Clarence’s nose. Clarence’s friends had reasoned that he must have a portal to another dimension up there. Clarence thought they were probably right.
“I don’t know,” said Clarence, picking up the spoon again. “None of the others ever made it back home”.
“What others?” asked Fletcher, looking rather concerned.
“Oh, you know. The others”. Clarence raised the spoon high above the trembling worm.
“You wouldn’t…” whispered Fletcher in horror as it dawned on him what this giant was about to do.
“I have to. If I don’t, I’ll be forced to believe you things actually exist, and I can’t let that happen again. It would drive me insane. No, I have to kill you so you don’t disturb my mind. Sorry”.
“Wait!” screamed the worm, trying desperately to flip itself out of the way of the descending cutlery. But it was too late. With a dull splat Fletcher was crushed to death.
Clarence flicked the soggy remains off the table and threw the spoon into the sink. “And I don’t appreciate you ruining my breakfast either”.