FLIES

Housefly

That fly on your face,
It feeds.
That twitch in its legs,
It needs.
The blood that it craves,
It�s greed.
Your soul leaves its corpse,
It�s freed.
You haven�t a chance,
We cried.
You thought it was safe.
They lied.
They thought that you�d fled,
To hide.
You trusted the fly,
You died!

It was for roughly twenty minutes that Charles Dobson stood in line at the grocery store after a long day�s work substituting for a grade eight class at St. Smyrna elementary school. His day had started out poorly when all of his students decided to turn their desks all the way around so they�d face the other side of the room. When he�d entered the class and demanded they turn to face the proper direction, they tried to inform him they always sat that way.
And when two of his students insisted it was recess fifteen minutes before the bell was scheduled to ring, he tried to stop them initially, but eventually allowed them to leave, only to find out, once following them, that they had found a path to the school roof where they enjoyed smoking.
All day the students threw things at him, refused to work, dumped the garbage can over and fought with him about everything. Stating odd facts like, Mr. Johnston, the vice principal of the school, is really Mrs. Johnston; she simply enjoyed dressing like a man. She also liked to hit on all the substitute teachers, whether they were male or not. When Chuck stated that he knew this to be false, they argued with him for twenty minutes, demanding he ask the vice principal the truth. Finally he sent them there.
At the store, he was waiting to purchase a simple, goddamned pack of cigarettes, but the imbecile in front of him forgot his pin number for his Interac payment and was taking a hell of a long time attempting to remember it. When he�d finally made his purchase, he drove straight home and opened a bottle of tequila. His apartment was only half a block away and within fifteen minutes of leaving the grocery store he�d already knocked back half the bottle and was growing quite inebriated.
That night, television was as weak as usual, the only program of interest being the tortured dilemmas of the six o�clock news, which he hesitantly watched, but paid no real attention to. He was too busy troubling over work the next day. How was he going to get them to work? To pay attention to him?
By the time he�d finished eating his meal of plain macaroni mixed with stewed tomatoes and ground beef, oddly enough one of his favourite dishes, the news broadcast was over and Chuck was smashed.
There was a certain point of intoxication that Chuck often accomplished, but didn�t know existed. Mainly because his mind usually shut down by this point and he was comatose. Tonight was no exception; by seven thirty he threw his own possessions around the room in a rampage, yelling at no one but his empty apartment, and perhaps himself, while he threw ashtrays full of butts, glasses full of beverage, delicate electronics and various pieces of furniture. He knew, when he was sober, that he shouldn�t be mixing alcohol with his anxiety medication, but he, of course, never once remembered any of the episodes he�d had while boozing up, only awoke to terrible disasters the next morning with no recollection of what had occurred.
On some level, however, he knew he had to work at school the following day, and his anger at the students continuously reminded him of this dreadful fact. So on this particular evening, as he had originally planned, he went to bed and passed out earlier than usual, counting each of his heavy heartbeats to aid him; following the theory of the counted sheep, as he�d always done to help him sleep in the past.
Tonight he lay in bed, his eyes closed, counting the beats down backwards from two hundred, enunciating each syllable of each number in his head. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or possibly the heat, but Chuck found it rather difficult to settle down to slumber. Instead, he found himself envisioning brutal methods in which he could rid himself of the terrible children of the grade eight class. He saw himself standing behind his desk, facing the class and emptying clip after clip of his silenced Glock 9.mm into the screaming children. He saw his chainsaw tear into their delicate flesh, ripping them to pieces, silencing their snooty voices forever.
When he eventually found himself in dreamland, he spun through empty space, as if travelling some dimensional portal, spinning and twisting through empty air. Bright specs of light, like faraway stars, circled around him in a rainbow of red, blue and yellow; he spun ever quicker until they weren�t specs at all but long ribbons of light wrapping themselves around him.,
When he finally came to the end of the spiralling tunnel, he found himself on some strange, alien world. The ground here, which was a greyish greenie-pink colour, rolled in large hills that ended in steep canyoned crevices. The sky was crimson and didn�t seem to travel forever like the Earth�s, but rather ended abruptly in blackness.
Sitting along the sides of the canyons, as if betraying gravity, were yellowish, almost transparent, boulders. He approached one and was shocked to notice that it moved from within, as if some giant larva inside were struggling to escape. Its texture was spongy, perhaps even slightly mushy, to his touch and, when he pushed against it, it almost seemed as if it would give way and break.
Suddenly he was thrust through the portal again, spinning with the ribbons of light, as if they wrapped around him to drag him to his next destination. This time didn�t last as long as the other trek he�d taken, however, and soon he found himself suspended above the grisly world, looking down upon it from its bloody skies. And his heart almost stopped.
From above, he could clearly see the world for what it was, not a planet at all, but a human brain, clotted with large spores, or eggs. Perhaps those of some parasitic worm that burrowed itself into the very flesh of its host.
He awoke with a start and found himself sitting up in his bed at home. His flesh damp with sweat, he shivered in the dark room. He lay back down and curled himself into foetal position under the blankets. Soon after, he fell back into a dreamless sleep that lasted until the alarm rang a few hours later.
The following day, school was much more devastating than it had been the day before, right from the moment he arrived in the classroom. Prior to the eight thirty bell, his two favourite roof-climbing-cigarette-smokers appeared at his desk equipped with knives in each of their hands, threatening that he would lose his throat if he ever opened his mouth again. And to prove their seriousness, they gave him the gift of a scar on the back of his wrist, just in case he forgot to heed their warning later on.
He immediately informed the principal, and, in turn, the authorities. Ten minutes after the morning recess, they were arrested for uttering death threats and carrying concealed weapons in school.
It took the class roughly half an hour to quiet down from the excitement of the police entering the classroom to apprehend their classmates. But when they had finally calmed themselves, Chuck, with great difficulty, had them pull out their science essays, which were to be delivered orally, and present them to the class; he had them start in alphabetical order by first name. Anna Ruther began first with her report on Animal Behaviour.
She had somehow successfully managed to compare the differences between the many instincts followed throughout the many species of animals, and yet was able to maintain a smooth and fluid, essay. While he attempted to follow her essay, he struggled to ignore the intense buzzing which began to ring in his head, softly at first but soon much louder. To his distress, however, he found that the harder he fought to ignore the noise, the louder it became.
When she first began speaking of the different effects the seasons have on different species of an animal�s instinctual behaviour, her voice suddenly grew gargled as her neck somehow split itself open at the throat, spilling massive pools of her blood onto the floor within only seconds. Anna fell to the floor, dead, before she could complete her description of the first season, spring.
It took a couple seconds of understanding before the class broke out in frightened screams, unsure of how their classmate had perished, but terrified, nonetheless. As the class slowly broke out in a panicked frenzy, leaping from their desks and attempting to run to the door, Chuck noticed the young boy, Danny, he thought, in the back corner grasping at his throat in the same trend as Anna had done before she�d fallen to the floor.
Chuck rose to his feet to help the boy in the corner. On his way, however, his eyes fell upon the girl who had just reached the exit and was holding on to the doorknob, rattling it crazily; it wouldn�t open. He noticed that she too was trembling violently as her blood sprayed a mural upon the wall and door in front of her. The kids who were directly behind her had stopped running as soon as they noticed her brutal death and now also grasped at their throats, attempting to hold in the blood that sopped its� way across the room. By five after eleven that morning, all of Chuck�s students lay dead on the floor in an ocean of their own mixed blood; some still clutching at their throats as if they�d still contained their will to survive. All were dead from apparent slash wounds to the throat.
Chuck stood at the front of the class, dazed as he reviewed the situation, looking over his departed class in amazement. As aware as he was of the deep shit he suddenly found himself wading through, he couldn�t fight the feeling of satisfaction he received when he saw his disobedient students lying dead on the floor; recollecting the suffering they�d gone through seconds before they fell.
His approval, however, was short lived as realization deepened that he�d be the one and only suspect, accused for their brutal deaths. Even if there were a way to prove his innocence, though he thought that very unlikely, he knew he�d lose the privilege of working with students again. Although this particular class was disruptive and disobedient, on average he still very much loved his job. But he knew that, even though he may be found innocent of these crimes, the school board would never approve his teaching again. Most likely, he�d be thrown in prison for the remainder of his life. Since he really had no desire to be punished for a crime he�d not committed, he discerned his only option was a cover up. But, he wondered to himself, how do you cover up the death of twenty-eight eighth grade students, all of which are lying in the classroom of a busy school? Not to mention the massacre of blood that blanketed the room in crimson.
He started to panic, pacing back and forth from one end of the classroom to the other, stumbling over the bodies as he did; but no solution so much as neared the tip of his mind. It was already eleven thirty and lunch was to be called by quarter after twelve. He had only forty-five minutes to solve his dilemma.
As he frantically wandered around the room, his eye caught on the body of the first-dead, Anna. Upon a quick glimpse, her corpse appeared as if it were only half present, as if she�d already begun decomposing; though Chuck knew this to be impossible. As he further studied the body, however, he noticed that thousands of maggots had nested on her body. Feeding ravenously off her dying flesh they writhed, twisting around one another as if they were engaged in a morbid version of twister. Her corpse had indeed begun to vanish under the hungry tongue of the larvae. He stumbled away from the corpse in disgust, forcing the acid that rose to his throat to remain where it was, burning painfully in his chest. As he stumbled backwards he felt his leg slip out from under him and he tripped over the corpse of a young boy, landing parallel to the child. This corpse, too, was covered in hungry maggots that wriggled as if part of one large revolting mass. Chuck vomited, twisting his head violently to the left, away from the body. When he felt the last of his breakfast and morning coffee slip through his throat he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket and stood back up.
The majority of the bodies were already half consumed by the maggots, while others were all but devoured altogether, bones and all. Three of the four large windows on the northern wall of the class were covered with thousands of flies, none of which had been there only seconds earlier, all buzzing simultaneously, filling the air with a humming, crackling noise, as they pelted against the window to get out. Chuck froze with fear, too frightened to run, yet filled with such awe he couldn�t bring himself to look away from the spectacle. He watched as, one by one, each of the dead children completely vanished before his very eyes until naught but a few pieces of bone lay randomly throughout the room. That, and the insane roar of the flies, which now seemed to have doubled in mass, having grown at least to the size of a nickel. The maggots had all but disappeared, having metamorphosed to their fly state, leaving only the odd maggot to writhe on the floor until it, too, grew wings and slipped to the window.
Chuck, still shocked and very shaken by the ordeal, stumbled over to the windows, which were entirely covered by this point, and opened them one by one, releasing the flies upon the rest of the world. Only when all were gone did he close them again and slip into the chair behind his desk.
For a few moments he simply sat, hunched over with his head in his hands, contemplating his next step. The evidence may be mostly gone, but he was sure to be the prime suspect when his entire class went missing. He had to leave town, and he had to do it tonight.
He had thirty-five minutes left until lunch.
He began to pick up the remaining pieces of bone and, after killing them, the rest of the maggots as well, dropping them into a garbage bag. It took him roughly ten minutes to ensure the bones and maggots were gone, then he turned to the blood. Granted, the maggots had devoured some of it, however there was still quite a bit of it pasted on the door and walls with spots of it here and there on the floor. Several of the student�s desks were also painted red. Chuck went to the art cupboard and pulled out several rags that were covered with paint, slowly and tediously he began wiping off the blood. As each rag became too saturated, he�d throw it in the bag with the bones and start using another. He�d been wiping at the blood for twenty minutes, and was finally having a difficult time finding the remaining spots, when there was a knock at the door.
He stood motionless for a brief second, like a deer caught in the headlights of a raging car, then quickly placed the finger bone he�d been holding onto in his inside jacket pocket. He dashed behind his desk, and after grabbing them from atop the desk, hid the bag and rags under it. There was another brief knock then the door opened. Mr. Johnston, the school vice-principal, came walking in, smiling. When he saw the empty classroom, however, his visage changed to concern.
�Where are the kids?� Mr. Johnston asked.
� I have to leave early to run some errands,� He lied. �So I let them go a few minutes early.� His voice was shaky and nervous, but Mr. Johnston didn�t seem to notice.
�Oh,� The vice-principal responded, �Just wanted to come in and remind you about the career week assembly this afternoon. The students are expected to bring their notebooks.�
Chuck shook his head in acknowledgement and turned to erase the board. He heard Mr. Johnston turn to leave, creaking the door open slightly wider, when he stopped and asked,
�What�s that?�
As the vice-principal asked the question, Chuck could hear him begin to walk across the room towards the windows. Chuck turned around, watching him, hoping he hadn�t seen any evidence of the killings. When he arrived at the windows, he carefully examined one of their sills, running his finger along the wood. He stepped back, as if in awe.
�Were one of the children injured?� He asked, his voice rose in concerned inflection.
�No,� Chuck said, �I killed a fly earlier.�
�Seems like a lot of blood for a fly.� Mr. Johnston countered.
But before Chuck could reply, the humming began again, a little louder than before.
�No�� He whispered. But Mr. Johnston wouldn�t have heard him if he�d yelled it, for blood poured out of his ears, ran down his cheeks and where it dripped, puddled on the floor. Chuck walked over to him, and saw that every orifice on his face was bleeding, massive spurts of blood splattered on the floor, not unlike some of the abstract artwork created by the students that hung on the walls. His eyes, ears, nose and mouth were bleeding so profusely that the vice-principal fell to the floor within seconds. Again, the body covered itself with maggots, which instantly went hungrily to work, and again, the corpse was gone within minutes. The maggots matured into flies within another few minutes and flew against the windows, pelting them hard with a tick�tick tickticktick.
Chuck let them out as well, closing the window behind them. They all flew in their own direction, forming brilliant spiralled patterns in the air before they broke away from each other and travelled their own paths.
Back in the classroom, Chuck quickly returned to work, cleaning up the extra pieces of bone, blood and flesh left behind by Mr. Johnston, and scrubbing the remaining splatters of blood. As he dropped the last dirty rag into the bag, the school bell rang, signalling lunch for the entire school. Chuck strapped the bag over his shoulder and walked out of the classroom, locking it behind him.
He moved quickly through the school, manoeuvring through the swarm of children who each travelled in their own direction, preparing for lunch. As he weaved in and out of the rushing children, passing the odd teacher here and there, he knocked a small girl of six or seven down. She flew, her body half headed towards the floor and half sidestepped into a locker, and she hit the locker face first. Her head bent dangerously to her shoulder as she crudely bounced off the locker and fell to the floor, hard. He continued to rush quickly down the hall, in and out of the children as if in some brutal street race. He didn�t stop to check on the girl�s safety, barely, in fact, noticed her at all.
Finally he got out of the school and arrived at his car in the teacher�s parking lot. He hurriedly searched the keys he�d pulled out of his pocket as he ran through the halls and chose the key for his car. He threw the door open and sat in the vehicle, slamming the door shut, with a loud bang and a crunch, behind him. He started the engine.
Someone knocked on his window.
He jumped, nearly out of his skin, and twisted his head in the direction of the knock, he�d turned it too fast and it burned with minor whiplash. He�d spun around to find Miss. Hendricks, the grade 4 and five teacher, bent at his window, ogling him through the dusty glass. Today she wore make-up in anticipation of his return, as if that would make him like her more than he currently did, which was not at all! If anything, he found her that much more annoying, with her pitiful attempts to pretty herself and her poor attempt at sophisticated speech. He�d met her a few months back when he�d had to substitute for the grade seven class, and she�d been all over him since then, asking him home, and, on some desperate occasions, to the school bathrooms. As lonely as Chuck was, however, he could never allow himself to touch this woman. He could never tolerate his already too low self-esteem diminishing any further.
He rolled the window down and asked her what she wanted, not hiding the desperation in his voice, so as she�d understand the rush he was in.
� Hey Charlie, I�ve missed you so,� She told him, � I thought we might get together for lunch-�
Without allowing her to finish he shifted his car into reverse, squealed out of his spot, turning the car to the left, then jammed it into drive, slammed on the gas and pulled out of the lot. In his rear view mirror, Miss. Hendricks stood, blank look on her face, and watched as he drove out onto the street, turned left and sped out of sight. He knew if he�d bothered to talk to her, or rather be talked at by her, she�d wind up sitting next to him in is own damn car; not to mention her ceaseless, useless jabbering, she�d never shut up. He had no time for that, not today.
He sped down Main Street, heading towards his apartment.
As if he were destined to be caught for the crimes he�d not committed, from behind sirens wailed and blue and red lights flashed, signalling for him to pull over. He signalled a right turn, directed the car towards the curb and slowed to a halt, placing the car in park. The garbage bag sat just under the dash of the passenger side, peeking out slightly.
He unrolled the driver side window before the cop arrived, after all, he wasn�t guilty, he had nothing to hide, per se. Immediately the cop asked for his licence and registration. As he eyed the identification, he asked Chuck if he knew how fast he�d been driving.
�Sorry officer,� He started, � I wasn�t paying attention. I�ve had a terrible day so far and I just wanted to get home. You know how it is sometimes?�
�Yeah�sometimes.� The cop exclaimed. � Wait here a minute.� And he walked back to his cruiser with Chuck�s ID.
What seemed like eternity later, the cop finally returned and handed chuck his identification, along with a speeding ticket for fifty-five dollars.
� I�m giving you this ticket to teach you something. No matter what the situation, you can�t race around like that. And for Christ�s sake, pay attention, you almost side swiped a vehicle back there.� The cop lectured, � Besides, you�ve never-�
Something caught the cop�s eye; it was the garbage bag on the floor. Even as the cop noticed the bag, Chuck knew he was busted. He knew that somewhere on the bag there must be a spot of blood, or perhaps a fragment of bone had pierced, and was now sticking through the plastic, normally invisible, but to the trained eye�
�What�s in the bag?� The cop demanded, his hand slipping down to free the buckle on his holster.
�Just some old paint rags from school,� Chuck responded, voice quivering ever so slightly.
Sir, I�m going to have to ask you to turn off the vehicle and step out of the car, hands on your head.
The buzzing returned, seemingly more menacing than it�d been before. And louder.
No� Chuck thought to himself as he realised what was happening, but even as the words spun through his head, he knew it was too late.
Although most didn�t notice, still, some of the bystanders who walked the street that day saw the policeman beside a car he�d apparently just pulled over, many would recollect that he was desperately clutching at his throat. Some even noticed the blood that squirted out from between his fingers. They stopped and watched as the cop slowly crumpled to the ground, painted in his own blood and, for those close enough to hear, gurgling and choking on it as well.
Even as Chuck squealed away from the curb, the corpse of the cop became mauled with thousands of hungry maggots. As he ran through the red light a block and a half away, the body had already decomposed and the flies flown away. Chuck glanced in his mirror and saw many people standing where the dead cop used to be. He almost chuckled. Almost.
Half way home, he stopped in a back alley and threw the bag into a garbage dumpster, pushing the bag deep under other bags of trash to keep it hidden. As he walked back to his car, he glanced to his left and saw a group of teenagers leaning up against a garage door several houses down. From this distance, he couldn�t tell if they were paying him any attention, but he very easily recognized the awful humming that rang in his head. He had feared that perhaps they were watching him and, when the missing children were reported on the news, and civilians were asked to report strange sightings to the authorities, these boys might call him in. But as he stepped back into his car and drove away down the alley, trying not to concentrate on the buzzing, he knew they were taken care of.
At home, he packed a small suitcase with a few of the essentials; Several changes of clothes, a few important toiletries that he�d need for the next few days, and seven hundred thousand dollars.
He was an only child, so when his mother had died of leukemia several years ago, she�d left him a cool million which, of course, translated to a little less than eight-hundred and fifty thousand after the government played with the figures. He�d kept that money in the bank for a little over a year, until he realised that, after all the bank charges were deducted, it wasn�t making any money, but rather, losing it. So he withdrew it all and placed it behind a loose brick in his kitchen, inconveniently, though, usefully convenient at the same time, behind his fridge.
It pretty much sat there until today. He�d picked at it here and there over the years when he felt he deserved to spend a little excess money on non-necessities as a reward for overworking himself, as he very often did. So he owned a few luxuries. Usually, however, he felt it was wrong to enjoy the money, and there was no one else in his life to spend it on. It had, after all, come to him with the cost of his mother�s life. To some people, most definitely for Chuck, these were hard terms to settle with.
He closed the bag, threw on a jacket, picked up his car keys and rushed for the door. He stood with it opened for a few moments, taking one last glance in his apartment as if saying goodbye to his past, then he closed the door, locking it forever.
Back on the road, he headed for the airport. Although he�d never flown out of country before, he�d needed ID a few years back, so he�d obtained his passport. He never considered it as being all that useful until today. Today it could mean the difference between life or death, or at least, at a bare minimum, between freedom and being captured and thrown into a government jail, where they spiced your food with saltpeter to make you impotent; he�d learned several years back that many criminal institutions couldn�t prevent the amount of rapes that occurred daily without it. He couldn�t handle the government programs that you had to take if you wanted any chance of early release. The programs that were designed by government officials to brain fuck you into following their desired social order.
He hoped his passport would mean his freedom.
He only had the one suitcase, which was fairly small, so he checked it in as a carry on when he arrived at the airport. He went and purchased a few snacks for the flight, though he was sure they�d be serving food, and what ever else he wanted in first class, a crossword book and, finally, his ticket, window seat. After a good twenty minutes walk through the airport, he finally arrived at his gate and went to board the plane. He passed through security during his entire travel through the airport with no excitement, which was a surprise to Chuck. He�d thought for sure that all the missing children would have been reported by now, his picture posted on every channel from two to fifteen. Once that happened, he knew things would become extremely difficult.
Things, however, finally seemed to be going his way, he sat at his designated seat in first class, but not until the beautiful stewardess had taken his jacket for him and asked what his drink was. He ordered a double jack and coke.
The plane waited twenty-five minutes before it finally took off, so he�d already had four drinks, all doubles, and was feeling quite mellow.
The plane took off with no dilemma, and drifted high above the few clouds that hovered softly in the sky. After staring out the window for some time, watching the ground below, he eventually drifted to sleep, though afterwards he couldn�t determine when, exactly, he�d finally been hit by slumber.
And this time it hit hard, for his dreams were as terrible as the earlier events that day. Full of horrible massive flies, each equipped with razor sharp legs, at the end of which were tarsi with pinpoint claws. The hairs on its legs and abdomen were longer than that of the average fly and each hair was hard and hooked, acting as small barbs. Their wings were giant serrated blades, as if these mutant flies were from a dense jungle where passage through the foliage was difficult, and had hence been given these adapted bodies and skills.
The giant flies spawned massive, grotesque eggs the size of large cocoons. Before enough time had passed that these eggs could develop into ready-to-hatch larvae, the soft shells pressed themselves outward, ballooning and shape shifting until they gave way and massive maggots uncurled themselves from within. At full length, it seemed impossible that these larvae could have fit in the eggs they�d just escaped from, for they were at least double the size.
Even as Chuck pondered his dream revelation, the maggots transformed into the flies they were destined to become. And they simply flew off; each in it�s own preferred direction away from the rest of the swarm. Each searching instinctively for it�s particular spawning ground where it could fulfill its cycle, its God-given destiny.
And Suddenly Chuck was standing outside his own body, looking down upon himself as the children in the last classroom he�d never see again fell to the floor in despair, cradling themselves in foetal position as their unseen attackers began to devour them even as they pulled in their last few gurgled breaths of blood. And slowly, painfully he saw them die, wondering what was happening, whispering desperately for their parents through uncontrolled sobs. And as the room fell silent, none were the wiser for what had transpired.
But Chuck new, he could see it all. Flies, one by one, drifted out of his ears, flying into the mouths and ears of the screaming children. He understood clearly now that he was the carrier of these terrible pests, he was responsible for their deaths after all.
But how?
Then he saw himself sitting in the passenger seat of his car, staring out the driver side window, passed himself and towards the cop. He could hear the cop questioning about the bag on the floor. And again the flies drifted out from within his own ears. They flew like trained fighter pilots, spinning and spiralling around the cop�s neck until they found their opening for attack and flew in, down his throat.
And he saw them in the cop�s throat somehow, as if his dream traveling body had slipped itself into the very being of the dying man. The flies scratched at the layers of skin, like a cat in it�s litter-box, and spawned out their large eggs, adhering them to the gaps they�d created in the skin of the cop with a thick grey-brown fluid which spewed out from their over-extended proboscis�. And then they died.
Within seconds, he saw the eggs hatch into maggots, which almost immediately shed the first of their skins as they began feeding first upon their dead parents, hen upon the inside of the cop�s throat. Seconds later they moulted again, shedding their second, then third skins. Unlike their relatives, these maggots did not rest while they metamorphosed, but rather kept on feeding during the whole process. He heard the cop scream as his throat tore open, releasing the fresh flies into the open air.
And suddenly Chuck was in the airplane again.
At first, he thought the scream had come from somewhere in the plane itself, perhaps he himself had released the horrible shriek. As he awoke further, however, he realised it�d called out from deep within his dream, from the world he had once thought of as an escape from the painful planes of the real world; now he viewed it solely as a nightmare world which no longer held the comfort he�d often sought in the past.
Chuck was soaked in his own sweat, and the chills hit him immediately. He rubbed at his arms and legs in an attempt to dry them off, to begin the warming process. But the warmth couldn�t comfort him quickly enough, so when the stewardess came around next, he asked her if she could fetch his jacket for him. She asked if he needed anything else, and when he responded with a negative, she left to get him the jacket.
when she returned, she handed it to him, holding it up by its base, hanging it upside down. When Chuck reached for it, the finger bone he�d hidden in his inside pocket fell out and hit the floor with a soft thud. He saw it immediately and held his breath as he watched the face of the stewardess to see if she�d noticed the grisly clue. When she released the jacket to his possession and walked away down the isle, he exhaled again and reached down to pick up the bone.
That�s when the buzzing commenced again.
He sat up quickly, grasping the bone tightly in his hand, and searched around the plane. Across the isle from Chuck sat an elderly lady who sat in the isle seat beside an elderly man, whom Chuck assumed was her husband. She stared at him intensely, eyes wide and mouth gapped open. The buzzing grew louder in his head as her throat tore open, spraying blood across the floor, the seat in front of her and her husband. She fell within seconds to the isle floor, her husband screaming for her by name, asking if she were ok. Her name was Edna. Even as he continued to scream, standing up to rush to his wife�s side, Edna�s husband�s neck tore open, dropping him instantly to the floor in a gurgle of blood.
Chuck stood up, screaming to no one in particular.
�NO�NOT HERE�NOT NOW�NO�FUCK NO�FUCK�FUCK�NOOOOO!�
By this time, other passengers in first class had heard the commotion and stood up to run to the aid of the victims upon the floor. Their awe couldn�t be expressed enough as the bodies began to vanish before their eyes. Chuck continued to scream as, one by one, the other passengers hit the floor, some grasping at their throats while others swiped at their faces as blood poured from each of their every orifices. Soon, all the passengers in first class were dead, seemingly having ripped at their own faces and throats; but chuck continued to scream, for the humming had not ceased.
He ran from first to second class, still desperately screaming, and hoped to God he wouldn�t meet the same massacre he was fleeing from. To his horror, everyone in coach lay dead in one massive pool of blood. The crimson mixture of all those who were dead pooled and flooded into the galley, from where he could hear a few muffled screams.
He ran in that direction.
Before he got to the back, the plane hit a terrible pocket of air and turbulence knocked him to the floor. He slid in the giant lake of blood as the plane shook and rumbled, then took a dive.
He stood up again, determined to view their fate, wishing, hoping, praying that somehow they would be spared.
Of course, he was wrong.
The plane continued to hurtle to the ground, and Chuck could tell by the erratic movements of the plane that no one attempted to straighten it. He didn�t need to run in to the cockpit to know why. The pilots were already dead.
He stopped screaming.
He sat down on the seat nearest him. In the chair beside him a pair of earphones were connected to the audio output of a panel on the back of the seat in front. He picked them up and placed them on his head.
The plane fell, obtaining astounding speed with every second that passed, approaching closer and closer to the hard ground below.
Chuck let out a forced, but loud and believable laugh as, on the television overhead, Homer Simpson cried his infamous �Doh,� and grabbed his son tightly by the neck.
The plane continued to plunge.
Marge politely asked her husband to stop choking their son.
Chuck laughed.
The plane hit the ground nose first, thrusting the cockpit halfway through the fuselage, where Chuck sat watching television.
As he let loose his final spurt of laughter, the seat in front of him buckled and thrust into his forehead, flinging it backwards and snapping his neck bone literally away from his spine.
Finally the buzzing ended in a massive explosion of twisted metal and airplane fuel.

Several miles away Ned Sorntan turned the lawn mower off to listen to his wife bellow at him from the front porch, not that he expected to hear anything important from her, probably just more orders, but it�d be worse for him if he ignored her.
� Why haven�t you fixed the fuckin� kitchen faucet yet?� She yelled to him in her annoying shrilly voice.
�I haven�t had-�
�You�d better hurry the hell up� She interrupted, then headed back into he house, slamming the door shut behind her. Ned wouldn�t have been surprised to hear a click as she locked him out of the house.
�If only you�d hurry to Hell!� He murmured to himself. He�d tired of her many years ago, but stayed for the same reason most men stayed with their unwanted wives, he didn�t want to lose his kids. He started the lawnmower again and continued with his job, all the time thinking of the many different ways he could rid himself of her, but without being caught.
Even over the roar of the mower, he could hear the buzzing vibrating deep in his head.
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