Raising Worms

It was a quarter past ten on a cold, clear night, when I tiptoed down the hall and opened the front door to answer the three loud knocks that I had heard just moments before. I opened it slightly and saw a man carrying a long, thin box. Cautiously, I stepped out into the cool air, and said, “May I help you?” The man stepped closer into the porch light, and I saw that his long gray hair was tied back into a ponytail. He smiled and stuck out his hand for me to shake. I took it, but released it right away, repeating my question with a hint of annoyance. “Tucker Spence,” he said, his voice as smooth as silk.

Tucker handed me the package that he was holding, and said quietly, “Take care of them.” Then, as quickly as he came, he was gone.

I stood there, bewildered, and wondered who this man was and what he had given me. However, my curiosity got the better of me, and I went back inside and opened the box. Inside, there was only a note taped clumsily on the surface of another box. I read the note first, which said, “Trust me, and raise them.” Confused, I ripped open the smaller box.

When I touched the object inside, I immediately felt its cool, hard nature. Upon lifting it out, however, I nearly had a heart attack. Inside a glass box were about ten worms, squirming and slithering in all different directions. I shrieked, and after putting the box back on the counter, I sat down to regain composure. After about five minutes, I stood up and read the note again, seeing if I missed an explanation. Unfortunately, there was no explanation, other than the fact that these worms were supposedly special.

“It wouldn’t kill me to keep them, would it?” I thought out loud. One part of my mind wanted to raise them, just to see what would be special about them. Another part, however, was telling me to get rid of them. But again, the curious part of me won over, and I placed the worms on my bedside table. I then wondered what I would feed them, so I opened the cover of my laptop and searched about a worm’s diet.

Each day, once before and once after work, I fed the worms little scraps of vegetables, fruits, and any other leftovers. Every time I fed them, they seemed to double in size, and in a few days, I had to let them free in the backyard. I thought that perhaps this was their specialty. There was an unexplainable fondness that I developed for them, however, and when I wasn’t with them, I felt a certain longing and emptiness for them.

Mysteriously, I couldn’t explain the way that I wasn’t feeling myself. At work, I hit, kicked, screamed, and got myself fired, but I couldn’t remember doing anything bad. I also started feeling insecure, and carried a knife with me everywhere, threatening people to use it. When I did these things, I could feel my body moving and my mouth talking, but I didn’t feel completely in control of myself.

With each passing day, I grew more and more scared of the way I was feeling, but I didn’t want to admit it to anyone, although I wasn’t sure why.

One bitterly cold evening, with the snow falling heavily outside, I was feeding my beloved worms, when I realized that I knew how the worms felt. My eyes widened as realization struck. My mind was being controlled by the worms, and I could see their thoughts as well. A replay of recent events proved my guess was correct. I was almost triumphant that I had reasoned why I was feeling odd, but the happiness was washed away with a feeling of dread. I sensed that the worms knew that I realized their secret, and I could see the fury in their eyes. I kneeled down and braced myself for the coming. After that, I didn’t know or feel what had happened, and only heard a familiar voice, smooth as silk, cackling with glee at my misery.