Sting

A Short Story by

David Wampler

Copyright David Wampler All rights reserved

No part of this work of fiction may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial use permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

When first I encountered the wretched creature, I was stricken to the core with a terrible fear. The same kind of fear you feel when walking barefoot, and then feeling something slimy and disgusting underfoot. For the first moment or two, you're filled with the certainty that the thing you've stepped on is a huge spider or a slithery snake. That's how I felt that hot August evening while walking along the dirt path back to my house. I had been down at the pond that separates my property from old man McGuire's land. Old McG (as I had grown accustomed to referring to him as) had no home on his side of the pond. The grassy, wooded land was mostly used for cattle grazing and the occasional hunter or fisherman. I'd been down there to relax for awhile under the shade tree and ended up dozing off for a few hours. When I woke up, I realized that I had slept though my usual supper time, so I was very hungry. While contemplating whether to grill out some chicken, or to just throw something in the old microwave, I heard the most peculiar sound. It can only be described as a clacking. Much like the sound of a couple of horses trotting, out of synch, along a cobblestone street. It started out faintly, then it grew louder as it grew closer. I stopped when I came to the conclusion that it wasn't just a figment of my sleep fogged imagination.

When I stopped, it stopped. Maybe it's something on me, I thought, or something in my pocket. I patted myself down like I'd do when preparing to leave the house, touching upon every pocket. All the familiar items were in their place: Keys, wallet, cigarettes & lighter, cell phone. All accounted for, nothing more, nothing less. I figured my mind was playing tricks on me, due to the impromptu napping session, and, upon taking the first step, I heard it again. I kept walking at a steady pace, although I must admit it was a much more brisk pace than before. The clacking kept up with me, never getting louder or softer as I went. I began to grow more and more nervous. Still a good 300 yards or so from the house, I finally broke into a jog. Sensing no change, the jog became an all-out sprint. The sound lagged behind a bit, then quickly caught up and matched my speed. My nervousness elevated into the category of fear, but still not quite terror. The terror came a few moments later; It came when I realized the sound was becoming louder. It was gaining on me, and I was going just about as fast as I could. Fifteen or twenty years earlier I could have probably managed to kick it up a notch or two, but not now. The effects of years of smoking and poor diet choices reared their ugly heads. As it were, I was lucky to have been able to maintain my

present pace as long as I had. I ducked under a branch and cleared the woods. I could see the house ahead. It was still a good 100 yards away, though. I shot a quick glance back over my shoulder. That's when I first saw it. I didn't have time to fully register what I was seeing though. All I knew was that it was about the size of a small dog. And it was white. I was out of breath and not really running so much as lumbering. I couldn't afford to look back more than a split second, and I sure as hell wasn't about to stop; So, it was kind of a blur. The house was getting closer and closer but the clacking was too. I was sure that, even if by some miracle, I made it to the door, I would soon pass out from a heart attack, or heat stroke, or some other such malady. If not, I would still be a goner. I knew that I would never be able to open the door, get inside, and shut the door, before the thing followed me in. It was already hot on my heels. I didn't know what it was, but I knew it was going to get me. That sound told me all I needed to know. The something behind me was relentless. It had pursued me all the way from the pond, determined to catch me and do God knew what to me, - Kill me; Eat me; Perhaps even rape me. I had no idea. Speculating of it's intentions did me no good at all it only made my pulse quicken even more and my head ache worse still - but I couldn't help it.

Just as I made it to the door of the large, white, two story colonial and reached for the brass doorknob, a sudden rush of searing pain shot up from my Achilles tendon, all the way to my left knee. I dropped to down to one knee, unable to bear any weight on the injured foot. Fuck Me! I screamed through clenched teeth. The warm blood gushed into my sneaker, soaking my foot and sock. This is it, I thought. This is how it happens. Many times over the years I had imagined how I might die when the time finally came. As a kid in school, I once sat in 10th grade algebra II class, and I envisioned myself water skiing at the lake at Ryder Valley. I would waver and take a nasty spill, never coming back up. I would sink deeper and deeper, the sunlight fading along with my life. Being so disoriented that I'd lose sense of which way is up. Kicking and flailing in vain as my oxygen deprived lungs finally take in an involuntary breath of murky water. Coughing violently, forcing another lungful... then another. Mercifully losing consciousness as the final small iota of life force slowly wanes. Bored out of my head, sitting at home one day, sipping a glass of fresh squeezed lemonade, I morbidly conjured an image of myself trapped in a room with no windows, in a house engulfed in roaring flames. The smoke and heat playing second fiddle to the intense fire licking and searing my flesh. Skin

and hair becoming one. Sizzling meat, at first a world of agony, giving way to dead nerve cells going numb. Bones baking, encased in a wrapping of cooked muscle, fat and sinew; Basted by boiling blood being spewed forth by bursting vessels and arteries. In my head, at one point in time or another, I had been stabbed, shot, drowned, burnt, poisoned, skinned, hanged, starved, beaten, decapitated, frozen, struck by lightening, the list goes on and on... But never, in all my years of life, did I ever - in my wildest fantasies of death - imagine dying like this. Dying like WHAT exactly? I asked myself. I still didn't even know what the hell it was that I was being attacked by. Accepting the fact the I would certainly die if I did nothing, I decided it was time to turn and face my enemy. Who knew, I might even have a fighting chance. The incessant clacking had died down to the occasional intermittent clack. But it was still right behind me. It was as though it were waiting for me to face it; Like it was my turn to make a move in some twisted game of Death Checkers. I pivoted around on my knee and attempted an improvised roundhouse kick with my good leg. Then, just like that, I had two bad legs. Because the clumsy venture to emulate Chuck Norris was met with a pure

white, razor-sharp, serrated pincer that smoothly slid through my lower calf, meeting bone. I shrieked in pain, not bothering with the teeth clench; it didn't really help anyway. My eyes gazed in horror at the offender. They followed the - now blood soaked - white pincer, down to the body it was connected to. It was a brilliant, bright-white scorpion. And as far as scorpions go, it was HUGE. As I noted before, it was about the size of a small dog or a very large cat. That was just the main body, though. If you measured it by pincer span much like measuring a bird by wing span it was much larger. Not to mention the stinger that bobbed at the end of it's segmented tail curled up and poised, ready to strike. It was, hands down, the most frightening thing I had ever laid eyes upon; At the same time, it was also the most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes upon. The beautifully gruesome animal clacked both pincers at me in unison. It suddenly lunged forward with surprising quickness and grasped my bleeding legs. Then, before I even saw it coming, it buried the tip of the stinger directly into the center of my gut. All in the time it took me to realize what had just happened, It let me go, took a few steps back, and then it turned and scuttled away. Although, what I thought had happened and what actually had happened were two entirely different affairs. My first clue to this fact came when the pain ceased. It didn't gradually

fade or seem to change to a dull throb - it simply vanished. It was as if it had never been there at all. One moment my legs were white hot pokers of torment, and the next moment they didn't even feel the burn from the sprinting they had endured. Then it came to me that it wasn't just my legs that felt the sense of renewal. My whole body felt like it had when only the first decade of five had been spent: Seething with energy and life; The stiffness of joints - from my high school years spent in the gridiron gone. I felt ready and itching to go run and frolic and play tag and climb trees. My jeans and shoes were still covered with blood, but the bleeding itself had stopped. The crimson had already began to turn to rust as it dried to a gummy stickiness, with no fresh gusts taking it's place. I looked hesitantly at my belly, fearing the mess I would find. I lifted my shirt gently and stared in awe at the absence of gore, not only of blood, but also of any sign of a wound at all. I'd fully expected to find a deep puncture or perhaps even a gash, from which my internal organs would surely be leaking. But no... if not for the drying blood and gaping holes in my jeans and shirt, I would have been more than a little bit inclined to think that I had imagined the events of the past ten minutes entirely. In the spot where I was sure the fiend's stinger had entered, there was only the smooth pale skin of my unharmed abdomen.

As a matter of fact, it was more than just unharmed, it looked better than it had in years. Gone was the bit of extra poundage that had caused me to graduate to wearing extra-large shirts. Not only was the flab gone but I seemed to have added some muscle. Not to be bragging, but I was ripped. I used to be in good shape, once, when I was a much younger man, but I had never been able to put in the work or deny myself the pleasure of cheeseburgers long enough to attain the perfect six-pack I was now sporting. I figured I had to be hallucinating. The toxins from the giant albino scorpion had obviously caused me to lose touch with reality, I thought. Then, upon further contemplation, I realized just how fucked up I sounded did I just seriously entertain the thought that I had been poisoned to the point of seeing shit that wasn't there, by being stung by a giant albino scorpion? So... what the hell bit/stung me to make me see the scorpion in the first place?, I asked myself aloud. I could not come up with an answer that didn't make me sound either crazy or retarded. I resolved to give myself the true test: I had to stand up. If I could succeed in standing upright without immediately doing a face-plant, then I would know, beyond all doubt, that this was truly happening.

Giving myself no time to think, I sprung to my feet as quickly as someone who had fallen and wanted to get back up before anyone saw. I stood still for a second to make sure it wasn't a fluke. I wouldn't have been surprised in the least if I had suddenly collapsed. But, I didn't. I took a few tentative steps forward. No pain. No evidence of damage. Not even a limp. I surveyed the landscape, scanning the field and treeline for any small glimpse of the scorpion. It had disappeared. I could only assume it had went back to wherever it had come from. Was it a hidden lair in the woods, a portal to another world, a door to an alternate universe - or another dimension I had no idea. I turned and opened the door, stepped inside, stripped naked, and headed up the stairs to clean myself up. I entered the bathroom and shut the door. I turned the water on for a shower and stepped into the tub, drawing the curtain. I stood there for about five minutes, eyes closed, just letting the water run over me. Finally I got on with the washing, then got out. I stopped cold upon spying my naked body in the full sized mirror on the back of the door. I was absolutely astounded at the sight of the changes that had taken place. I marveled in utter amazement at the Adonis staring back at me. It was undeniably me, but it was a drastically new and improved version.

I looked the way I had always wanted myself to look: Leaner; Bigger; Stronger; Even a bit taller. I smiled at the superior doppelganger and observed that even my teeth were in perfect condition. It could have been a trick of the light, - although I highly doubt it but my hair (which had been thinning more and more every year since I'd turned thirty) somehow appeared to be thicker and shinier than ever before. I even had an immaculate five o'clock shadow sprouting on my face that had become two shades darker than the hair up top. Before the sting, it had always been the same shade as all the rest of my hair. It was literally the body of my dreams. My father once told me that if you ever look at or hear of something, and then deem it to be 'too good to be true', then it probably is. With that advice in mind, I had always kept a wary eye open for crooks and con-artists. Sheisters and grifters. Users and Posers. What I was experiencing seemed too good to be true. I looked and felt 20 years younger, and on top of that, I had transformed into an example of what a perfect specimen of a human should be. I studied myself in the mirror. Looking for anything out of sorts. I had a bodybuilder physique, a head full of thick healthy hair, I felt great, and even my um...you know what... looked bigger. I was as thrilled as I was suspicious.

But, there was something - I just couldn't quit seem to pinpoint it. Something about the bodybuilding reference had struck a chord. Then it hit me; it was my skin. I had been too caught up in the big picture to notice the details. My skin was certainly healthy and unblemished, but it was not the skin of a bodybuilder. A bodybuilder's skin is usually tanned... extremely tanned. Whether or not the tan is natural is always a point of debate, but natural or not, there is always a tan. The skin I was looking at wasn't tanned. Far from it, actually. The skin that I was looking at was almost white. Albino white. I abandoned the mirror to get a closer look. Holding out my arm, I inspected the skin with perfect 20/20 vision, I must add on my bicep. I didn't see anything except unnaturally white skin at first, but the longer I stared, the more my anxiousness grew. Just under the surface of the skin I could see tiny lines, like small blood vessels that carried milk instead of blood, pulsating and stretching. They were solid white and they appeared to be growing... spreading like little white vines. I squeezed my arm for a moment and let go. There was a brief hand-print, formed in my regular skin color, that gradually turned back to white as the vessels filled back in. The scorpion, I thought. Had it done this to me? I could think of only two possibilities: The first was that the scorpion's venom from the sting had caused this change

in me. That it had injected some kind of substance that now coursed through my body, making me more than the man I had been. But then this would mean that the scorpion was already exactly what it's supposed to be... what it was born as. If so, then where had it come from? It would be almost inconceivable the think that it was, in any way, naturally evolved from anything that currently existed on Earth. The second explanation could be that it was the scorpion that had been infected first, and it had just passed along the favor. Perhaps it had once just been a regular old run-of-themill brown scorpion. Not much bigger than a pack of the cigarettes that I no longer craved. Then something had happened to it and it had transformed, like me, into the picture of near perfection for it's species. But then what had happened to change the scorpion? Why did it come after me then just go away? Every speculation just led to more questions that seemed impossible to answer.

Was all of this supernatural? Extra-terrestrial? Inter-dimensional? A time-travel thing? Genetic experiment gone wrong?

Had it been the latest in robotic tech? Perhaps God had sent it... or the Devil. Maybe I was asleep and dreaming... or in a coma... ...or maybe dead. How long would my new body last?

Even now, after a hundred and sixty-seven years of searching for the answers, I still don't know.

The End