Friday: July 31, 2020
Emma woke up with a terrible headache. The doctor said her CT scan was ok but she did have a concussion. She reached over to her nightstand and grabbed a bottle of acetaminophen. She swallowed two of the blue capsules as her mother walked in with her breakfast.
“Morning, Emma,” Mrs. Morgan said. “I brought your favorite: chicken soup, dry toast, and ginger ale.”
Emma smiled weakly. “I don’t have a stomach virus. Just a headache.”
“I know, dear,” her mother replied. “But you need to keep up your strength. The doctor said to rest.”
“I know, I know,” Emma said, taking the tray. “I just feel like a migraine is coming on.”
Mrs. Morgan smiled sympathetically. Emma had been having migraines since she hit puberty, just as her grandmother did. “Do you need me to stay home with you today? I don’t mind.”
“No, Mom,” Emma sighed. “I’ll be fine. You go on to work and I’ll stay here and watch TV.”
“Are you sure?” Mrs. Morgan asked.
Emma nodded. “I’m sure. You know how much I love daytime TV soap operas,” she quipped sarcastically.
Her mother laughed. “You can always watch PBS. I remember how much you loved those shows when you were little.”
“That was the best part of being sick,” Emma admitted. “Well, that and the chicken soup.”
Mrs. Morgan smiled and said, “Ok, I’m going to work. If you have any problems, call me. You promise?”
“I promise,” Emma replied and swallowed a spoonful of soup.
After her mother left, Emma finished her breakfast and lay back down. She thought she might feel better if she took a little nap. She drifted off to sleep thinking about Cody, smiling as she remembered him giving her his phone number. Despite her intention to only nap, she slept for the rest of the day.
----------------------------------------
“Emma…” the voice whispered.
Someone was calling her name. Was she dreaming? Her mind was clouded and confused.
The voice spoke again, louder this time. “Emma…”
This isn’t real, she told herself.
“I assure you, my dear,” the thing said, “this is quite real.”
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The girl tried to peer through the haze, searching in vain for the owner of that voice – a voice she did not recognize.
“Who are you?” she asked.
The entity laughed, “I am an agitator of men - for today.”
Emma shrugged, “I don’t even know what that means.” She kept looking around for some point of reference but found none. Whatever this strange place might be, there seemed to be no way out.
“I wish to study your kind,” it said. “I would have preferred to explore with Miss Miller but you will suffice.”
“Kayla?” she asked. “What about her?”
The strange being chuckled, “Kayla’s great-grandfather and I spent some time together in, shall we say, close quarters. She’s like family to me.”
“Her great-grandfather? You mean Old Man Miller?”
“Yes,” the voice said.
She was puzzled. “He died in the 50s. They say he was so evil that God struck him down with a lightning bolt.”
Soft laughter surrounded her as the invisible presence replied, “He met his god in that lightning bolt.”
Emma shook her head, “This is ridiculous. It’s just the concussion talking.”
“Is it?”
“Of course it is!” the girl retorted. “God doesn’t hurl lightning bolts. Well, I guess Zeus did but the real God doesn’t.”
The entity paused, considering Emma’s last remark. “I don’t?”
“No, you don’t,” she snapped. “You’re not God.” She was already tired of this conversation.
“Are you certain?” it challenged.
She groaned and put her fingers to her temples, “I’m certain that my head hurts too bad to listen to any more of your nonsense.”
“The pain will soon pass,” the entity soothed. “Forever…”
“So I’m dying, right?” the girl retorted in disbelief. “Because of a concussion?”
The voice responded, “Well, not from the concussion, no.”
Emma sighed, “Then what?”
“You’re dying because I am devouring your brain.”
The words made her sit up and take notice. Could this headache be a symptom of something worse than a concussion? Her intelligence was her greatest asset. The thought of losing it gave her real fear.
The girl shuddered with fear. “What?” she asked weakly.
“You’ve got a nasty little creature in your brain - one that I am currently controlling.”
“How did that happen?” she wondered.
Her captor explained, “You inhaled the lake water and the amoeba within it.”
Emma struggled to recall her 9th grade biology lesson on amoeba. They were single-celled organisms, ubiquitous but invisible without a microscope. She also remembered a recent news story about someone who had died from exposure to such a creature. A brain-eating amoeba…
“It is true, isn’t it?” she whispered. “You’re killing me.”
“Yes,” the presence promised. “But before you die, we must put the citizens of this town to the test.”
Emma wailed, “I don’t want to die! I just want to wake up! Please!!”
Laughter came from every direction again as the alien, impossibly ancient and deliberately malevolent, took control of Emma’s brain.