Free The Artisans by Julie Reece Page B

breaks out in gooseflesh. “Edgar, are you here, sweetheart?”
    I reach for him, feeling across the quilt. While I can’t find my cat, my fingers slide across something smooth and slick. Gross. Whatever it is, it’s wriggling. I lurch for the lamp on my bedside table and pull the chain. Light blinds me. I blink to adjust my vision, trying to focus on my covers. There’s nothing there. When I glance to the foot of my bed, there’s no Cole either. Fear chews on my nerve endings. “Edgar! Darn cat, where are you when I need you?”
    The tapping continues. I push my tangled hair off my face, still working on where the sound is coming from. A shadow moves on the wall across from me. As I squint, the dark spot glides in a wide arc over the wall. Tap, tap, tap. It’s moving fast. They’re bugs. Cockroaches. Thousands of them scurry over the far wall. My fingers clutch at my sheets until the knuckles are white. I’m not phobic. One or two bugs I can handle. It’s not like they weren’t plentiful at the shop, but not like this. These suckers are massing for full-scale Armageddon.
    I lean over the bed’s edge, looking for my shoes. I’ll crush every one of the nasty things if it takes all night. The carpet’s dark. I gasp as the floor writhes with the bodies of a million insects. Brown, shiny wings flutter as they climb over one another, their tiny legs skittering against the carpet like salmon swimming upstream. “Edgar!” My voice cracks. Roaches can’t hurt him, can they? They aren’t venomous or anything, but still, there are so many. Another wave rises on the wall next to the window. How are they getting in? My breathing stalls. My lungs constrict as panic grips my chest.
    The room crawls. My skin crawls. I have to get out, get help, but I hesitate. The thought of running across a floor ankle-deep in bug guts brings a gag to my throat, even if it means freedom. I imagine the feel of their shells crunching under my bare feet, their slimy insides smearing against my skin. A wail peels from my mouth as a tickle starts on my legs beneath the covers.
    When I throw back the blankets, hundreds of brown, shiny insects shake out of my sheets. They flit across my mattress, up my legs toward my torso. I scream, jumping to my feet as the creatures continue scurrying up my body. With a leap, I’m on the floor dashing for the door.
    I can feel them now, on my neck, my back, tunneling into my hair. They bite my skin. Scratch and claw at my flesh with their spiny legs. Hysterical, I stamp my feet. My hands wave in a flurry of movement trying to brush them from my face. I squeeze my eyes shut, but their bodies burrow into the corners, which are wet with tears, or blood. With what feels like needle sticks, they gnaw at my flesh, eating, consuming. One tunnels deep into my ear canal, then another. When I shriek, more pour into my mouth.
    I vomit insects, but others press in on me, digging with their filthy legs until I’m engulfed in a sea of wiggling pestilence. I pray it’s over soon. My knees buckle, and I sink to the floor, covered in carnivores. The room spins, darkens.
    Then there’s nothing.
    Snick, snick, snick.
    Soft tapping wakes me, and I sit up in bed. A dream? I lunge for the light on my bedside table and pull the chain. A glow fills my room, and I blink to focus. I raise my arm, searching for bugs. My skin itches. I scratch everywhere. Dig and claw until I break the skin, but there’s nothing there. Edgar meows at the end of my bed, complaining as my squirming disrupts his sleep. I throw my sheets back just to assure myself the attack was a nightmare. No bugs. Not on the wall, the carpet, not a single, nasty cockroach in sight.
    “Oh, Edgar.” I bend, reaching for my beloved cat. He meows as I pull him into my arms. He hates it when I’m all needy with him but too bad. He’s all I’ve got. I’m tired of being alone and way tired of my stupid hallucinations. Okay, this was a dream, but still, it felt real