There is, naturally, no sound to register, beyond the regular surge of my pulses within my ears.
Of course, I am only assuming that the thing’s destination is my brain. I assume that it is an alien creature seeking to take control of my body, to direct my ambulent corpse through the world in pursuit of its unfathomable alien business. I must suppose that it is just as likely that the creature intends merely to set up housekeeping in my intestines.
Perhaps it seeks to raise a family within the warm, moist, protected environs of my torso, feeding on what would normally feed me, or perhaps feasting on my blood, as it raises its young. I imagine myself swelling, my bowels distending until the brood bursts forth to seek new lodgings, to renew the cycle in some other sad group of hosts. Will I be able to move at all while this is happening? Will I be drugged into stasis by the thing’s metabolic byproducts? Or will I remain aware?
I am not at all decided upon which of these courses is the worst for me, brood-nest or zombie.
I have almost made up my mind to rush to kitchen, to procure a cleaver or other utensil with which to dig this thing out of my flesh. But I find that I am quite unable to move. It is already too late. The thing’s venoms have already penetrated my bloodstream, and I am now completely at its mercy. I suppose I shall directly discover my fate. If I can remain awake. I become very drowsy, in spite of the weird sensations within my flesh. Perhaps this is another symptom of the creature’s venom. Perhaps then I will be fortunate; perhaps my duties as host may performed without my conscious will or knowledge.
I just have time before I succumb to unconsciousness to wonder what the candle man makes of my transformation.
