The Day The Sun Exploded (a collection of short tales)

Itch

It all started with lice.

I press my nose to the dirt-streaked window and watch the fog roll around like a just-washed dog. The way Jake did whenever we gave him his bath. Just rollin' and rollin' until we got sick of watching him.

The barrel of my daddy's shotgun is cold when I touch it against my cheek.

There's a silence around me that makes me want to fidget. I feel like I have static under my skin.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear a television set playing. I hear Lucile Ball's voice. Happy. Giddy. I pull the shotgun closer and in a bolt of childish foolishness, I call it Lucy.

"It's just you and me now, Lucy." I stroke the length of the gun. I don't know why I'm talking into the silence. I begin to sing a hymn under my breath. I sing about salvation and Jesus but neither are here tonight.

Twilight dances on the horizon, it steals the gray of the fog and drapes a blanket of sooty black over it.

"Ya, cozy, child?" I hear mama's phantom voice say.

"I'm cold," I whisper into the emptiness of our farmhouse.

Mama made us pumpkin pie last night even though it wasn't Thanksgiving. When I asked for a second slice daddy chuckled and said I was getting porky.

"Let her be, Alister. Men like women with curves." Ma gave me a wink and patted her ample back-side.

Daddy tossed some logs in the fireplace after dinner. Mama sat by the warmth to knit. Over the copy of Batman I'd borrowed from Leroy Jenson, I saw mama's hand move to her head. Her fingers dived into her hair. I could barely see anything past the knuckle as she scratched like Jake did when he got fleas.

"You OK, ma?" I asked over the sound of pa humming.

Mama looked at her hand and frowned. She cleared under her nails and swore under her breath before addressing me. "I've got lice."

"What's that?" Daddy headed to my ma whose hands were working feverishly over her scalp again.

"Take a look, Al."

I set the comic down and watched my pa recoil.

"Yah, it's lice alright," he said as his own hand rose to scratch at his head with vigor. "I think I've got 'em too."

Later that night I was awoken by guttural noises. When my parents tore into my bedroom with blood-shot eyes and a green tinge on their skin my first instinct was to run. And run I did.

I led them outside and into the rolling fog.

They've been trying to get back into the house for hours. Lucy and I won't let them. It was the lice. It had to be. The lice did something to my parents.

I hear ma and pa scratching at the exterior of the house.

A tremble runs through me. I'm filled with static. It crawls up my arms then over my neck and onto my head. "Oh, Jesus," I utter. I lift my hand and scratch.

I wrote this for the Welcome To The Blumhouse challenge. Even though I'm not officially taking part, I thought it'd be fun to write something. So I wrote about lice! 

#WelcomeToTheBlumhouse