body horror | Unsettling Stories

The Wisdom of Moms

Baby was receiving his scheduled vaccine injection in his right thigh muscle ie intramuscular injection

January 3, 2016

My son will NOT – I repeat: WILL NOT be getting any more vaccines. I was ignorant about how bad they were for the first four years and I never told the doctors to leave him alone. Well, thank God he got lucky and seems fine, despite that. I got my eyes open now. Are vaccines safe? Hell no. Sandra Barker’s child got poked with all those needles and shot through with nasty chemicals and guess what? Her poor little Eva ended up half retarded. A damn shame for Sandra and her little girl. Sorry big pharma, you can’t have my Thomas. No way in hell. And I’m going to tell the doctor that at his checkup tomorrow.

January 4, 2016

Doctors just make me sick. Funny, huh? Like it’s the opposite of what they say they’re gonna do. Thomas’ doctor is so rude and pushy. He has the nerve to think he knows what’s better for my son than I do. Me. His mother. The strong woman who gave birth to him. You know, because he went to some fancy college in New York and got a piece of paper saying he can look at sick children.

By the way, his name is Dr. Rav Mati and his practice is in Alfonse Creek, West Virginia. Don’t even think about going to him with your own boy or girl. All he’ll do is try to push vaccines on them and gets fresh when you tell him to prove the shots won’t make the kids sick. The man even said there’s a shot for chickenpox now. Chickenpox! Those pharma fat cats will take every dollar you’ve got. I guess they don’t think us parents were taught by our own moms about how to deal with chickenpox. A child has to catch it if they want to get strong! I think Earl has a point when he said those companies are trying to make kids grow up weak so they’ll vote liberal. There’s no other explanation I can think of. I married a smart man.

January 7th, 2016

As luck would have it, Sandra Barker’s poor retarded girl got chickenpox at the special daycare she has to go to. When Sandra called me up, I was relieved. After dealing with that stupid Dr. Mati the other day, I’d started to worry Thomas wouldn’t get to be around other kids who had it if their parents had been duped into getting them vaccinated. The last thing I wanted was for Thomas to be weak. God forbid he ended up that way and Earl found out he was a homosexual. I’m not even going to think about that. No need to do that to myself.

Anyway, Sandra and I set up a playdate for Thomas and Sandra’s little Eva. We’ll go over tomorrow at lunchtime so I can be back to cook dinner for Earl in the afternoon.

January 8th, 2016

Thomas seemed to have fun with little Eva. It breaks my heart to see that little girl, though. She just doesn’t know what’s going on half the time. Thomas was a good boy, though, and was very gentle and shared his toys. Sandra suggested we let them share a spoon and bowl when they ate their lunch so he’d get a better chance of catching her chickenpox. So they shared their chicken soup and Sandra and I talked for a while. Thomas and I went home around 3:30. Perfect timing to get dinner started.

January 11th, 2016

Earl was grumpy this morning when he left for his business trip. He was hollering and complaining about one thing or another, but then he left and things were quiet again. I bet his job is more stressful than I know. Hell, this trip will keep him away from home for three weeks. I wish I told him I was sorry before he went, though. I always feel bad when I feel like I put him in one of his moods.

On a good note, Thomas started to get a fever and he said he was itchy. When I gave him his bath at night, I saw the little dots of chickenpox starting to show up. I called up Sandra to thank her and asked how Eva was doing. Sandra said Eva had it bad but no worse than her cousin Duane did a couple years ago. I got a little sad that Thomas would be so uncomfortable soon, but it was worth it in the long run. He’d be good and strong.

January 12th, 2016

It’s amazing how fast chickenpox shows up! Thomas went to bed with little pinprick dots and woke up with big blotches the size of pepperoni slices. He’s scratching them like crazy and I keep slapping his hands so he won’t cut himself with his fingernails. I can’t stop thinking about all the poor kids whose parents were so ignorant about how the world works that they listened to Dr. Mati and all the other doctors like him. All the doctors lining their pockets with big pharma money so they can donate it to the democrats and whoever else hates families. Well, they’ll see. It’s families like ours who get strong and survive.

January 13th, 2016

Thomas started getting blisters on his palms. I don’t think they’re from chickenpox, but the nice ladies on the homeschool forum I started visiting last year said it was probably just from his fever. Once his fever goes down, they’ll go away. And if they got any worse, it would just have to run its course. He’s young and he’ll heal up good enough.

As mean as this sounds, I’m a little glad the blisters seem to hurt because it stops Thomas from scratching. Didn’t stop him from complaining, though! Not one bit. But it’s okay. I can take it! This is mom territory – we live to deal with kids complaining.

January 14th, 2016

Thomas’ is COVERED with chickenpox. Even when I part his hair, I see them on his scalp. Some of the older ones started to get big whiteheads on them. The one on the tip of his nose looks so uncomfortable, the poor kid. I remember having pimples when I was a teenager. These pox are like five times bigger. Maybe later on tonight I’ll squeeze a few of them to help take some of the pressure off.

January 15th, 2016

In the bath last night, I popped about 20 of Thomas’ riper chickenpox. I squeezed and squeezed and that gunk just plopped down into the water. I had to mash it up with a wire brush before it would all get down the drain. Nasty nasty nasty! But still, it’s natural. So much more natural than whatever the doctor would’ve pumped into him.

The pox I squeezed dry just look like holes now. They’re pretty swollen but he said they don’t itch anymore. The holes are about as wide as a dime. I put Neosporin on them just so they wouldn’t get infected and I’m changing his bedsheets every night. I might be being a little overprotective, but hey, I’m a mom. It’s what moms do. Well, the good ones at least.

January 16th, 2016

I squeezed out more and more of those chickenpox last night. The ones I’d squeezed the night before didn’t fill up again, at least. Poor Thomas looks so ragged. It’s like he’s covered in little, swollen volcanos. At least this is running its course and it’ll be over in another few days.

I’m a tiny bit worried about the fever blisters on his hands and feet. My camera in my phone’s still busted, but I went online and found a picture that’s pretty similar. Obviously this person’s hand is much bigger than Thomas’, but the look is the same. True to what the homeschool ladies said, he was still running a fever. 102 on the nose. Once that goes down, his hands will heal up and he’ll be good as new.

January 17th, 2016

Thomas woke me up this morning! He hasn’t done that since he would cry and yell when he was a tiny baby. But he was standing next to my bed and saying that his body hurts. Well, I took one look at him and saw why. The poor boy’s chickenpox looked worse than any chickenpox I’d ever seen. I’ll admit it – I got pretty scared. His entire body – all his skin – was just filled up with holes. It looked like the remaining whiteheads had popped when he was asleep because he was all smeared with it.

I brought him into the bath and rinsed him off. The water seemed to help him feel a little better, so I let him soak in the tub while I sat next to him in a chair with my laptop. I asked online if chickenpox were supposed to get so bad. One of the homeschool ladies asked if he’d been vaccinated. I was super embarrassed when I told her he got all his shots up until this year because I didn’t know any better. I felt awful admitting that to these smart people. But they were so kind and understanding. Then I was told what I’d assumed but didn’t want to take for granted: his case of chickenpox is worse because of the vaccines he got as a baby. Something about mercury poisoning and his body using the chickenpox as an opportunity to cleanse the toxins from his body.

While Thomas splashed around and I talked to the ladies online, I felt a lot better. By this time next week, he’d be healing up like nothing had happened.

January 18th, 2016

Thomas looked just as bad this morning. He asked right away if he could take a bath, so we did what we did yesterday. I paid more attention to his skin this time. I don’t know exactly how to describe him. Maybe the inside of a wasp nest? He’s just so covered with holes that I can barely make out any skin that isn’t part of a crater, especially now that he’s in the water and his skin is swelling.

I’m just so mad at all the doctors and corporations who put those chemicals into Thomas when he was a baby. I’m mad at myself for listening to them. Like I was just following orders like some damn Nazi. Because that’s what those big pharma liberals are, you know. There’s a reason “socialist” is in “national socialist.” Of course you know. And this country’s going down the tubes because of it. And Thomas is suffering in that bathtub for the same damn reason.

January 19th, 2016

I’m about to go ask the ladies on the homeschool forum for some help because I just went to wake Thomas and all his holes are leaking. There’s yellow stuff coming out of them and a tiny black hard thing is poking out of each one. It’s like a pebble or a seed or something godawful. When he opened his eyes, I could see more holes starting to form in the corners where his tears come out. He said he could see me but I looked like I was underwater.

I carried him to the bathroom so he could do his business, and when he sat down on the toilet, some holes in his thighs split and the stuff inside, the yellow gunk and the hard pebble piece, bulged out. He looked at me like he was scared and started to pick at it. His finger slid all the way inside.

There’s no way I’m going to the doctor who’ll just inject him with more stuff to make this even worse, but I’m concerned his chickenpox might be getting infected. I guess it’s time to go ask online. The ladies from the homeschool forum have been so helpful already. It’s great to be able to rely on the wisdom of moms.

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It all started when I realized my iPhone was self-lubricating.

I pulled the charger out of my iPhone and a string of viscous fluid stretched between the charging tip and the opening in the phone. To say I was irritated was an understatement. I’d just bought the thing.

There was a small pool of clear liquid on the table where it’d been charging. I touched my finger to it and sniffed. There wasn’t much of a scent. I tasted it. Salty. The worst possible scenario. Saltwater destroys electronics. I had no idea what I could’ve spilled.

The screen was off and the power button wasn’t responding. I brought the phone into the bathroom and aimed the hairdryer into the charging port, being careful not burn anything. When it was as dry as it was going to get, I tried to power it up again. It worked.

I thought about bringing the phone back to Apple, but I knew they wouldn’t do anything. They’ve gotten good at knowing when a device has been damaged by water. I wasn’t in the mood to get into a fight at the Genius Bar.

The day went on and my phone seemed no worse for wear. I made calls and played games and browsed Reddit without any issue. Before going to bed, I plugged it in to charge.

The following morning, when the phone’s alarm went off and I leaned over to hit snooze, my hand slid into a puddle of warm fluid. Cursing, I grabbed the phone and was about to pull out the charger when I stopped. Instead of my lock screen or the iOS icons, something that looked like a screensaver was running. Colors were flowing in weird, peristaltic undulations from the top of the screen, intensifying and darkening as they got closer to the bottom. It was actually quite pretty.

I heard a sound coming from the speaker. Being careful not to get any of the fluid on my face, I put it to my ear. Bizarre waves of warm static were being played in rhythm with the motion of the colors on the display. The waves of static were picking up speed. So were the colors. As I watched with a combination of fascination and annoyance, the static became staccato and the colors blinked faster and faster before culminating in a bright flash and a burst of static.

The phone had to have a virus or some kind of malware. Still, that didn’t explain the liquid. I’d made sure the table was dry before plugging the phone in the night before. I pulled the cable out. A gush of clear, sticky stuff drooled from the port onto my chest. Its smell was stronger than the day before. I gagged and got out of bed.

I used the hairdryer on my phone again. It was back to working normally. Opting to go with the virus/malware theory and not wanting to think about the liquid other than how badly I wanted to get it off me, I used a different cable to connect the phone into my laptop so I could do a complete software restoration. I went into iTunes, clicked the necessary things, and went to shower. The fluid had dried into a disgusting, gummy syrup that’d caused my chest hair to stick together.

I was in the shower for 45 minutes trying to pull all the rubber-cement-like stuff off me. As soon as I turned off the water, I heard something from outside the bathroom. I wrapped a towel around my waist and headed toward the sound. It was similar to the static I’d heard before, but now it was coming from two sources: the phone and the laptop. As I got closer, I saw colors on both screens.

The colors and sounds were synched up again, but the two devices were playing off each other. The sounds on the laptop affected the colors on the phone, and vice versa. I sat on the couch in front of the devices and watched. Then stared. Then gazed. Right at that moment, there was nothing else on Earth I wanted to see more.

I saw it all. I felt something, too. But the feeling was tangential. Indirect. As the moment of bliss passed, emptiness and a need for more bloomed within me. From the bloom came a realization.

I tore myself from the screens and rummaged through the drawers that held all my spare electronics. Cables, USB hubs, network switches, etc. I took them all.

Returning to my position in front of the screens and fixing my eyes on the waxing and waning undulations, I noticed that same fluid beginning to dribble from the USB port in the laptop as well as the charging port in the phone. Colors swam in my vision as I inspected the other USB ports on the other side of the computer as hope flooded my chest. Then I saw it. My hope was not misplaced.

The ports on the other side of the laptop were dripping. They were ready. I took one of the USB cords I had in my hand and carefully teased it inside the waiting port. On right side of the laptop screen, which I knew corresponded with the port I’d just entered, a hazy, pink semicircle began to brighten the edge of the display.

With my eyes fixed on the warm pink and my ears serenaded by each peak and trough of gentle static, I brought the other end of the USB cable to my lips.

As the metal touched my flesh, a tiny shock passed through me. It was not unpleasant. Quite the contrary; it was enticing. Attention-getting. And indeed, it had my full attention. I traced the plug around the bow of my lips, savoring the gentle, constant prickling. My mouth watered as the pink spot grew and pulsed onscreen.

My tongue flicked the tip of the plug. Its touch was met by a drop of liquid. I closed my eyes and focused only the sounds and the feeling on my lips and tongue. The metal was so warm – almost hot. Almost burning. More liquid seeped out of the plug. It was slick and salty. My heart was pounding in my ribcage while I drew wet lines across my lips before taking the plug into my mouth in its entirety. The volume of static coming from the laptop intensified.

Time disappeared as I savored what was inside me, not caring about anything except the flow of the static and the pulse of light on the other side of my closed eyelids. My tongue and lips worked and, accompanying a burst of static and a blast of pure, white light, my mouth was filled.

I opened my eyes and parted my lips, letting the fluid drool down my chin onto my bare chest. This time, I wanted it on me. I wanted it to dry there. I wanted it to be the mark of this experience. I didn’t want it to end.

The display on the laptop had changed. The waves and semicircles were still there, but the unmistakable shape of a person was being formed through different colors and wave patterns. On that shape were warm circles. I knew they meant.

Time went by and I put the hubs and switches and cords to use. The Thunderbolt cable was for my mouth. Mini USB plugs, with the aid of their lubrication, slipped underneath each eyelid. The Apple lightning connector fit into my urethra as if it had been built for that purpose; its length disappearing into me until there was no more left to go further. Multiple RJ-45 cords, thanks to an 8-port switch, nestled comfortably inside my rectum. My ears, of course, played home to the creamy white headphones while my nostrils and sinuses were packed with micro USB connectors. For the first time, I knew what it was like to be filled.

Colors and static burst from the laptop and my body hummed with electricity and incomprehensible bliss. During an infinitesimal moment of lucidity, I realized the sun was going down. During another, I noticed it was dawn. Then, with a burst of fluid and noise and brightness, it was over. And I felt empty. So, terribly empty.

It’s three hours since that transcendental experience. The phone and laptop continued their dance, but I was no longer part of it. Everything inside me felt weak and useless. Everything, that is, except one part.

An hour ago, at the peak of my despair, I made a small cut on my chest and pushed a micro USB plug inside. Right away, more circles appeared on the body shape onscreen. Lots more. I knew what I needed to do.

I’ve spent this last hour slicing and inserting every cable I own into myself. My soft palate has been cored out and stuffed with Lightning cables. I’ve invaginated my navel and filled it with ethernet cords and an HDMI cable. Inserted in the meat between my fingers and toes are the twisted pairs of ethernet cords I unbraided. I filled everything I could until I had nothing left to use. And I hope it’s enough.

I can feel the cords lubricating themselves inside me and the background of the screen as I type is a blur of warm pink and other, melting pastels. My vision is dimming and I know I’ve lost too much blood to write much longer. That’s okay, though. I’m done. Read this and know I’ve met something else. Something much better than any person. Know we’re going to be together. Connected. And I pray some of you get to experience this yourselves someday. You’ll never want anything else again.

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I was kidnapped by my girlfriend and what she did to me was beyond comprehension.

About ten years ago, I dated a masseuse named Valerie. Well, masseuse in training. She was passionate and enthusiastic and she practiced as frequently as she could. That meant I got a ton of free massages. Obviously, since we were a couple, those massages would escalate and turn into that usual thing couples do, but it was only after she felt she’d gotten in a good practice session.

After one of our, ahem, “sessions,” Val looked a little confused but also relieved. I asked her what was up. She told me the sores she had on the inside of her mouth didn’t hurt anymore. We’d talked about those things before. She said they weren’t contagious, thankfully, but she’d had to endure them for most of her life and they were intensely painful; sometimes even debilitatingly so. Doctors prescribed an ointment for her to put on them when the outbreaks occurred, but they barely took the edge off. Plus, she was deeply attached to the ideas of natural healing and homeopathy and all that, so she very, very rarely used the medication. But that night, for the first time in a while, I could tell she wasn’t powering through her pain. She genuinely felt good and had no idea why.

Her pain returned a few hours later. As always, she did her best to ignore it. Fast forward a couple days – another massage, another occasion for sexy times. Midway through, she stopped kissing me and exclaimed, “that’s it!” I didn’t know what she was talking about. She rolled off me and stuck her finger in my mouth. Not really sure what the hell was going on, I just sat up on the bed and let her do whatever she was doing. She pulled her wet finger from my mouth and stuck it in her own. I saw her rubbing the inside of her cheek. Her face brightened and she informed me, with complete certainty, that my saliva was taking away her pain. I laughed and said something encouraging despite thinking she was nuts. Then she hopped back on me and I completely forgot everything she’d said. Continue reading “I was kidnapped by my girlfriend and what she did to me was beyond comprehension.”