Scary stories

They Tickle Me While I Sleep

When I was eight, I saw a centipede for the first time. Horrified, I stood in the dank, dark, depths of the laundry room, unable to take my eyes off the sinuous monster. One sudden move, any indication of alien motion or ink-spewing tentacles or the sudden reveal of fangs, and my right sneaker would reign blows upon the foul creature, turning the monstrosity into a sloppy pile of goop, all the while my shoe lighting up in an innocently playful fashion (remember the light-up sneakers? Those were my favorite). I'll never forget that moment, immobile with fear and confusion, terror yet fascination. How could something like this exist? It didn't move, yet I knew it could. Very quickly, most likely. What did it want? Food? Love? Our laundry?

Human instinct is a strange thing indeed. Even at eight, in possession of a mind that was relatively free of prejudice and hate, my immediate instincts were to destroy. Crush. Kill. Erase. Maybe it wanted to be friends, or to be my pet. Maybe it was envious of all the brown bowls of slop that our lovely canine companion got to enjoy three times a day. Maybe it had a lot to offer, or just wanted to snuggle.

I didn't care. I wanted it dead.

So I killed it.

There was no ceremony, no circumstance. It was over in less than a second. I used an old brown shoe I found nearby. It didn't light up.

That same night, I dreamed that I had a thick, hairy, itchy mustache. I remember how funny it felt, and how every time I tried to scratch it, it would move across to a different part of my face, quick as lightning. I thought it was a silly dream.

Until it kept happening.

The same dream, but...more prickly. It wasn't just a mustache anymore, now it was a full beard. It felt alive. It was always moving across my face while I slept.

One night I dreamed that the tickling was inside my mouth. I woke up with a tummy ache and an acrid taste on the back of my tongue that I couldn't get rid of, despite brushing my teeth countless times with my bubble-gum toothpaste.

I had my parents watch me while I slept for a few nights, to see if anything unusual was happening. They told me that they never saw a thing. I didn't get tickled those nights.

As soon as my parents began sleeping in their own bed, it started again. I would be dreaming about the beach, or riding a rollercoaster, and I would feel the tickling. This time is was all over my body. Along the nape of my neck, on the soles of my feet, in the small of my back.

One night I woke up.

They were all over me.

I couldn't see my skin.

The bed was crawling.

I screamed.

They scattered.

We moved houses.

So now I treat bugs differently. And you should too. Because remember, bugs never live alone. They've all got friends. And if any of the friends see what you do to one of their own, they aren't kind or capable enough to just kill you in less than a second.

Instead, they torture you.

Even now when I'm in bed, many years later, I still feel the tickle. Usually it's nothing; a stray hair grazing my skin, a piece of string poking out from a blanket. Maybe I'm paranoid, but I always feel something just as I'm about to feel asleep. And I always have to check.

If you've ever killed a bug before, you should always check too.

i hate bugs