RPGaDay: Thread

After thinking about the word 'thread' until it lost all meaning, I eventually came up with this take on a classic horror trope: an NPC to throw into an urban fantasy or horror game.

They assure me that Morgellon's disease is psychological.  The threads emerging from the sores on my arms are not growing there, but are simply fragments of my own clothes adhering to the fluids that ooze out of me.  I wanted very much to believe them.  I complied with all the treatment.  I told them, truthfully, that I understood.  They cleaned the sores and covered them with dressings, and I went home.

I decided to leave the dressings on for a week.  A week would be enough time for the sores to heal, and even if I was wrong about that, I would see them clean of threads.  All would be well.

I lasted five days before the itching became too much for me.

I ripped off the dressings, ready to dig my nails into my flesh and rip out the itch by the roots, but my hand was stayed but what I saw there.  The sores had healed, but protected from the outside world, the threads had grown again, forcing their way through my skin.  My screams attracted my sister, who found me desperately trying to pull them out, my nails raking through my skin and blood staining the bedsheets.

She made me stop, but at least now she believed me.  Nevertheless, my next attempt to deal with the problem sent me straight back to the psych ward.  I mean, I had to go to A&E first, but that's where they transferred me afterwards.  I'm not sure what the official diagnosis is, but I'm complying with all the treatment.  I've heard them say I'm responding well and I'm a good candidate for a prosthetic.

And it seems to have worked.  No more threads.  I'm feeling pretty good about things, and I think they will let me out soon, so long as my sister takes me in again.  She told me off for ruining her chainsaw, but I think she meant it in a loving way.

The trouble is that I know the truth now.  They tried to make me one of them, but I found out in time, and I don't think they're going to like that.  I wanted to check my sister each time she visited, to see if they've got to her, but I know that will just mean I end up staying here longer and I need to be able to help her.  It only takes one bite, after all.   But I know what to look for and I'll be ready.

And she's just arrived to take me home!  I can see her talking to one of the nurses.  I'm worried though.  She's got a dressing on her leg, and I just heard her tell the nurse about getting bitten.  She thinks it was a dog.  I know better.  But it's OK, because I know how to fix it.  My sister had to promise there wouldn't be a chainsaw in the house, but I know there's an axe in the shed.

I don't think I'm going to be at home for very long.