Maudie Bryant
The rain pelts down, distorting reality through worn stained glass, but this isn’t about the rain. It’s about the terror lurking beyond my doorstep, the primal fear clawing at my insides.
“I don’t have agoraphobia,” I mutter, frustration gnawing at my chest. “It’s more like… scoleciphobia.”
I could wait, but refuse to be controlled by this. I tremble, pacing a small circle in the foyer. If only I had a covered garage, I could venture out freely, guarded from the foreboding threat beyond cover. All I want to do is bake a simple birthday cake, to nurture, to celebrate. All I need are three eggs. Just three. But of course, I forgot to put them on the list. Another delivery would be excessive, absurd. So, I grab my phone and steel myself for the battle outside.
Pulling a light jacket from a hook on the wall, I stuff my cell into one pocket and retrieve an umbrella from the stand. Rain is the least of my worries. Checking once more through one of the narrow windows flanking the front door, I feel for my keyring in the darkness of my pocket. Finding it, I press the button to unlock my car, the quick flash of headlights confirming I completed the task.
Taking a deep breath, I grasp the cold doorknob. The vibrations start subtly, a low thrumming beneath my feet, but I know what it means. I have to take the opportunity now. With a silent prayer, I fling open the umbrella, a flimsy shield against the unseen horror. Holding it before me like a lance, I sprint towards my car, doing nothing to block the rain. Finally reaching the vehicle, I dive into the passenger door, the side facing the front of my home.
My heart is pounding in my chest, but I made it. Sensing a current passing by, I pull the door shut, finding safety within my metal cocoon. The thought crosses my mind—I could do a road trip, given the right stops along the way. I imagine the protection of the car and the promise of distant horizons. The thought of escaping, even briefly, from the shackles of my anxiety, stirs something inside me.
After sliding to the driver’s seat, I navigate to the market without incident. They’ve got a nice, covered garage. The far edges can be precarious with the open walls, but I usually have no issue finding a spot that is nestled near the entrance. Within minutes, I’m cradling a dozen eggs in a blue styrofoam carton. I opt for self-checkout and skip the plastic bag. I shove the short paper receipt in my pocket before heading back home.
The drive back is surprisingly peaceful, but as I stop the car, I am confronted with the openness of the walkway once more. Completely vulnerable to the elements. All the elements. I place the carton on the dashboard and shift to the passenger seat. With one hand, I ready the umbrella, preparing to open it as soon as I step outside. Balancing the eggs in a football hold with my other arm, I brace myself.
I push the door and deploy the umbrella, but the vibrations are already too strong. I close my eyes and put my head down in an attempt to just make it to the stoop. Maybe I can just force my way there. But, halfway up the walkway, I feel it. And when I feel it, I can see it. A giant spirit worm breaches the earth, its presence looming larger with each passing moment. A luminous monstrosity shimmering with an unnatural beauty.
As the worm’s ethereal form crashes over me, a searing pain shoots through my body. Hot and numbing like thousands of needles piercing my skin. I feel my muscles tense, every nerve on fire, and I struggle to hold onto reality amidst the onslaught. The worm’s touch is both agonizing and alluring, threatening to tear me apart molecule by molecule. I squeeze my eyes shut, clinging to the remnants of my sanity as the beast pulses its way through me, pulling my astral form to cross-sections. I reach out to drag my body back together, hardly noticing the carton of eggs tumbling to the concrete. I manage to keep most of myself, watching a single sliver drift away and crash back into the earth with the worm.
I deeply sigh, rain pouring over me and the spokes of my now broken umbrella. Raindrops splash into the viscous liquid of broken eggs. Tiny clear pools in streams of gold. The rain stings my face as I stumble inside, the once bright carton of eggs a soggy mess. I fold the umbrella as shut as possible, a broken wire refusing to bend the right way. Exhausted and shivering, I enter the kitchen. Three eggs remain intact, a testament to my meager victory. I clean them off and put them in the fridge. I need to regenerate what I’ve lost. The cake can wait.
“I don’t have agoraphobia,” I mutter, frustration gnawing at my chest. “It’s more like… scoleciphobia.”
I could wait, but refuse to be controlled by this. I tremble, pacing a small circle in the foyer. If only I had a covered garage, I could venture out freely, guarded from the foreboding threat beyond cover. All I want to do is bake a simple birthday cake, to nurture, to celebrate. All I need are three eggs. Just three. But of course, I forgot to put them on the list. Another delivery would be excessive, absurd. So, I grab my phone and steel myself for the battle outside.
Pulling a light jacket from a hook on the wall, I stuff my cell into one pocket and retrieve an umbrella from the stand. Rain is the least of my worries. Checking once more through one of the narrow windows flanking the front door, I feel for my keyring in the darkness of my pocket. Finding it, I press the button to unlock my car, the quick flash of headlights confirming I completed the task.
Taking a deep breath, I grasp the cold doorknob. The vibrations start subtly, a low thrumming beneath my feet, but I know what it means. I have to take the opportunity now. With a silent prayer, I fling open the umbrella, a flimsy shield against the unseen horror. Holding it before me like a lance, I sprint towards my car, doing nothing to block the rain. Finally reaching the vehicle, I dive into the passenger door, the side facing the front of my home.
My heart is pounding in my chest, but I made it. Sensing a current passing by, I pull the door shut, finding safety within my metal cocoon. The thought crosses my mind—I could do a road trip, given the right stops along the way. I imagine the protection of the car and the promise of distant horizons. The thought of escaping, even briefly, from the shackles of my anxiety, stirs something inside me.
After sliding to the driver’s seat, I navigate to the market without incident. They’ve got a nice, covered garage. The far edges can be precarious with the open walls, but I usually have no issue finding a spot that is nestled near the entrance. Within minutes, I’m cradling a dozen eggs in a blue styrofoam carton. I opt for self-checkout and skip the plastic bag. I shove the short paper receipt in my pocket before heading back home.
The drive back is surprisingly peaceful, but as I stop the car, I am confronted with the openness of the walkway once more. Completely vulnerable to the elements. All the elements. I place the carton on the dashboard and shift to the passenger seat. With one hand, I ready the umbrella, preparing to open it as soon as I step outside. Balancing the eggs in a football hold with my other arm, I brace myself.
I push the door and deploy the umbrella, but the vibrations are already too strong. I close my eyes and put my head down in an attempt to just make it to the stoop. Maybe I can just force my way there. But, halfway up the walkway, I feel it. And when I feel it, I can see it. A giant spirit worm breaches the earth, its presence looming larger with each passing moment. A luminous monstrosity shimmering with an unnatural beauty.
As the worm’s ethereal form crashes over me, a searing pain shoots through my body. Hot and numbing like thousands of needles piercing my skin. I feel my muscles tense, every nerve on fire, and I struggle to hold onto reality amidst the onslaught. The worm’s touch is both agonizing and alluring, threatening to tear me apart molecule by molecule. I squeeze my eyes shut, clinging to the remnants of my sanity as the beast pulses its way through me, pulling my astral form to cross-sections. I reach out to drag my body back together, hardly noticing the carton of eggs tumbling to the concrete. I manage to keep most of myself, watching a single sliver drift away and crash back into the earth with the worm.
I deeply sigh, rain pouring over me and the spokes of my now broken umbrella. Raindrops splash into the viscous liquid of broken eggs. Tiny clear pools in streams of gold. The rain stings my face as I stumble inside, the once bright carton of eggs a soggy mess. I fold the umbrella as shut as possible, a broken wire refusing to bend the right way. Exhausted and shivering, I enter the kitchen. Three eggs remain intact, a testament to my meager victory. I clean them off and put them in the fridge. I need to regenerate what I’ve lost. The cake can wait.
Maudie Bryant (she/her) is a mother, educator, and multidisciplinary artist living in Shreveport, Louisiana. Her work surveys the complexities of memory and identity, often exploring the depths of human experience to peer at the disquiet beneath the surface. A graduate of the University of Louisiana Monroe with an M.A. in English, Maudie’s writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Anodyne Magazine, Susurrus, and SLANT. When not writing, she enjoys creating visual art and occasionally dissociating via video games, where her Minecraft base is far better organized than her real life. Instagram/Facebook: @maudiemichelle Bluesky: @maudiemichelle.com
