It started in March. That was the beginning of the collapse. The effects supposedly hadn’t made it here yet. Online there were bats and rats and pangolins and other fantastical creatures haunting Wuhan’s inhabitants because of open air markets and various nonsensical cultural misunderstandings cast straight out of a Dr. Seuss story warning against the dangers of eating them with a fox or in a box or with some lox or something to that effect… Online people were shuttering their houses… But that was all distant and far away. Life continued as usual. Or so it seemed.
I fell ill before I was supposed to. My boss was sick before me. We’d gone to a conference. But that was before all of this really got going, and it was just a city away and didn’t extend to anyone out of state, not that we knew of anyway. My boss’s symptoms were spot on, with the 104-degree fever, chest congestion and difficulty breathing. But she hadn’t been in contact with anyone from the wrong places that she knew of, so she couldn’t possibly have it. Nonetheless, it was recommended she stay home, just in case. And she did so because you can never be too sure and there were no tests available unless you’d been in contact with the wrong person who got off the wrong train from the wrong city at the wrong time.
I got it about a week or a week and a half after. I didn’t fever. I never do; the only times I have fevered in my adult life were when I’d eaten something off and it was rushing out both ends at once with only one toilet to accommodate it and me finding myself blacked out in a puddle on the floor like a bad college un-memory. In fact, I thought it was just the milder flu that was going around and overpowering the flu shot. I was a bit lightheaded and felt faint, and I slept a lot and had a minor scratch at the back of the throat, but nothing of any real significance. I stayed home regardless. I wasn’t sure if I did or didn’t have it and work was in this weird in-between state of not knowing what we were doing so I wasn’t really sure I wanted to go in anyway. Things were beginning to shut down and I just felt in the way.
There was one night, after I thought it had passed, in which I woke with a start unable to breathe feeling constrained and tight and like a nightmare demon of medieval lore was sitting there camped out on my chest. I thought I was having a heart attack (they manifest differently in women). So I stayed up until 2 AM so that I wouldn’t chance going back to sleep and not waking up again as if I’d know the difference. The next day it was obvious that it was my throat so I wrote it off because it didn’t seem as bad being my throat rather than my heart. I waited it out and it got better. I continued to stay home. By then, everyone was told to stay home, unless they were essential, or needed something essential, whatever that was supposed to mean with the subsequent blow to our collective egos as we once again realized that we were just more insignificant flecks of dust on a half-baked planet floating around a mid-range star in a void of nothingness.
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Things were pretty uneventful at home. I dared not go out for fear that I was contagious. I must have washed my hands 187 times a day. I think I lost count though, I may not have taken note of 3 or 5 or 16 or 29 more times, 187 seemed like I was lowballing it… I cooked. I washed the dishes. I dried them and put them away. I cooked again and the cycle repeated. I tried Zoom. But there are only so many online conferences you can attend before all of the words that you hear spill out of your ears and soil the sofa with that kind of questionable stain that makes you drape a sheet over it when you know you’re having company, in the hopes that they don’t notice or say anything or create awkward silence. I tried Facebook. But there was only so much hopeful dissent about how to express joy and celebrate opportunity and make the most of the situation in the prescribed flavor-of-the-day popular vote meme responses that I could choke down, even before people became more openly discordant and polarized again. I tried watching YouTube live-feed videos of zoo animals. The bear just sat, head against the wall… Ah, but there is comfort there, sitting with one’s head against the wall. I shall have to do so more often.
I opened the closet late one morning to put on a jacket. Not that I was going anywhere, mind you. Just to put one on and remember what it feels like to do so. Besides which, it was a little chilly downstairs. That was when I first noticed. There were leaves in the hall closet, under the stairs, dusting my faux fur pretending-to-be-mink coat and dropping onto the floor. Maybe they were leaves, or maybe they were tattered bits of very very old paper. They were dry and crumbly and crackled into stiff brittle sheets like old vellum, somewhat transparent and yet browned with age so that you can’t really tell if they are clear or yellow or brown anymore. I brushed them off the coat, gathered them up, and threw them away. I recorded the experience in the back of my mind, closed the closet door, and returned to my deep consideration over what to have for dinner and how to minimize the number of dishes and utensils I would need to do so.
The next day, I opened the closet again. There were more leaves, trailing like stale Hansel and Gretel breadcrumbs down the faux fur coat and onto the floor. I felt around but it’s a cramped space. I don’t know what I was feeling around for, but whatever it was I didn’t find it. I tried looking up “closet leaves” online but that just brought me to the care and maintenance of peace lily plants. Did you know that the peace lily plant is also known as the closet plant? Neither did I; I guess it’s because they need so little light… And I still wasn’t going anywhere, so I knew I wasn’t bringing the leaves in myself. Though, even if I were to go out, I wouldn’t have worn a fully lined faux fur pretending-to-be-mink coat in April to do so, not here in Kansas anyway. It’s almost never cold enough for that, even in February. But I had to be sure that the closet was not self-generating leaves or held some inter-dimensional portal to some unknown exotic place which I had long known to be there and suspected led to Narnia or an endless bag of potatoes or an almost indistinguishable clone of the closet in a similar but different time space continuum or somesuch.
The next day, when I opened the closet and found more leaves, I took out all of the coats and everything and piled it all over the dining room and into the living room. Coats, jackets, and sweater vest linings were draped over the backs of all of the chairs and the cat’s loveseat. Luggage and extra purses for when my current one wears out and spare hats and mittens and the cat’s carrier and all of the other randomly stored goods I had stashed under the stairs were piled on and in front of the sofa, television and bookcases. This time I got into the closet and looked around. There was a small gap between the ceiling paneling and the wall right above where the leaves were coming from. Actually, it would have been a big gap if I were a mouse, reminding me once again why I have a cat even if he has proven a lousy hunter. The leaves must have been coming from there. I poked at it hesitantly, just in case there was a mouse. I thought about calling someone out to look at the house but how essential is that really? It just didn’t seem truly necessary to seek the counsel of a house inspector because there are leaves in a closet, even if it is an interior closet, even in the best of circumstances… though there was a hole…
That was when I noticed the wall was peeling, just a little bit. I pulled at it a little more. Brittle old wallpaper sloughed off in sheets, flaking off at the edges. Wall repair tape and wallpaper covered in rubbery paint revealed yet more wallpaper beneath. A poorly-executed minor archaeological excavation by myself revealed three distinct layers of wallpaper. The outer layer under the paint was yellow or had once been another color that faded to yellow in that sickly sour sense. The layer beneath that was speckled dusty brownish gray green blue that may not have actually been a color and may have instead been the remains of a long forgotten mold that lay dormant and decayed for decades. Under that was either the wheat paste backing from that wallpaper with pockets of antique dirt nestled between layers to emerge again as a fine mist of dust falling from the recently peeled off paper, or what may have been the wall surface itself. Areas were crumbled to dust where objects had collided with them in the tight closet space behind layers of paper and paint holding the façade in place so that it was not obvious at a glance to the casual observer merely hanging up a coat. I closed the closet door and went on about my day, occasionally feeling the drifting itch of dust mites or tiny spiders or unknown grit that I perceived crawling about my skin until I took a shower.
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I returned to the closet the next day, and the day after, and the day after that. I had to continue my excavation. I just couldn’t leave it be until I could have someone out to look at it. Maybe I could fix it myself. Maybe I could figure out where the leaves were coming from and put a stop to it once and for all. I had to get as much of the wallpaper off as possible, to get to a surface I might be able to sand or primer or paint or even just board over. I wondered just how much expanding house foam I would need to fill everything in. The smell of dust and old mold started to become a recognizable friend, a long-understood knowledge that was bringing me into a closer relationship to the house itself. I could feel the house breathing all around me from the closet, securing me in its embrace. Every day, I lingered longer until I eventually just stopped visiting the rest of the house. The closet became more and more comfortable and was my constant companion. I don’t know what happened to everything else. Eventually, the rest of the world fell away to rot. What remained was still and quiet, imbued with a musty yellow wallpaper smell.
About the Artist: Jennifer Weigel is a multi-disciplinary mixed media conceptual artist. Weigel utilizes a wide range of media to convey her ideas, including assemblage, drawing, fibers, installation, jewelry, painting, performance, photography and video. Much of her work touches on themes of beauty, identity (especially gender identity), memory & forgetting, and institutional critique. Weigel’s art has been exhibited nationally in all 50 states and has won numerous awards.
I wrote this script for Beyond the Veil awhile back, exploring the bond between two twin sisters, Edith and Edna, who had lived their lives together. There was a terrible car crash and someone didn’t make it. The other is trying to contact them beyond the veil…
Beyond the Veil Setting:
Two women reach out to one another individually in a séance setting.
One sits on one side of a dining table. The other sits at the other side. Each studies a candle just beyond her reach; there is darkness between the two candles. The long table is barely hinted at in the interstice between the two but it is clearly present.
The camera is stationary showing both in profile staring through each other.
The women are both portrayed by the same actress who is also the voice of the narrator, who is unseen. All three voices are identical so that it is impossible to tell which of the two women the narrator is supposed to represent.
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Both women are spliced into the same scene. They are together but apart. The two candles remain for the duration of filming so that the two halves of the film can either be overlapped (so that both women appear incorporeal) or cut and sandwiched in the middle between the candles (so both women appear physically present). It is possible to set the scene thusly using both methods in different parts of the story, with both women seemingly flickering in and out of being, both individually and apart.
Script:
I. Black, audio only.
Narrator:
I was riding with my twin sister.
We were in a terrible car crash.
The car drove over the median and rolled.
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It spun off the road where it caught fire.
There was smoke everywhere.
My sister didn’t make it.
II. Fade in to the long table with two lit candles; flames flickering.
Two women are just sitting at either end.
They stare blankly through each other.
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Call and Response
Edith: Now I’m trying to contact her…
Edna: …beyond the veil.
Simultaneous:
Edith: Edna, do you hear me?
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Edna: Edith, do you hear me?
Together (In Unison):
If you hear me, knock three times.
Narrator:
Knock.
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Knock.
Knock.
Call and Response:
Edith: I miss you terribly.
Edna: I miss you so much.
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Edith: Do you remember…
Edna: … the car crash?
Edith: We rolled…
Edna: … over the median.
Edith: There was fire.
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Edna: There was smoke.
Edith: I could hear the sirens.
Edna: They were coming…
Edith: … to rescue us.
Edna: But they were so far away.
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Edith: So far…
Edna: … away….
Simultaneous:
Edith: Are you okay?
Edna: Are you hurt?
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Together (In Unison):
Knock three times for yes. Knock once for no.
Narrator:
Knock
– pause –
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Knock
– pause –
Together (Syncopated):
What’s it like, on the other side?
– long pause –
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Simultaneous:
Edith: I miss you, Edna.
Edna: I miss you, Edith.
Together (Syncopated):
It’s so lonely here.
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Call and Response:
Edith: There’s no one here.
Edna: I’m all alone.
Edith: Without you…
Edna: …the spark of life…
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Edith: …is gone…
Edna: … so far away.
– pause –
Together (Entirely Out of Sync):
It’s so dark.
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III. Fade out to black
Narrator:
I was riding with my twin sister.
We were in a terrible car crash.
The car drove over the median and rolled.
It spun off the road where it caught fire.
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There was smoke everywhere.
I didn’t make it.
I had planned to actually turn this into the video for which it was written, but quickly discovered that my plans for recording required a space that was too drastically different from my new house (and new large gaming table) and that my vision for filming could not be well-fully executed or realized. So now it exists as a script only.
Yeah yeah, the insects tend to get ALL the attention here on Nightmarish Nature. But honestly, this one takes the beefcake. It’s the New World Screwworm Fly, and it’s as terrifying as the name suggests. And they aren’t limited to the Americas, there is an Old World version as well, as they can be found pretty much anywhere tropical or seasonably suited.
Revolting Little Buggers
The Screwworm Fly is a parasitic fly larvae that burrows into its host to feed, named because it seems to screw deeper and deeper into the flesh over time. This process is called myiasis and do NOT look it up online, you WILL regret it. They blur those images out for very valid reasons, trust me (and not because of pornographic content). And these maggots will continue to burrow en masse, rather than staying put as a botfly larvae would.
Do Not Do an Image Search on Screwworm Myiasis, Like Seriously – You Will NEVER Unsee That
The female Screwworm fly lays her eggs on an open wound or orifice of her chosen host… And not just one egg or a couple of eggs, no – hundreds, even thousands of them. Let’s let that sink in a bit, shall we? Or screw in as it were. Although any warm-blooded animal is a prime target, cattle are a fly favorite, costing millions of head of cattle to this sick and disgusting horror annually. And if beef isn’t on the menu, Fido or even yourself might be.
The Great American Worm Wall
In fact, this particular feature here on Nightmarish Nature is so terrifying that the United States has made agreements with all of Central America, even including countries that do not generally share its interests, in order to create a “Great American Worm Wall” to prevent them from spreading back into the United States. I’m not going to go into all of the creepy and juicy details of this bizarre science fiction freak fact, you’ll just have to watch it here on Half As Interesting’s YouTube channel.
Essentially, the Worm Wall is a complicated byproduct of scientists studying radioactivity on the flies’ maturity as well as the flies’ sexual lives and using this information against them to nearly eradicate the species and banish it from much of its former range. So, Peter Parker, if you thought everyone was messing with your love life before, be glad you weren’t bitten by a radioactive Screwworm.
If you’ve enjoyed this segment of Nightmarish Nature, feel free to check out some previous here:
Like I said before, I’m really getting into the spirit of the season this year. So reconsidering The Mourners yet again, and haunting the faith a bit, I decided to share a poem that I wrote thinking about All Hallows Eve as a preview of more things to come this month of October.
On Becoming Hallowed
Holy. Holy. Holy. Light the candle. Chant the hymn.
For now the veil between the living and the dead grows thin.
Fingers held to lips in silence; lies beneath their skin.
Family found, ancestral ghosts return to haunt their kin.
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Skeletons in closets, grotesque yearnings trapped within.
A bleached and bony face flashes a slightly knowing grin.
It’s not the shadows but the darkness that we fear therein.
Bless this Church whose saintly bodies live and dwell herein.
Unto Death, they claim to sanctify our souls from sin.
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Those familiar faces shame; this fight we cannot win.
Come what may, they betray. Pray/prey and heads will spin.
Forevermore and evermore to nevermore… Amen.
I thought this poem really captured All Hallows Eve, in some of the same sentiments as the movie High Spirits, which I loved almost as much as Beetlejuice back in the day.
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