Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Bossy Mites

Bossy Mites
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 337

Mosquitoes buzzed, but kept their distance as the aroma of insect repellent overpowered the smoke coming from the dying campfire. Brian, the church counsellor was getting to the good part of the ghost story and the campers were all quiet, straining to hear the raspy whispers of the protagonist. The sudden sound of footsteps approaching on the pine needle carpet silenced the group. All heads turned simultaneously and the little girls screamed when a man emerged from the tree line, dressed in torn clothing and carrying a pack. The pack started to move as an infant's startled cry joined the panicked chorus.

“” the man said softly before collapsing face first.

“Jake, go grab the first aid kit from my tent,” Brian said, rushing to assist the stranger.

“Let me help,” Jane, the eldest teenager in the group said.

Brian carefully took the infant out of the backpack and passed it to Jane, who tenderly wrapped it in her jumper and rocked it.

“Aargh!” screamed one of the teenagers.

“What’s that?” said another one.

Brian rolled the man over and revealed a mass or wriggling, writhing oversized maggots, pouring out of a hole the size of a tennis ball in the stranger’s chest.

“Everyone, back to the campfire please.” Brian said.

Slowly, the group of ten teenagers backed away, scared but also wanting to see what had happened to this stranger.

“Bossy mites...” the infant said.

“What’s a bossy mite?” Jane asked.

The infant pointed to the direction that the stranger came from. At first, Jane could not see anything in the dark, but then her eyes became accustomed to the dark and she saw something slightly larger than a bat flying towards them.

“Bossy mite,” the child repeated.

“Everyone to the van!” Brian yelled. “She means mozzie bites.”

Pouring out of the trees and straight towards the camp buzzed a swarm of giant mosquitoes.


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