Worms by Lisa Fox
Draw the curtains , you idiot . They see you , and you ’ re done .
I tug at the dark fabric . Metal hooks scrape against the rod . I wince . The panel edges refuse to meet ; a thin line of light glows between them . I squeeze the curtains together as hard as I can . Get the thumbtacks ! Yes , yes , thumbtacks should do . I grab a handful ; the points prick at my palms . I push the pins through the cloth , but the light persists . Something stronger … Duct tape . Hurry . I yank it from the roll , ripping hard and fast . They ’ re gonna hear you , stupid . Can ’ t do anything right . “ I ’ m trying !” I mutter . I slap the tape over the seam . I secure the corners . I breathe . The only light remaining is the glow from my television . The Watchers can ’ t see you when it ’ s dark , Michael . The newscaster on screen winks at me . Two more layers of cellophane over the picture tube should do . “ Can ’ t see me now .” Not today . There ’ s someplace I need to go . The invitation , addressed to me personally from Dr . Martin Weiss , Director of the Centers for Disease Control , leans against the microscope on my desk . I place the card atop a stack of binders , thicker than the Encyclopedia of Microbiology , that hold three years ’ worth of notes and observations . I stuff
15