CLOSE YOUR EYES

  There are more than 10,000,000,000,000,000,000 insects on the planet, comprised of more than one hundred thousand species.

  New species are being discovered every day.

  Some of them are harmful to man.

  Duncan VanCamp and his friends are about to find out how harmful…

  CLOSE YOUR EYES by J.A. Konrath

  What’s bugging you?

  CLOSE YOUR EYES

  A NOVEL OF TERROR

  J.A. KONRATH

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  !!!Warning!!!

  Epigraphs

  Begin reading CLOSE YOUR EYES

  J.A. Konrath’s Complete Bibliography

  Newsletter

  Copyright

  This book is dedicated to Dr. Francis Paul Wilson, who sold his first stories to Analog magazine in 1970, the year I was born. If the reader notices any similarities between my writing and Paul’s, that is purely intentional. If you’re going to imitate someone, imitate the best. You are the best there ever was, brother.

  !!!WARNING!!!

  I’ve added a reader warning in novels a few times. While my books can get pretty horrifying, I try not to go overboard with the violence. Terrible things happen to my characters, but I leave much of the description off the page and let the imagination of the reader fill in the blanks.

  I’m a firm believer that less is more.

  I’ve used this same technique with CLOSE YOUR EYES. This story doesn’t revel in graphic details. I don’t linger on gross-out passages, or fetishize the violence and gore. Mostly.

  However…

  The events of this book, even though I understate them, are still pretty horrible. This sub-genre is called body horror for a reason. Yucky things happen.

  So if you’re overly sensitive, or you have a vivid imagination, or you’re easily repulsed, or if you can make yourself nauseous by thinking of disgusting things, then perhaps this isn’t the book for you. I suggest you stop reading right now. I promise I won’t tell anyone you chickened out.

  Especially if bugs make you squeamish. This book has bugs. Lots of bugs. Stinging, biting, burrowing, egg-laying bugs.

  I thought about bringing back the “trigger warning for violence” gimmick I used a few times in previous novels, but I quickly abandoned that idea. Not because it’s gimmicky. But because half this book would be a trigger warning. If you’re triggered by blood, self-harm, mutilation, gore, bodily function, or bad puns, this isn’t for you.

  You should stop reading right now. Really.

  If you think you can handle it, I wish you the best of luck. Remember: Some things you can’t unread.

  You might want to keep some antacids nearby. And some insect repellent.

  Also, even though this book is a stand-alone, it features characters from some of my other work, including AFRAID, ORIGIN, HAUNTED HOUSE, THE NINE, and SECOND COMING. You don’t have to be familiar with my previous books to enjoy this one, but if you’ve read any of those you’ll see some familiar faces.

  Good luck with the icky biological horror to come, and thanks for reading.

  Joe Konrath

  All human actions are equivalent, and all are on principle doomed to failure.

  —JEAN-PAUL SARTRE

  Do it or do not do it—you will regret both.

  —SÖREN KIERKEGAARD

  Life is always a rough ride, and it always ends tragically.

  —HARRISON HAROLD McGLADE

  If you come to a fight thinking it will be a fair one, you didn’t come prepared.

  —F. PAUL WILSON

  JAKE

  SOME TIME AGO, SOME DISTANCE AWAY…

  Jake opened his eyes.

  He could not see.

  But I’m alive.

  Alive, and teeming with life.

  So many bites and stings.

  So many eggs in my body.

  I have to get well enough to travel.

  I am burdened with a great responsibility.

  To preserve His legacy.

  To exact His vengeance.

  Jake touched his eyeballs, feeling the maggots squirming and wiggling inside them.

  Soon, my lovelies.

  Soon…

  KATIE

  NOT AS LONG AGO, GETTING CLOSER…

  Katie Geers had seen a lot of odd behavior in her three years as a flight attendant. A drunk man bazooka-vomiting over three rows of people. A couple who tried to join the mile-high club but the woman got her foot stuck in the toilet which necessitated an emergency landing. A passenger who tried to hijack the plane to Cuba but was only armed with a banana that he claimed could talk. An elderly woman who fell in the aisle and broke her arm so badly the bone jutted out of her skin almost six inches.

  But the guy in 30F was likely the strangest thing she’d ever seen.

  Jake McKendrick. His entire face swathed in white bandages like a mummy, or those old black and white invisible man movies. He wore baggy sweatpants and a sweatshirt, boots, gloves, and sunglasses. Not a single sliver of bare skin visible anywhere.

  Katie didn’t pay him much attention at first, figuring he just had surgery, or an accident, or an illness like porphyria where skin reacted to UV light. Or maybe he was disfigured, and wrapped his face so he didn’t attract stares.

  But her interest piqued when the guy sitting in the same row, Jim Jorgensen in 30D, flagged Katie down.

  “I need to change seats.”

  She stared up at him. The guy had a posture and tone that Katie pegged as military.

  “Is there a problem?” she asked.

  Jim’s eye twitched. “Look, I’m an RN. I work in a VA hospital. There’s something up with that guy. Something off.”

  “Off? How?”

  “His bandages. I don’t know how to say this without sounding crazy. They’re… moving.”

  Katie smiled, because it did sound crazy. “How do you mean?”

  “They’re… pulsating. Changing shape.”

  “His nose is covered up. Maybe he’s breathing inside the bandages.”

  Jim shook his head. “That isn’t it. It’s like something is wiggling around underneath.”

  Katie lowered her voice. “He’s just some poor man with a medical condition.”

  “Also, there’s an… odor. Something rotten. Like fish gone bad, decomposing on the beach.”

  “We have a full flight. The only empty seat is in your aisle. And technically, that isn’t empty.”

  “Did the guy with the bandages buy it?”

  Katie didn’t answer.

  “He did!” Jim was raising his voice. “He did because he didn’t want anyone sitting right next to him!”

  “Please keep your voice down.”

  Jim’s face pinched. “Look, I’m not a guy who complains. Twelve years as a Navy corpsman tending to Marines. Attended to injuries that would make a civilian faint, and I didn’t even flinch. But this guy… there is something going on with him that’s making my stomach roll.”

  “I can tell you now, Mr. Jorgensen, that there aren’t any extra seats available.”

  “How about business class? I’ll pay for the upgrade. I don’t care about the extra cost.”

  “We have a full flight.”

  “How about the flight crew seat? We can switch and you can sit next to him.”

  “That’s against regulations, Mr. Jorgensen. It’s probably against the law as well.”

  The passenger balled up his fists. “I need to change seats.”

  “Please keep your voice down.”

  Jim leaned in to whisper. “There is something wrong with that guy. Something very wrong. It’s more than a medical issue, and you aren’t listening. It’s like he’s got a snake wiggling on his face under that bandage, and he reeks like gangrene. And he’s not there mentally. I tried some small talk. He ignored me. And he’s humming something to himself. Humming… or…”

  “Or what?” Katie asked in spite of herself.

  “Or… buzzing. Like a hornet or a fly.”

  “There’s nothing I can do. I’m going to have to ask you to return to your seat.”

  Jim didn’t reply. He stayed right where he was, staring.

  “If anything happens, come and talk to me,” Katie said.

  He still didn’t move.

  Katie wasn’t sure what to do. She’d had to deal with crazy people before. On the job, and in her personal life. Jim didn’t seem mentally unhinged.

  He’s scared. Really scared.

  Katie decided to break a rule. She leaned in close and whispered, “Look, I’m not supposed to say this, but there is an air marshal on this flight. If anything happens, you tell me, and we can take care of it. But right now I need you to keep cool and return to your seat. Can you do that?”

  Jim finally nodded. But he didn’t rush to sit back down, even though he eventually did.

  Over the next fifteen minutes, Katie kept a watchful eye on Jim, and the bandaged Jake.

  They sat in silence.

  Good. Just keep calm and play nice until the plane lands.

  Katie walked the aisle, picked up an empty plastic cup and bev nap from a woman in 3B, and thought about her boyfriend, Duncan, and how she’d be able to see him after the flight. They’d been apart for eight days. Though she lived in Spoonward, Wisconsin, Katie’s home base, and the nearest airline hub, was Minneapolis-St. Paul. When bidding for flights, Katie often traveled to odd places at odd times to make sure she landed back in MSP without being totally wiped out, so she
could immediately drive the two hours back home.

  Back to Duncan.

  She smiled, thinking of him. Of his broad shoulders, and kind face. They’d been dating six months. Katie met him during his first bartending shift at Cooper’s. A creep had been hitting on her nonstop, and she’d asked Duncan for an angel shot; restaurant code for call the police.

  Duncan hadn’t needed the police. The creep had been taller and stockier, but Duncan had the guy on the ground and in a choke hold seconds after slipping a punch. He’d dragged the fibber out by his Bears jacket, slapped him awake, and told him not to come back.

  Katie gave Duncan her number. They went out the next day, and most of the days since.

  She heard the ding of the call button, and put on her practiced smile and went to passenger 29D.

  “There’s a real bad smell.”

  The stench hit Katie almost immediately. Rot and death with the pungent reek of ammonia. She immediately checked the next row, caught eyes with Jim Jorgensen who gave her an I told you so look, and then glanced at the bandaged Jake McKendrick in 30F.

  Jake must have felt her stare, because he turned his wrapped head and stared at Katie, raising his hand and lowering his sunglasses. His eyes peered out through slits in the fabric.

  Katie wanted to turn away, but a jolt of fear kept her rooted in place and frozen.

  His eyes appeared milky. Ancient. As if they’ve seen unimaginable horrors.

  Then the bandage above Jake’s nose undulated, like a mouse was burrowing out of his nostril.

  Katie squealed, clapped her hands over her mouth, and then forced her legs to move to the rear of the plane.

  She was about to share the details with the air marshal when she heard a shout. Jim had leapt from his seat, pushed her aside, then hurried down the aisle, running into the bathroom and locking the door.

  She glanced at the marshal, a burly man in his thirties.

  He shrugged as if there was nothing he could do.

  Katie couldn’t argue. Marshals needed to keep their identity secret unless there was an emergency, and a man running to the john didn’t qualify.

  Still, I should check on him.

  Katie composed herself, put on the pleasant smile that was as much a part of her uniform as her flight loafers, and knocked on the lavatory door.

  Jim didn’t respond.

  She knocked harder.

  “Mr. Jorgensen? Are you okay in there?”

  Katie didn’t get a reply. She discreetly cupped her ear and put it to the door and heard—

  Moaning. And something else.

  A squishing sound. Like slurping up Jell-O through a straw.

  She assumed it was diarrhea and gave Jim some privacy.

  When she checked on Jake, he had his head turned away. One hand in his lap, the other tucked inside his shirt, in between the buttons and touching his belly. He seemed to be asleep.

  But his facial bandages had a dark smudge on the cheek. A smudge that wasn’t there before.

  Blood?

  Katie held her breath, trying to hear the buzzing sound Jim had mentioned.

  She didn’t hear that. But she did hear something else.

  The suckling of a nursing baby.

  The captain announced their final approach and put on the fasten seatbelt light. Katie returned to the lavatory and again knocked on the door.

  “Mr. Jorgensen? We’re landing. You have to take your seat.”

  He didn’t answer. But Katie heard something high-pitched from behind the door. Something kind of like a pig squeal.

  “Mr. Jorgensen? Are you okay?”

  Katie knocked again, then used the hidden slide behind the metal LAVATORY tag to unlock the door. When she tried to open it, the door immediately slammed closed again.

  “DON’T COME IN HERE!”

  Katie recoiled, both in surprise and fear.

  He’s hysterical.

  Is he yelling at me because he’s embarrassed?

  Or… is he warning me for my safety?

  She knocked again. “Mr. Jorgensen, do you need help?”

  Then the pounding began. Like he was punching the bathroom wall. Over and over.

  The captain came over the sound system, announcing the final approach and telling the flight crew to take their seats.

  What do I do? Inform the captain there is someone still in the bathroom? Involve the air marshal? Take my seat and let security handle it after we land?

  She decided to give it one more try, and after leaning back, Katie shoved her shoulder into the lavatory door, the accordion hinge suddenly bending inward and snapping open, the flight attendant bumping into the man standing at the sink, driving his fist again and again into the stainless-steel basin.

  Katie noticed two things at once.

  First; Jim’s frantic, maniacal face, punctuated by the bleeding gap where his right eye used to be, the goo and gore slick on his cheek, running down his chin and soaking his chest.

  Second; the mashed, gnarled object in the sink that Jim was smashing into sinew with his scarlet fist.

  He was popping his own eyeball.

  JAKE

  TWO WEEKS AGO, AT THE LAKE…

  Not too close, but close enough.

  The body of water had a brown tinge from decaying plant matter and muck. It stretched out for a kilometer before him, and the shoreline on either side formed a gradual curve, dotted with fir trees and an occasional birch popping up among the waving, grassy bulrush.

  Jake stepped into the shallows among the cattail and pickerelweed and knelt into the muck.

  His sight was blurry and wavy. But his vision was clear.

  The primary goal is to infect indigenous biomass.

  The secondary goal is to eliminate longtime enemies.

  Then…

  Resurrection.

  The myriad of arthropod life inside Jake sensed the water, and began to burrow out of his body, bursting through his skin and wiggling free into the lake to spread infection.

  A long, pale orange worm snaked its way through his intestines and slurped out of his ass, a glistening, writhing tail coated in white mucus.

  Pus-colored maggots wiggled out of his tear ducts, bouncing onto the water’s surface like drops of rain.

  Black flies were born out of his nostrils, spreading blood-painted wings and buzzing into the cool dawn air.

  Some of the smaller creatures needed to be manually squeezed out of Jake’s pores like pimples, and he pinched and dug at sections of his skin, freeing the buried, squirming nematodes. After making their appearance, they whirled and flapped like translucent scarves before slipping off his wet skin and going on their way.

  Jake didn’t fully divest his body of all foreign creatures. The larger ones required more time to incubate, and wouldn’t be finished for a few more days.

  And the main one, the parasite savior that would consume Jake from within, would take weeks to mature.

  Which is fine.

  There is plenty of time.

  A few weeks isn’t even a speck on the surface of eternity.

  There is plenty of time for Him to rise again.

  Jake sat, and then laid onto his back, staring east at the pinkish, bloated, rising sun.

  Then he excreted a pheromone to attract frogs.

  He began to croak, a perfect mimicry that sounded like dragging a thumb across a wet balloon.

  Leopard frogs swam up en masse, swarming Jake, hoping to mate.

  Jake scooped them up by the handful and ate them so quickly he barely even chewed.

  Disgusting. I know. But I need the calories.

  And their struggling spasms, as he crunched on their bones, made them taste a bit sweeter.

  LEO

  ONE WEEK AGO, FAR AWAY…

  The scars wouldn’t heal.

  Leo’s skin was a road map of gnarled, jagged keloids, crisscrossing most of his body.

  Once upon a time he posed in swimsuits for magazine covers. Body, perfect. Face, perfect. The genetics of a Greek god. Or, more specifically, the king of Sparta.

  But not these days.

  Lately he always wore pants and long sleeves, even in blistering hot weather, to avoid the stares and gawkers. He retained the thick cords of bodybuilder muscle, and his strength and endurance were at the peak of human conditioning.