But like his torpor, the pleasure was short-lived. The blissful smile that had formed on Duncan ’s face twisted into a grimace of terror and panic. A voice called out that the people he feared were returning. His eyes darted around the room. He saw no one, yet the voice continued its message. Quickly he looked over his shoulder into the kitchen. It was empty. Turning his head, he looked down the hallway toward the bedroom. No one was there, but the voice remained. Now it was whispering a more dire prediction: he was going to die.

“Who are you?” Duncan screamed. He put his hands over his ears as if to block the sound out. “Where are you? How did you get in here?” His eyes again raced searchingly about the room.

The voice didn’t answer. Duncan didn’t know it was coming from inside his head.

Duncan struggled to his feet. He was surprised to realize he’d been on his living room floor. As he rose, his shoulder bumped against the coffee table. The syringe that had so recently been in his arm clattered to the floor. Duncan stared at it with hatred and regret, then reached for it to crush it between his fingers.

Duncan ’s hand stopped just short of the syringe. His eyes opened wide with confusion mixed with a new fear. All at once he could feel the unmistakable itch of hundreds of insects crawling on the skin of his arms. Forgetting the syringe, Duncan held out his hands with his palms up. He could feel the bugs squirming all over his forearms, but no matter how hard he searched he couldn’t see them. His skin appeared perfectly clear. Then the itch spread to his legs.

“Ahhhhhh!” Duncan screamed. He tried to wipe his arms, guessing the insects were too small to be seen, but the itching only got worse. With a shiver of profound fear it dawned on him that the organisms had to be under his skin. Somehow they had invaded his body. Perhaps they had been in the syringe.