ITCH
Scritch… scritch… Scritch. Sarah couldn’t help it. She had a bad habit of scratching her skin when she got stressed. Her boyfriend couldn’t stand the noise but never told her. He felt sad that she had a difficult time controlling it. Life was stressful, and the stress manifested through irritated, dry skin that could only be satisfied with blood. Sarah would scratch and scratch, sometimes not realizing how red and raw her skin got till it was too late.
“WHERE ARE MY DAMN GLASSES?! Please not today, I have to find them. I always leave them by my bed,” Sarah said in a defeated voice. “Vincent?… Vincent?!” Have you seen my glasses anywhere?” she yelled over the Bohemian Rhapsody playing in the kitchen. Through the sounds of Freddie Mercury’s singing, a faint “No, babe, last time you had them was by the bed” could be heard coming from Vincent. Of course, she thought to herself, the one time he doesn’t notice something.
The need to scratch began to occupy her mind, scritch… scritch… SCRITCH. The sensation brought her to her knees, where she noticed the familiar blue frames. “Weird, how did you get…” but before she could finish, Vincent’s voice rang out, “Did you find them yet? Isn’t your exam starting soon? I made you some food, but I think you’ll have to take it to go.”
“You think?” Sarah said sarcastically. “I’m not really hungry right now. I have a lot riding on this exam. Did you at least see my sweater out there?” Vincent looked up for a couple of seconds before a smile began to form. “Yes! I think I saw it in the car last night after coming back from your parents’. I think yesterday went really well.” Sarah replied, “Yeah, I thought so too…” as she covered her left wrist that was inflamed from the night before. She grabbed her bag, her car keys, and her breakfast sandwich, heading for the door.
—
She arrived at class flustered, sat down, and began her exam. The room was quiet and large, but the desks were small. Those small university desks barely had enough space for the test. All that tuition money, and they can’t even provide a decent work area, the thought irritated her. She began to read when she heard a familiar sound — Ssccccrrriiitch…. Ssscrrrriiitch — it pinged in her eardrums. She began looking around to find the source of that awful noise. All she could see was an ocean of hair and pencils moving in sync, erasing and writing. Oh, forget it, she figured it was someone erasing a bit too hard.
“I know this… Sigmund Freud? No. Was it Carl Jung? B.F. Skrrrrrrriiiitch!" Frustrated, she lifted her head and began to scan the room. But again, she saw nothing out of the ordinary until her gaze was interrupted by her professor’s rigid smile. His mouth widened to speak when she heard him say ”Scrritch!… Scriiitch!“. Stunned, she answered, “Excuse me?” His smile began to fade into anger, and it was louder: ”Scrritch, Scritch, Sarah, are you listening to me?! Are you cheating? Why do you keep looking at your classmates? If I see it happen again, your exam ends early!” Shocked and embarrassed, she stuttered, “y-y-yes I-I wasn’t… I was just hearing…” “Last warning, Sarah, I mean it. Now finish your test.”
Her face was red and warm like tea left to cool. She looked down and saw that her wrists were blood-soaked, staining the cuffs of her white sweater.
—
“H-Hey, Sarah, wait up — are you okay? Professor Taylor doesn’t usually get that loud.”
“I’m alright, Clair. And I wasn’t cheating. I kept hearing this awful sound, like metal scraping concrete. It was hard to focus.”
“Yeah, I heard that too — people’s pencil erasers get rubbed down to the wood in tough exams like ours,” she said reassuringly.
“No. That wasn’t what I heard. It was something else.” “Something else,” her voice lowered.
“Ummm, are you sure you’re okay? Speaking of rubbed-down erasers, I noticed you’ve been scratching your wrists again. Everything okay at home?” Clair wrapped her arm around her shoulder.
“What gave it away? Was it the white sweater with red cuffs?” Sarah said, jokingly pulling her sleeves up, revealing the dry blood blistering on the thickened skin. Clair’s eyes widened with concern.
“I know exactly what you need. It’s a special cream my abuela makes in Mexico. She was a nun — they taught her how to make all sorts of natural medicines.” Clair pulled out a medium-sized Aveeno container and handed it to Sarah.
“Uh, Clair — is your abuela Johnson & Johnson?”
Clair snickered. “No, silly, she just reuses old containers. What’s in there now is much better than what it used to be.”
“Well, hopefully this will help. It’s been rough lately — school, and my parents.” Sarah said.
“Your parents?”
“Yeah. They met Vincent for the first time, and let’s just say it went as well as keeping a chimpanzee as a pet. They think he’s a total loser and that I’m wasting my time being with ‘trailer trash’. They’ve always been such snobs. God forbid I embarrass them. The constant criticisms and nagging make my skin crawl.” Sarah confessed, resisting that tempting urge to scratch.
The memories of her childhood followed her home that night, and so did the urge.
—
Beep!..Beep!..Beep! Sarah sat in her car for a moment, happy she got a good parking space. Their roommate, a friend of Vincent’s, was always home hogging the spot — but every Tuesday night, he went to the local game store to play Dungeons & Dragons with the locals. Weebs, at least that’s what Vincent called them. She locked her broken-down Nissan Altima and headed for the beige door before stopping at the entrance. She breathed a heavy sigh and brushed her ember-colored hair behind her ear before opening the door.
“Hey, I’m home!” she shouted out into the quiet house. Her voice echoed throughout and received no response. “Vincent, where are you? I’m not really in the mood tonight…” Still, no reply. He should’ve been home by now, she told herself.
As she moved to set her keys down on the counter, they slipped from her fingers, scraping across the surface with a sound that made her stomach drop. Scritch. She felt sick and could barely get the courage to look up toward that long, dark hallway from where it came. Then, before she could react, she heard Vincent yell out “BOO!” — popping out of the hallway.
Sarah jumped back, almost falling into the wall, her purse swinging off her shoulder and hitting the floor with a thud. The Aveeno container rolled out, the cap already loose, glooping slowly onto the tile.
“Oh no — look what you made me do,” Sarah said as she attempted to save what was left of the cream. Vincent immediately went to help, realizing how upset he had made her.
“I’m sorry, Sarah, I didn’t mean — I-I just wanted to have some fun. I thought I’d surprise you, but it didn’t go as expected,” he said apologetically.
“I wasn’t in the mood for that tonight. I keep getting this strange feeling,” she responded.
“Yeah, seems like you’re drained from your exam — but I made your favorite food and got some prosecco to celebrate,” he mentioned, pulling out the chilled bottle.
She chuckled sarcastically. “Yay, my favorite.” She would have been excited, she thought to herself, if it wasn’t the fourth time this week she was eating it. Sarah knew when they were running low on EBT because Vincent would begin to make pasta eight different ways in hopes of keeping some variety. Still, the thought of the EBT lasting another two weeks made her skin crawl.
—
Full of meatballs and prosecco, the couple prepared to wind down for the night. Sarah did her skincare routine, setting her glasses on the nightstand, while Vincent snuck a couple more meatballs before brushing his teeth. Her eyes closed, and she fell asleep to the sounds of his heavy snoring.
Tap… tap… tap… tap…
Her eyes still shut, she muttered, “Babe?” Behind her, she heard a heavy sigh. The taps grew louder — Bang! Bang! Bang! Her eyes jolted open, facing the wall. “Babe, I think your roommate is knocking.” Again, she heard his groan — but this time, something was gripping her stomach.
“Are you going to get—” but before she could finish, from outside the door she heard Vincent yell, “Okay, fine, if you won’t unlock the door! I’ll be on the couch. I already said sorry about earlier… whatever.”
Sarah’s heart sank, and her throat became so dry she could barely mutter a sound — much less scream for her boyfriend’s help.
The heavy breathing felt warm behind her neck, before it stopped completely. The skinny hand on her belly felt like sandpaper dipped in fiberglass. As she moved to turn, the long fingers began to retreat, mimicking her movement. Her body filled with anxiety, fueled by cortisol and the urge to scratch.
“Who is in my… No. What is in my bed?” she told herself. “Come on, Sarah — move. Move your fucking body,” she thought as she struggled to clench her hands.
With enough adrenaline and courage, she contorted her body in a single twist. But as she turned, the creature was quicker — leaving a long scratch down her back as it slumped to the floor. Squinting, she could barely see as its hand slunk off, retracting under her bed.
Sitting up on alert, she screamed for Vincent — but all she could hear was Queen playing on blast, mixed with the sounds of laughter between Vincent and his friend. Before she could react, she heard a quick shuffle leading to the open closet at the foot of the bed. The hangers clinked together as Vincent’s dark sweaters swayed like a lightbulb on a single cord. His coats looked as if they were breathing — in and out, in and out.
Scrriitch… Scrriitch… She could hear the slow drag of nails carving into the drywall.
Her gaze locked onto the closet, watching intently, waiting for a chance to reach her glasses. She squinted and squinted until it became clear. A smile peered through the darkness, hiding behind its den of coats and sweaters. Long, skinny arms dangled just beneath the hem. As her eyes traveled downward, she saw them — large black hooves resting on the bedroom floor.
She could feel its malevolent gaze. Hear its nails against the wall. And oh God, that smile made her skin crawl. She felt the need to scratch — and as her fear grew, its smile did too…
—
The next morning, Vincent woke up hungover on the couch, groggy and unbalanced. He made his way past the bedroom to use the bathroom, then stopped to reconcile with Sarah. He knocked softly and said, “Hey — I know you’re probably still upset, but I wanted to say I’m really sorry about yesterday. Can you open the door so we can talk about it?”
He waited for a reply. He received only the eerie early morning silence.
As he began to walk away, he heard it — what sounded like a saw raking relentlessly through wet wood.
Scritch.. Scritch.. Scritch.. Scritch.. Each time, more intense than the last. Until it stopped completely.
Vincent stood by the door, hand hovering over the knob, not realizing he had been holding his breath. The hallway felt smaller somehow. He never touched it.
From the other side, the lock turned open
