They Came For Coffee, But Left With Brain Worms Instead
43:05 Share

For an ad-free listening experience, visit patreon.com/drnosleep. Sign up for a 7-day free trial and gain access to all my stories, including over 80 bonus episodes completely ad-free. That's patreon.com/drnosleep. Now let's dive into the story. The man in the hazmat suit stands at the far end of the quarantine pod, checking his tablet over and over. "Something wrong?" I ask from my medical bed.

He shakes his head no. The pod is made of industrial-grade, semi-clear plastic. The plastic is able to contain even the most enthusiastic of viruses. Not that a virus is what the man in the hazmat suit is worried about. I see others in hazmat suits hurrying and rushing about the facility where my quarantine pod is housed. There's a shout, and the man in the hazmat suit looks up. Several of the others outside my pod race toward a similar pod.

I can just make out a splash of red inside the pod. "Do you need help?" I ask. He tears his eyes from the scene outside my pod and stares at me through the visor of his thick plastic helmet. His eyes are red-rimmed and terrified. "This doesn't make sense," he says and studies the tablet again. "Your scan isn't showing any signs of the parasite. There is a dark spot, except that it keeps appearing in different areas." "Perhaps there is something else crawling about my skull," I say.

He looks at me, startled. "Why would you say that?" he asks. I shrug. He shakes his head and studies the tablet once more. After a few seconds, he gives up and secures the tablet to the utility belt on his suit. The man glances over to the other pod. There's a good deal more red splashed about in there. "Dr. Strauss," he says, "as of this moment, you appear to be the only survivor from Monday's incident.

"That means you are now our only eyewitness, and possibly our best hope at figuring out how all this happened." "Best?" I say. "Interesting. How is the world out there, Doctor?" "Schneider," he says. "Lucious Schneider." "Pleased to meet you, Dr. Schneider," I say. "How is it out there, Dr. Schneider?" He shrugs, and his whole suit moves. I smile. "That bad, is it? How is the public handling this incident?"

"Incident?" he scoffs. "We have gone well past an incident, Dr. Strauss. That's why we need your help." "Of course," I say. "But answer my question first, please." "Doctor, we don't have much time," Dr. Schneider says. "Humor me," I say. "Then I will tell you everything I know." He sighs again. He shrugs again. "The people are calling them weasel worms," he says. "Interesting," I say.

The people do love a good nickname, even if it's something that's killing others in droves." Dr. Schneider closes his eyes for a brief second, then opens them again. "Now, Dr. Strauss, can you please tell me everything you remember from that day?" "I'd be happy to, doctor," I say, and begin my tale. The coffee shop was slammed as usual. It was to be expected at 8 AM on a Monday morning.

Folks were heading to work or had just dropped kids off at school or were getting ready to huddle in a seat and suck the Wi-Fi down like junkies with no place else to go. I was none of the above. I never stuck around to suck down the Wi-Fi. No, I would get my coffee and head to the park. But not that day. That day I had other plans. I'd been out of work for over three months, having lost my research grant.

Being a field scientist, I preferred to be outdoors in a pleasant atmosphere if I was going to read all the new rejection emails in my inbox. Hence the park as my usual hangout. But after 14 weeks of hunting for funding, not a single offer for an interview had come in. I'd even say that 90% of the grant applications I had submitted hadn't even bothered to respond. Anyway...

I remember looking at the other people in line for coffee and wondering how many of them were having employment troubles. How many of them had dedicated their lives to an employer or cause or hypothesis or whatever, only to be unceremoniously dumped by the side of the road like bags of trash? However, while that thought was coalescing in my brain, I was soon distracted by the man behind me. I'd seen him before in the coffee shop,

He was the man who always talked as loud as possible on his cell phone so others could clearly hear how important he was. He was not a man that was dumped by the side of the road. No, he was a man that did the dumping. And he made that abundantly clear, day in and day out. But on Monday morning, he was rather subdued. No cell phone, no displays of his own personal grandeur. No, that morning he was humming under his breath.

It took me a second to place the tune, but as he continued and progressively got louder, I realized it was "Here We Go Around the Mulberry Bush." Everyone knows that tune. We all sang it in preschool and kindergarten. "Around, around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel," or something like that. A strange song, I have to say.

I mean, I can understand a weasel running around a mulberry bush. That sort of makes sense. But where did the monkey come from? The man was humming under his breath, then humming not under his breath, then not humming at all as he began to sing. The singing quickly became screaming. The line fractured as we all moved away from the man. He stood there, his eyes wide and bloodshot, his mouth open as he screamed the lyrics over and over.

His hands went to his head and he gripped his hair as if he was hanging on for dear life. When he fell to his knees and started yanking out clumps of hair, that's when panic set in. Folks spread to the perimeter of the coffee shop or just ran out the front door. Me? I was transfixed and didn't budge from my spot in line. Around! Around! The man screamed. Clumps of hair with bloody chunks of his scalp attached fell from his fingers as he yanked and dropped. Yanked and dropped.

He pulled so much out that soon his face was covered by streams of blood. "Mulberry bush!" He continued to scream as he removed the last bits of hair and skin from his scalp. But the nightmare was far from over. With nothing else to pull out, the man dug his fingers under the skin at the top of his forehead. Then he peeled down, taking his own face off. I remember how his eyes stood out.

He looked right at me and screamed so loud that I could hear his vocal cords tearing apart. "The monkey chased the wizard!" Then the man's head exploded. If you were to ask me what sound the man's head made, I'd be hard pressed to describe it correctly. It wasn't like a champagne cork or like a balloon bursting. Those are sharp, quick noises.

No, this was more like when you get impatient cutting open a watermelon and you stick your fingers in the crack and pull it apart instead. It was a wet, ripping sound, followed by an echoing thunk. Except those noises weren't the worst of it. Want to learn a new language but not sure where to begin?

Let me tell you about Babbel, the number one language learning app. With Babbel, you can quickly master practical conversation skills like confidently ordering food, asking for directions, and chatting with locals, all without relying on translation apps during your travels. Personally, Babbel has been a game changer for me in connecting with my Indonesian relatives.

At first, the Indonesian language felt very foreign to me. But thanks to Babbel's speech recognition technology, I was able to perfect my pronunciation of commonly used words. It made a world of difference in my ability to communicate with the other half of my family. Plus, Babbel's lessons are crafted

by real language experts, making the learning process not only easy, but also fun and engaging. So are you ready to get started? Here's a special limited-time deal for our listeners. Right now, get up to 60% off your Babbel subscription, but only for our listeners at babbel.com slash dns. Get up to 60% off at babbel.com slash dns, spelled dns.

B-A-B-B-E-L dot com slash D-N-S. Rules and restrictions may apply. There was the squelching noise made by thousands of white, squiggling worms, then the loud, moist plop as the mass hit the coffee shop's tile floor. The sound will always stick in my head. The coffee shop emptied of everyone except for me and the manager after that. I wasn't going to get my Americano.

"What the fuck just happened?" the manager shouted. "This did!" I replied as I squatted down on my haunches and studied the clumps of wriggling white worms. Well, pink really, since most were covered in blood and brain matter. "Hand me a stick or something long, please!" "Are you fucking insane?" the manager shouted. "No, I'm a scientist," I said. "A broom or mop or something like that." "I'm fucking calling 911 is what I'm doing." The manager responded.

"I have a feeling they already know," I said, and aimed my chin at all the people standing outside filming us through the windows and doors. "This will be viral in minutes." "It's a virus?" the manager asked with a squeak. "Another fucking virus? Great, just what I need." "No, the videos will go viral," I said and stood up. I turned and looked at him. "Calm down and hand me that mop over there." He stared at the people outside. "Hey!" I shouted and snapped my fingers at him.

The manager whipped his head in my direction and brought his fists up. "Seriously? Just hand me that mop please." He looked behind him and then grabbed the mop that was leaning next to the espresso machine. Someone was about to start cleaning but abandoned that idea when worms exploded from the gentleman's head. The manager held the mop in both hands like it was a weapon. "Hurry please," I said and snapped my fingers again. He extended the handle to me over the counter.

I took it and returned my attention to the pile of squiggling worms slowly separating themselves from each other. Several had already gotten free and were inching across the floor, right towards me. I flicked the eager ones back toward the main pile, leaving a single worm to observe. The tip of the handle touched the worm and it shrank in on itself. It went from about two inches fully extended to less than a centimeter in the blink of an eye.

Circling about the mess, and careful to keep a good distance from the pile of worms, I got to a position where I could see inside the dead man's skull. It was empty. There weren't even any worm stragglers crawling about. All worms had exited when the head went pop, which made me think of the song the man was singing leading up to his unfortunate death. "Pop goes the weasel" is how that song always ends.

It's the hook that has scared many a child over the decades when used as the climactic refrain for every jack-in-the-box ever made. But this wasn't a cloth puppet on a string stuffed into a metal box. This was a man's head, and he never made it to the last verse. I heard sirens outside, and soon first responders were knocking on the glass doors. I turned, and they were gesturing for me to move.

"You're in the way!" One firefighter shouted from outside. "Sorry!" I replied and took two steps to the side. The blood drained from the poor firefighter's face. He turned and conferred with his fellow first responders that looked back at me. "Hold tight! Do not leave the shop!" he yelled. "Got it!" I said and gave him a thumbs up. "What did he say?" the manager asked. "What does that mean?"

"It means that we can't leave until someone who knows what they are doing gets here," I said. "Fairly standard procedure when dealing with an unknown organism in a highly populated area." "That's bullshit!" the manager yelled, and pointed to all the people standing around outside the shop still filming. "They were in here too!" He wasn't wrong. The firefighters were doing what they were trained to do in a situation like that. But they had no idea the cat was already out of the bag.

Or perhaps, I should say the monkey was out of the bag? Or would it be the weasel? Never mind, it doesn't matter. The manager pulled his apron up over his head and threw it across the shop. Fuck this, I'm leaving, he said, and ran through a door into the back of the coffee shop. I spun about and got the first responder's attention. The first firefighter nodded and took off fast. In seconds, I heard shouting from the back of the coffee shop.

Then the door swung open violently and the firefighter had the manager's right arm twisted up behind his back. He gave the manager a hard shove out into the shop and then planted himself in front of the door. "Looks like I'm in here with you two now," the firefighter said, glaring at the manager through his oxygen mask. I didn't have the heart to tell him that the mask wouldn't work against most pathogens or organisms, great for noxious gases and smoke and other fumes.

but what he was dealing with wasn't looking to invade the lungs thanks for the heads up buddy the firefighter said to me you can't keep me here the manager shouted i'm an american citizen the firefighter furrowed his brow and looked at me i shrugged the firefighter shook his head the cdc is on the way the firefighter said they'll be taking over there was shouting from outside the police had arrived and they were quickly rounding everyone up

Good for them. They needed to try to contain any possible vectors. The operative word being "try". People weren't happy about being detained. No one usually is. I, on the other hand, knew what I was in for.

Most of my research, the defunded research that is, had been done while I traveled up and down the Amazon River. I'd witnessed more than a couple of scares then and knew that containment and quarantine were the only ways to possibly mitigate the outcome of something like this. They had no idea they were too late, of course. "What are those things you think?" The firefighter asked from his post in front of the door. "Meningeal worms," I stated. I saw the questioning look on his face. "I'm a scientist.

"Oh," he said. "You ever see anything like this before?" "Here in the city?" I asked. "No." "Me neither," the firefighter said. "No one fucking has!" The manager shouted. "Who the fuck has seen maggots explode out of a guy's head before?" "They aren't maggots," I say. "How the hell do you know that?" The manager snapped. "Are you a fucking maggot expert?" "Don't bother," the firefighter said before I could answer.

Then he gave the manager a hard look and pointed at one of the tables. "Sit down and shut up." "Fuck you!" the manager yelled. "Or I can sit you down and shut you up." The firefighter said. "Are you threatening to assault me?" the manager asked, suddenly all sure of himself. "The lawyers in corporate will destroy you." "Take and try." The firefighter said and shrugged. The two of them had to stare off for about 30 seconds.

The firefighter won and the manager shuffled out from behind the counter and plopped himself down at one of the tables. The firefighter said, "Vick," I said. "Huh?" The firefighter asked. "Oh, right. I'm Greg." "Good to meet you, Greg," I said. "You don't happen to see any containers back there with tight lids on them, do you?" "How about a to-go cup?" Greg asked. "No, they have holes," I replied. "I need airtight." The firefighter and I looked at the manager.

Wood, he snapped. I need an airtight container, I replied. I could see how he wanted to fight me. This wasn't what he had signed up for when he got up that Monday morning, but his eyes strayed to the clump of worms that was quickly spreading out away from the corpse they had exploded from. Fine, there are prep containers in the back storage closet, the manager said. Empty one of those and use it. Thank you, I said. Greg went to the back to look.

The second he did that, the manager sprang up from the table and bolted toward the front doors. At first, I let him because there were several cops, firefighters, and EMTs out front. He wasn't going to get far. Then I realized he wasn't making a random mad dash. Everyone outside was busy either detaining citizens, being detained, cordoning off the area, or preoccupied as several CDC trucks pulled up to the scene. "No sir!" I shouted and raced to intercept the manager.

I easily made it. I've had to chase down all sorts of wildlife with way better athletic ability than him. "Let go of me!" the manager yelled, spit flying from his lips as he thrashed in my grip. "No going outside!" I replied. "You need to stay in here for observation." "Fuck you!" the guy roared. He elbowed me in the gut and almost slipped past me.

but even doubled up in pain. I was able to snag the back of his work shirt and pull him back. Unfortunately, it seems, I may have pulled too hard. The manager spun around and went flying past me. He lost his balance as his shoes slid in the gore. I tried to reach out for him to stop his momentum, to grab him before he fell headfirst into the pile of worms. Alas, I failed.

His screams were immediately muffled by the pile of worms, not to mention the brains and blood. I grabbed his ankles, pulled him clear of the mess, and flipped him over. Worms were crawling up his nose, into his ears, even through his tear ducts, but not in his mouth.

Of course, he instantly sat up and spat and spat while his hands clawed at his mouth because that is how our little monkey brains are wired. Then he started screaming as he swatted at the rest of the worms on his head and face. I took more than a couple of steps back.

They go directly for the brain cavity, I said. They stay out of the mouth because that leads to the digestive system. Are you fucking crazy? The manager screeched. I just spatter pounded those things out. That's because you got them in your mouth when you were screaming. I sat and pulled out my phone. 9-17. What are you talking about? The manager cried. You have somewhere to be? I'll text my captain, Greg said. He'll let the CDC know.

An intelligent man. Greg impressed me that he knew I was tracking the time of the manager's exposure. I crouched down so I could look the manager in the eye. "What is your name?" I asked. He started to point at his chest and realized he'd already taken his apron off with his name tag. Then he rolled his eyes. A trickle of blood rolled down his nose from his right tear duct. It was already happening. "Interesting." "Wendell," he said.

"Okay Wendell, I'm Dr. Victor Strauss," I replied, "but you can call me Vic." "I know," he snapped. "I heard you say it to the asshole over there." "Really dude?" Greg responded. "Listen Wendell," I continued, "you should get up and have a seat at that table in the corner." I pointed to the table and Wendell swiveled his head on his neck but made no movement like he was going to do what I said. I sighed. "Get comfortable," I said.

We're going to be in here for a while, trust me. No point in fighting it." He glared at me and then slowly pushed up onto his feet. He was a little wobbly, but that was to be expected. Without another word, he went and sat down. "If you feel anything strange, please let us know," I said. "Strange? What, like fucking worms crawling around in my head?" He scoffed. "Fuck you." "Do you feel any worms crawling around in your head?" Greg asked.

Greg beat me to the question. Good for Greg. "No!" Wendell snapped. He truly was an unpleasant person. And not just because he was scared and had been exposed to something he couldn't possibly understand. I'd observed the gentleman over the past few weeks. He liked to set customers up and pick fights so he could look like he was stepping in and calming things down. His technique was sloppy. Most customers either didn't like him or outright despised him.

I was in the ladder camp well before Monday's incident, just like I had despised the loud cell phone man. May I stop you there for a moment, Dr. Strauss? Dr. Schneider asks from his place at the side of my quarantine pod. Of course, I reply. Was I not being descriptive enough? No, no, you were being more than descriptive, Dr. Schneider says. In fact, you seem to have quite a bit of knowledge about the meningial worms.

"May I ask you how you were so quickly able to identify them and understand how they invade the body?" "Do you not have my file on your tablet there?" I ask. "I have some information on you, yes?" He replies. "But the exact nature of your grant doesn't seem to be available. It's as if it was erased from the funding institution's database." I say knowing full well exactly how that happened. "Could you help me fill in the gaps?" He asks.

"Let me finish my story first, Dr. Schneider," I say. "I believe most of your questions will be answered then. If you are still confused, I will happily clear things up for you, but after I finish." "We don't have a lot of time here, Dr. Strauss," Dr. Schneider argues. "People are dying at a rapid rate." "People die every day, doctor," I say.

"Did you know that more than a thousand children under five years of age die each day from malaria alone?" I laugh. It's a harsh, cruel sound even to my own ears. "Malaria! A treatable disease!" "Yes, I am aware of the death rates of infectious diseases, Dr. Strauss," Dr. Schneider says. "But this is not a third world country. This is the United States!" "And that matters? Do your lives count more than children in Africa or Malaysia?"

"No, of course not," he snaps. Then he pauses. "What do you mean by 'your lives'? Do you not include yourself in this nightmare?" I smile. "If you'll let me continue, then I can answer that question," I say. He thinks for a second, then nods. I grin as his suit crinkles in the dry, sterile air. I should tell him to take it off, to get comfortable, enjoy some freedom of movement while he can. But I say none of those things.

I simply continue with my tale. "9:50," Greg said to me. "Thank you." I replied as we both watched Wendell. It was happening faster than I expected. Wendell was no longer arguing or fighting. He barely seemed to know that I was crouching close to where he was seated. That's because he was too busy, too busy humming.

He hummed over and over. "What is that?" Greg asked. "I know that song." "Around and Around the Mulberry Bush," I replied. "The nursery rhyme?" Greg asked. "Is it a nursery rhyme?" I responded. "I believe it is a children's song, yes. But a nursery rhyme is something a little more specific." "What do you mean?" He asked.

"A nursery rhyme is more like the itsy bitsy spider," I said, and then continued in a sing-song voice. "The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout." "Like for Mother Goose?" he asked. "Precisely, Greg," I said, impressed once again. What was that man doing wasting his life, saving those who would never truly appreciate him? I bet he could have done much greater things.

Wendell's hands went for the hair on his head as he opened his mouth wide and screamed. "Around, around the mulberry bush!" "Jesus!" Greg said. "Is that what happened to the first guy?" "Very much so," I said. "It's what happens to all of them." "That is crazy," he said. Then he paused. "What do you mean, all of them?" He stepped away from his spot in front of the doors to the back room. He looked over to where the restrooms were.

"Are there more people like them in the bathrooms?" he asked. "No, no, I apologize if I confused you," I said. "Monkey! Monkey! Monkey!" Wendell screeched while he quite deftly removed what was left of his hair. His struggles did not produce hunks of scalp, only tufts of hair with slightly bloody roots.

So I was not surprised when the hair was gone that he dug his fingernails into his scalp and began to shred the skin before my very eyes. "Oh, that is different," I said to myself. "What?" Brett called out. "What do you mean?" "Usually, the victims exhibit increased strength, so they tear away their scalp when they pull out their hair," I explained. "But Wendell here removed all of his hair then started in on his scalp. I haven't seen that before."

"Dr. Strauss?" Greg said. "Vick, please." I replied as I stood up and backed away. "Mulberry bush!" Wendell shrieked. "Monkey chased the weasel!" Then his head exploded and the expected mass of wriggling, white worms plopped onto the table in front of him. "Dr. Strauss?" Greg said, and I heard the change of tone in his voice.

It took all of my willpower to turn away from the wriggling, squiggling mass of worms. I mean, how could you look away? They were incredible. Greg, please call me Vic, I said as I looked at the obviously terrified firefighter. Dr. Strauss, he repeated. Do you know what's going on in here? In here, I replied. Of course I do. I swept my hand toward the doors and the windows at the front of the coffee shop. In here and out there.

Greg's head slowly swiveled to what was happening outside. I let him watch for a moment before I interrupted his bewilderment and horror. "You believe this shop to be Ground Zero, but you are mistaken," I said. "All of you are mistaken." He gasped as he watched the nightmare unfold. One by one, the detained patrons from the coffee shop began to exhibit signs of infestation.

CDC personnel scrambled around as dozens of people started humming, then singing, then yanking and pulling hair from their heads. Most took skin with the clumps of hair. But some were like Wendell and had to dig in deep to remove their scalps. "Dr. Strauss?" Greg asked. "Did you do this?"

"Me?" I said and laughed. "Creed did this. Ignorance did this. Short-sightedness did this. Small minds without the capability to understand true genius did this. But me? No, of course not. I only want to help humanity." "I don't believe you," Greg said. He reached for his radio. "Captain? Captain, I think this is bigger than the coffee shop."

Oh, Greg, I had a much higher opinion of you before you said that. I said with a sigh. Of course, this is much bigger than this dismal coffee shop. I shook my head. And why are you calling your captain? Can't you see he is busy now? I pointed out the window at a man on his knees. I couldn't quite hear what he was screaming due to the chorus of pain that was echoing through the city streets. But I could read his lips, so I sang it with him. The monkey chased the weasel.

I whispered at the exact moment the captain's head exploded. "Why?" Greg asked. "Why what?" I replied, turning back to face the man. "Why did you do all of this?" he asked, his voice trembling with either fear or rage or both. "As I stated previously, Greg, I didn't do this," I said, my voice growing cold. "They did. They are responsible for this." I clapped my hands together, making him jump.

But the good news, Greg, is this doesn't have to happen to you. I continued. Despite some misgivings, I believe you have potential. This world will need potential after the week is over. The week? He asked. What happens when the week is over? The end of the world as we know it. I said. Just like that REM song, but with considerably more blood and worms. I laughed again. Greg did not.

"You're insane," he said. "Don't be rude," I responded. I looked about for my laptop bag that I had dropped once the festivities began. "Let me show you something, Greg." I retrieved my bag and walked to the counter. Greg backed away and placed himself in front of the door to the back room once more. I rolled my eyes at his reticence. "It's all right, Greg," I said as I pulled a small, clear plastic container from my bag and held it up for him to see.

There is nothing dangerous here, quite the contrary. Despite his obvious fear and distrust, I must commend Greg for his courage, but I suppose firefighters have that in abundance. "What is that?" he asked, staring at the container. "This is from the family Thaumasia, but I won't bore you with the science," I explained.

It's a type of fishing spider that instead of feasting on tadpoles or aquatic larvae, it feeds specifically on parasitic nematodes. Greg didn't respond. The worms, I said. He still didn't respond. I sighed. I could tell I had lost him.

I first observed this spider in action when I noticed a jaguar shaking its head vigorously. I continued anyway. Normally, I would have assumed the jaguar had contracted some type of encephalitis. There is so much we don't know about the Amazon. I would have explained everything to Greg, but he'd completely stopped paying attention. Instead, he was humming. I felt bad. I did. I know it may be hard to believe, but it's true.

Greg, despite his flaws, would have been good for the world when everything was said and done. The humming grew and grew, but I don't need to tell you the rest. You know exactly what happened to poor Greg. Dr. Schneider stares at me with a look of utter contempt. Of course he does. I have seen that look from men like him for most of my career. But he is a professional, so he tears his eyes away from mine and looks down at his tablet.

I watch him swipe several times before he finds what he is looking for. "We found the container, Dr. Strauss," he says. "But it was empty. What was inside it?" "Salvation," I reply, "however late it may be." "Dr. Strauss, was Greg correct? Did you do this to the world?" he asks.

Before I can respond to his asinine inquiry, we are both startled as a woman in a hazmat suit falls face-first against the outside of my quarantine pod. We watch, Dr. Snyder with horror and myself with curiosity, as the woman's head explodes inside her helmet.

Blood and worms slide down the faceplate as her corpse slides down to the floor and is lost from sight behind the medical equipment inside my pod. Do you really want to know what is happening to the world? I ask Dr. Schneider as I get out of bed. I yank the wires and probes from my body. Machinery protests with alarms and bells and chimes. Dr. Schneider! He returns his attention to me.

I asked you if you would like to know what is really happening to the world. I repeat. Before it is too late for you. He returns his attention to me, but I can tell he isn't really listening. The faint humming is the giveaway. I have to admit, I don't know why everyone sings this particular song. I say as I cross the pod to him. That is a true mystery. I reach him and carefully remove his helmet. He doesn't fight me. He's lost to the song.

"I have theories, of course," I say as I turn him around and unzip his suit. "But since my research grant was cut short, I couldn't explore those theories." I strip him of his suit and sit him down on the ground. No need for him to fall all that way after what is about to happen. Well, happens. "What I do know is I found a cure rather quickly," I say and begin to put his suit on my own body. It is sweaty and rank, but better than the hospital gown I currently wear.

"Mulberry!" Dr. Schneider screams. "Yes, Mulberry." I respond. I have everything on except the helmet. I lean down and get in Dr. Schneider's face while tapping my temple. There is a responding tap and a tickle inside my skull that I find comforting. I know you can't feel it or hear it, but ever since I was afflicted with the parasitic nematodes myself and a local healer with the tribe I had been camped with presented the cure to me,

"This tapping and tickling has been my saving grace," I say to Dr. Schneider. He has begun to remove his hair. His scalp comes with it. At first, it was terrifying to have a creature climb into my ear, then up inside my skull. But when the dried husks of the parasites began to drop from my nostrils and out of my ears, I realized that my fear was unfounded.

I pat Dr. Schneider on the cheek and step away. "Around! Around!" He screams as he mutilates himself. "Around and around indeed," I reply. That was what it felt like when my funding was taken away after I submitted my findings. They thought I'd gone mad. On the contrary, I had discovered something that could help millions across the world. I tap my temple again. It taps back.

But no one was open to listening, I say. They couldn't understand what I'd discovered. I place the helmet over my head, just as Dr. Schneider's head explodes. I wipe the gore from my visor and sigh. Then I leave my pod. I leave the facility altogether. It's not like anyone was still capable of stopping me. They were busy humming or singing or having their heads explode. I'm glad I put the suit on. What a mess.

When I reach outside, I take off the helmet and toss it aside. I keep the suit on simply because I only have the hospital gown underneath. I'll go buy my apartment later for fresh clothes. For now though, I want to walk the city and see what is left. When I released the nematodes into the general population last week, I knew the results would be spectacular. But when I released the opposing arachnids, I honestly had no idea what would happen.

But I am a scientist, and I look forward to discovering the findings. And I have my little friend inside my skull to thank for the ability to still be standing instead of having my head explode. They really should have kept my research grant intact. Look what I accomplished without it. To think what I could have done with full funding. The tapping in my skull increases as I walk away from the CDC facility. "Alright, alright," I say with a laugh. "I'll sing the song."

The tapping stops as I clear my throat. The itsy bitsy spider crawled in my ear canal. I sing as I wander off into the city to see what greatness I and my little friend have wrought. Hey guys, thanks for listening. I want to give you all a quick heads up regarding some upcoming political ads you may start hearing leading up to this year's presidential election.

These ads do not represent my own political viewpoint. So if you hear a political ad play on the podcast and it's not in my own voice, then it has absolutely nothing to do with me personally as a podcaster. Thank you again for being a dedicated listener of mine, and I can't wait to have another amazing year with you guys. I'll see you in the next episode.