The Bugs Inside

Frank found himself gritting his teeth, the sound of the bugs squishing their insides out made him quite irritated. He had always had a repulsion towards bugs, a subject which was worse to him than any other thing a man could hate. Something about insects made hairs trickle up his throat, his tongue barely able to keep back the vomit.

The car he drove had a windshield, like all cars. The helpless bugs inadvertently found their way directly into that windshield. Something about the speed at which he drove and the number of insects populating the average roadway. But that didn't matter to Frank, bug splatter was unforgivable.

Before he had time to get truly mad, however, he arrived at his destination. Chris Miller's house. He remembered College, back when they first met. Something shone in Chris's eyes, a bright driving passion unlike any Frank had seen before. No one ever had that kind of enthusiasm in science. No one had the drive and the mind that Christopher M Miller possessed. At times, it seemed to possess Chris, a passion that spun energy out endlessly.

The knocker on the door was heavy but movable. Frank knocked it three times, waiting a few moments before moving to the doorbell. Chris was always downstairs, in that makeshift laboratory, busy pounding away at his work. It was driving foreword necessity, a desire that made the eccentric Chris spend all his waking hours working on his formulas. That was one of the reasons Frank was here, looking for his companion. A friend who had locked himself up inside the house. Unaware of the world around, he would work through world wars and plagues, only leaving briefly every month to gather supplies.

Frank used the spare key that he had insisted from Chris. Christopher didn't seem to understand why his friend needed the key, that was a knowledge only Frank kept. It was obvious that Chris's energy and hermitage would lead to his eventual death, something would eventually happen to the strange man alone in that basement performing science. It was obvious to Frank, it was obvious to the landlord, it was obvious to everyone except Chris. An unspoken realization that a man who sealed himself away and toyed with nature inside a damp basement would eventually succumb to some horrible tragedy. No one wanted to speak about it, it was a general consensus that Christopher would eventually meet a horrible end.

The door opened into the dimly lit hallway, and with a sudden realization, all of Frank's suspicions were true. The jacket and keys of Christopher Miller were by the door, and the dust had grown thick over everything, no footsteps anywhere. The evidence was plain, Christopher had not used in car keys or jacket in seemingly ages, which were the two things he never left the house without. Frank moved directly towards the basement stairs. He knew where to look, he didn't have to bother second guessing, no time to stop and check anywhere else. The basement was the obvious choice.

The electricity still worked, the dim lights revealing a dusty stairway down. The steps creaked under his feet, the old boards complaining in the voice of wood. After a dozen steps, Frank found the door to Chris's laboratory. It was locked, it was always locked. Chris never left it unlocked. Frank reached, and to his surprise, found the first sign that something was definitely wrong, the knob turning unbarred. It had always been locked, and being not so would only mean that something happened to Chris entering or leaving the lab. The door was locked before one entered and after, always.

Looking around at the door before opening it, Frank tried to determine if any signs of Chris's presence could be found. There was nothing, no scratches, no signs of struggle. Whatever had happened to the fanatical scientist had happened behind that door. Braving the impossible, Frank swung the door slowly open.