The Hen's Den

Saliva built up, causing Jacob’s esophagus to squeeze green mucous up his tight throat with the pressure of toothpaste through a tube. In one glorified release, he choked out a wad of saliva, and spit it onto the concrete sidewalk, splattering in a rounded body the circumference of four silver dollars.

“You okay?” Terrence asked in mid-jog.

Jacob, hunched over with hands cupped on knees, nodded. “Just feeling a little queasy, that’s all.”

Terrence sighed, looking at the other joggers abound City Park. “Don’t tell me it’s from that place we ate at the other day.”

“I really don’t know what it is...” Jacob rubbed his hands together, ran four steps, and was beaten. “I gotta walk the rest of the way.”

“I knew it. I fucking knew we shouldn’t had gone to eat there! I told myself you’d get sick. And there you are, puking your brains out.”

“I’m not puking my brains out, okay. Probably a case of sinuses.”

Jacob lifted up his head, the weight of everything swung off axis. He stumbled.

“You really got to see a doctor. Starting to get me sick, seeing you dry heaving about the place.”

“I’ll go later. Maybe I can get a scrip.”

“Well whatever the doctor does prescribe, just make sure it’s extra strength! You’re goin down hard like a garbage truck off the Sears Tower.”

They both go to walk, but are suddenly alarmed.

“Please, help me!” begged the crackled voice of a man in great fear.

Across the quad, a man of shoulder-length hair, parts of which are braided, shuffled past a woman coasting her infant in a stroller. By maternal instinct, she yanked the stroller back just as the man made for a run.

“Will you look at that shit…” gasped Terrence.

The man was chased by two security guards.

The man in pursuit rips open an exposed arm, peeling back the flesh from which blood squirted out. He wailed more from a mental breakdown than the pain that registered to him. “Get them out of me!!! They’re in me!!!” Onlookers gasp to see the man flip open a switchblade, twirl the tip end to his arm, and thrust it through bone. He writhed, sawing the blade deep into the flesh, twisting.

One of the security guards drew a gun and fired. A clean exit wound ran straight through the man’s head--a perfect hole from which blood trailed. He dropped to his knees, and fell face forward with a hollowed thump.

“Yo, man, see that shit?” Terrace cupped a balled hand over his hand. “That was cold-hearted.”

Jacob stood beside him at a total loss for words.

An idea struck Terrence’s mind, and he whipped out his iphone. Started punching in numbers.

Jacob snapped, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“This is some headline news shit, Jacob. I’m talkin’ scorin’ at least five-hundred in the bank.”

Jacob whipped Terrence’s arm, who said in great defense, “Watch the arm!”

“You can’t sell this.”

“And why not? Free country and all…” Terrence looked as Jacob choked. “Well, I’m waiting.”

The park returned to its normal state; a cool breeze graced against branches of the trees, ducks skirting along the clips of the pond amidst geese and other fowl, a vendor sold a hot dogs to a mother and her daughter. Everything returned to normal. The security guards walked off, along with all the onlookers. Not a single soul caused a fuss.

“We better get moving,” Jacob suggested, placing a hand on Terrence’s shoulder, “before we draw unwanted attention.”

Jacob took one more look of the dead male, his bristled cheek pressed against the plush grass, eyes rolled upward, sleeping the eternal slumber in a pool his own blood. No tears shed over his loss.

Terrence and Jacob made their way to 80th and Luxor, and jogged up to the cafe as usual after a good day’s worth of jogging.

They were greeted by a very cherry “What’s up, guys?” from Lynda Jenkins, who was serving up a double-shot of espresso for the rather ornery defense attorney Kylar Briggins. The salty-haired man gave both guys a contemptible look, along with a smirk that made his thick moustache slant leftward. He sunk his meaty hand into the inner pocket of his coat, removed his wallet, and gave her a ten-dollar bill. “Keep the change,” he mumbled, grabbing for a complimentary Post News on his way out.

Terrence smiled in courtesy of Lynda’s shout out to them. “The usual.”

She leaned over the counter, lapping one arm over the other, and studied both men with a twinkle in her eyes. Lynda was always one to exhuberate an aura of warmth to anyone, but most of all her dearest friends. “So, what you boys having?” Terrence opened his mouth but she did the honors by bringing her fingertips to either temple, “No let me guess.” Eyes closed, she made a hammy interpretation of a mind-reader. “Terrence, you want the…” She opened her eyes, facing beaming, “Mocha Frappuccino, light on the whip cream.”

“You, my lady, read me like a book.” Terrence chuckled.

“Always the pleasure.” Lynda reached for a plastic cup, ran the marks-a-lot across the tabs to fill in the order.

“Now, Jacob.” She looked at him, “Don’t leave me hanging.”

“Not in the mood today.” Jacob kept his hands in his pockets; his demeanor tepid at best.

“You look a little blue. Don’t tell me I wore you out.” Jacob’s sharp eyes shifted on her, but uttered not a word.

Terrence answered, “Don’t mind him. We ate at The Hen’s Den last night, met up with Roddy and Clyde. Today, he started feeling queasy. Maybe caught a bug.”

Lynda said, “You know, I went to The Hen’s Den last week with Suzy. Now nothing happened to me, but Suzy fell ill the next day.”

Terrence inquired, “How’s she now?”

Lynda shrugged, “Haven’t seen her in over a week. Our schedules normally clash: she doing the graveyard shift, me doing the day shift.”

“That’s rough.” Terrence sympathized.

“Won’t even return my calls. About two days ago, all calls started going straight to voicemail.” Jacob stood back, not liking the sound of it. “It’s typical for Suzy to disappear every once in awhile.”

Suzy fixed Terrence’s order, handing it to him. “It’ll be four-thirty.” Terrence pulled out his billfold, handed her a credit card. She swiped it. Returned it. Terrence said, “Keep us updated.”

“Will do.” Suzie said.

Stepping from under the outside awning, Jacob began to scratch vigorously at his crotch, enough to gain Terrence’s attention. “You really need to get checked. Might have STDs.”

“I don’t have no damn STD.” Jacob ensured. “I can’t stop sweating..”

Terrence placed his hand upon Jacob’s forehead. “You ain’t got a fever.” His eyes shifted to a walk-in clinic across the street. “Maybe a doctor can convince you you’re just imagining shit.”

The door to the clinic chimed by their entry.

A receptionist, a young girl who looked fresh out of college, smiled at them with the type of glow new workers in any field have before life teaches them the opposite. “How can I help you?”

Jacob coughed into his fist. Terrence spoke, “My brother here. He ain’t feeling right. We are in desperate need of a doctor to examine him.”

She took one look at Jacob, “Seems fine to me.”

“Are you serious?” Terrence patted Jacob, “He’s a walking wreck!”

The pep drained straight from her face as she responded in a cracked voice, “If you insist.” She grabbed a clipboard and pen, handed it to Jacob. “You’re going to want to fill out the entire application, and return it to me, along with your health insurance info.”

Jacob took the clipboard, read her nametag. Megan Wilkinson. And took a seat beside a man whose nose was in a sensational National Observer newspaper, the headlines reading “Viral Chicken Disease Outbreak”.

He wasn’t even done jotting his first name when a nurse, name tag advertised Julia Smith, called out, “Jacob Richards, the doctor can see you now.”

Terrence and Jacob stood up in unison, Julia regarded Terrence. “You can remain in the waiting room.” Jacob lifted his clipboard, “You can finish filling it out in the examination room.” In due haste, Julia led Johnny to room 3B.

The first operations she performed were of the mundane: weight check, temperature, heart rate, blood pressure. Everything read fine.

Julia inputted data in the computer, asking the rudimentary questions regarding allergies and medical history. She then got to the beef of the visit, “So what brings you in today?”

“Well, I…” He sucked in a ball of saliva, head still burning, “You sure I don’t have a fever?”

Her blue eyes read his browns, speaking in a slow but direct manner, “The temperature read 97 degrees.”

“It was yesterday,” Jacob scratched at some discomfort in the back of his neck, heard fluids moving through his body. “Me and Terrence, my brother, we…” He wiped at his forehead, Julie struck a perturbed glance at him, “ate out at The Hen’s Den. A chicken place.”

“I’m familiar with it.” Julia said, “My boyfriend loves the place. Todd.” Jacob sensed a hesitance in her voice. Something sharp in tone, like her heart had been pierced, but she persevered. “He always went there, before” Watery eyed, she laughed more out of embarrassment, “Sorry for the whole awkward moment. We aren’t supposed to be spilling out our personal lives. Staff-patient privacy, you know... I’m new. Today’s actually my second day here. Oops!” She gave a gun click of her hand, “Did it again…” She sighed. Jacob observed. “So, chicken place. Can you tell me about it?”

“Nothing really. We ate there. Shortly after, I felt a little woozy. Throughout the night, I had bouts of coughing, some chest pains, an itching sensation, nausea, fever. The works." She nodded in understanding, which shook Jacob. "Today, I go about my usual jogging session to kick-start the day. You know, exercise opens neural pathways and all. This morning, out in City Park. I…” Jacob got a flashback of the odd man who was gunned down, the corpse looked to nothingness. Jacob buried it. “I spewed. Kind of ashamed of myself.”

She typed at notes at jackrabbit pace. When done, she turned to him, rested both hands on her thick thighs. “It’s not my position to dish out half-concocted theories to you. So I will just brush over the matter for you to ingest. Todd…” A knock on the door made Julia about jump out of her chair.

A man of curly, light brown hair, thick beard, wearing a stethoscope necklace-style, peeked into the room. “Are we ready, Julia?”

Julia tried to collect herself, fixing her bangs, “Yeah! Yeah, we’re good.” She looked at me, pursed her lips, nodded, “We’re good.”

The doctor didn’t skip a beat as he approached to Jacob, offering his plump hand. Jacob accepted the firm grip, “Dr. Kingsley.” Julia handed him the clipboard on her departure, but didn’t completely leave without taking a final look at Jacob. Her expression was one of pity.

Dr. Kingsley scanned the readings on the monitor. “So, Mr. Richards, what brings you in here?” Jacob repeated the symptoms he divulged to Julia, verbatim. Kingsley scanned the records, “Uh-huh. I see.” The doctor rolled the ball of the mouse via middle finger as he took in the information. “Says you have no allergies.”

“That I know of.” Jacob admitted, looking at the clock above the desk. The clock read 11:16 am. “Is that time right?”

“As about as accurate as can be. We’ve synchronized them all with UTC.” That meant he’d been in the exam room for at least an hour, but it felt like minutes. Where the time went was a mystery. “Sorry I was a little late. Had a surprise patient.” Kingsley spun around to him. “So, you say you’ve been experiencing signs of illnesses, but your vitals are immaculate.” The doctor shined an unexpectant beam of light into Jacob’s eyes with the proficient speed of a sharpshooter, making Jacob flinch. Kingsley returned to his desk, jotted notes. “These symptoms occurred right after…?”

“I went to The Hen’s Den.” Did Jacob really have to paint a picture?

Kingsley nodded indicative of understanding. He stood up, walked to the supply cabinet, took out a pouch and some utensils.

Jacob asked, “What do you think it is?”

“Hypochondria.” The doctor hunched over, fiddled around for some tools.

“Th-that’s all?” Jacob couldn’t believe what he heard.

“The mind… It’s a funny thing… It has the power to convince us in such a way that our body reacts.” Jacob noticed Kingsley holding up a syringe, putting the needle in a vial of clear liquid. He approached Jacob.

“What’s that for?”

“It’s nothing more than a mild sedative. It is to induce your mind into a calm state. It is quite necessary for your body to remove any implicative illnesses your body otherwise registers as manifestations.”

Jacob let Kingsley stick him, reminding himself that Doctor Knows Best!

Kingsley dumped the needle into the red biohazard container, washed his hands at the sink, then returned to Jacob. “The shot I have given you… You will feel some… discomfort… Even so much as mild paralysis.”

“Paralysis?”

Kingsley chuckled, “It’s only temporary.” Jacob began feeling the effects. “Now you ask what you suffer from, and I said hypochondria, but it’s a little deeper than that. Hypochondria is the main symptom of a disease.”

“Disease?”

“Mitoglyphondria. Or in layman’s terms, Mad Chicken Disease.”

“You’re shitting.” Jacob flushed.

“Afraid not.” The Doctor explained. “There’s been a new strand of the contagion. Attempts have been made to keep it controlled, but it’s spreading more now. The disease acts as a hallucinogen. Attacks the brain. You see things and feel things, but it makes the carrier convinced they are so sick that they eventually die: either from madness, or suicide, or the body literally crapping out. In about twenty-four hours, the carriers thinks worms are living inside them. Because they are.” Jacob remembered the man in the park. “The disease is contagious. Can be spread through bodily fluid, in most cases intercourse.” Lynda popped into Jacob’s mind foremost. “We have tried to find ways to control it, but have failed.” The doctor's face expressed concern.

Jacob lost consciousness.

He later awoke in surrounding darkness, offered little sight by lights hanging high from a vaulted ceiling. It smelled heavy of decay, and looked to be a sewer of some sort. He went to turn, but couldn’t. Something wiggled under his skin.

Jacob's heart about wrenched at the sight of Terrance, whose glazed eyes looked back at him, lifeless. Jacob went to scream, but his jaw was locked. He noticed another corpse, the nametag Megan, and beyond her the realization of a nightmare come to life. It was Lynda, discarded amidst a sea of other corpses, deposited under the heart of the city.