It all started with a simple plant.
I woke up that morning like I did every day. I was about to leave for work when I noticed a change in my garden. There was a small, unknown plant growing in a corner, with a note tied to the base of it. "A gift from someone who enjoys your garden." I must say, I take pride in the plants in front of my house. I've hand-picked them and made sure they all grow as beautiful as they can. But now a gift because of them? My ego was going to burst! I went to work. When I had time I Googled a bit, trying to find out what kind of plant it was.
The closest plant I could find in looks wasn't named. There was just a picture on a poorly designed website, which recommended keeping it indoors with good light, enough water, and good soil. It showed a picture of the flower—lovely star-shaped flowers in a blue shade with a red center. Once I was home, I brought the flower inside to keep it safe and hoping to see the blooms. A month went by and the little plant grew tall, the leaves coming directly from the round center. It looked a bit like a pineapple, except completely dark brown, the leaves fading to red on the tips. My friends found it really strange, but cute. They laughed a bit about my ego when I explained to them how I got it, but they agreed I did deserved it.
Another month passed. One night, I heard a soft cracking, like when you open an egg for breakfast. Lying on my bed, I wondered what it could be. But the night was silent again. I shrugged it off and went back to the book I was reading. The next night, it started. Little steps on the walls during the night would wake me up. As soon as I started paying attention, they would stop. Two, three, four times a night I would wake up to these soft, small hits on the sides of my walls. I spoke to some friends about it, who said I was working too much and the stress was getting to me. I believed them, and after a couple of days the steps finally stopped.
One day, when I went to water my "gift," I noticed it had a small crack on one side. I poked it a bit, curious, and it gave forth the sound of a cracking egg, showing me that the plant was hollow. Surprised, I decided to check the net later to see if it was normal on this plant, then left for work. I had a hard day that made me forget the plant completely until I was back at home in bed, relaxing. You know that moment of the night when your mind runs wild, making all kinds of crazy ideas sound possible? That's when it hit me: the plant, the egg cracking, the steps on my walls, the insect-like creature over my chest. I couldn't move. I wasn't paralyzed by fear, even though I was scared to death. I just couldn't move. I hadn't noticed the ugly creature standing on my chest, piercing through the covers, apparently to inject something into me. It was as big as my fist and had six legs, no wings, and a huge head. I had time to see it as it ripped the blankets, reaching for my body. Two others joined it, silently falling from the ceiling. I couldn't feel a thing, even though I could see my blood as they burrowed themselves into my body. Only my eyes were sending messages to my brain. That's when I passed out. I woke up after a while.
Right now, my eyes and my brain are all that belong to me. They somehow move my body, forcing it to act against my will. My body's withered; they seem to feed on it, yet I feel nothing but the terror of knowing they're inside me making me walk, making me grab the note I got with the plant months ago, making me walk to another garden during the night, dig a hole, tie the note to my dry, brown index finger and get into the hole, leaving only the finger above the soil.
Original author unknown