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🧬 The Host: A Nightmare Born of Greed

The mansion was silent except for his ragged breathing. He sat in his silk robe, trembling violently, hands pressed to his head as if trying to keep his skull intact. For days, the itching hadn’t stopped. It only grew worse, a relentless, internal torment. He thought it was bugs, maybe an infection, or worse—madness, the slow collapse of the supreme intellect he prided himself on.

But when he ran his fingers across his scalp, he felt something moving. Small, disturbing bumps rising, pulsing, spreading with a slow, sickening rhythm. His heart pounded as he looked in the massive gilded mirror and saw his reflection twist not just with pain, but with primal fear.

“Maria!” he shouted, his voice cracking with desperation.

The maid rushed in, startled, clutching her apron. Her name was Maria, a quiet woman who had served in this house for five years, used to his eccentricities but never his terror. “What happened, sir?” she asked, her voice hushed.

He pointed a shaking finger to his head. “Tell me I’m not crazy. Please tell me you see them, too.”

She stepped closer, hesitant, her brow furrowed with genuine worry. At first, she thought it was a rash, maybe a severe allergy. But then she saw them. The bumps weren’t still. They were moving. Something shifted beneath the skin. Slow. Alive. Her eyes widened in horrific recognition.

She stumbled back, gasping for air, clutching the doorframe for support. The room, luxurious and vast, felt instantly colder.

He looked at her, his eyes desperate for confirmation. But Maria couldn’t speak. She could only scream—a high, raw sound of utter shock—because what she saw wasn’t insects crawling on him. They were crawling inside him. The bumps were forming horrific, slow-motion patterns, pushing outward from within. The chandelier flickered above them as the weak morning light crept through the heavy velvet curtains.

💵 The Unraveling

He sat motionless at the edge of his desk, stacks of money, gold watches, and a diamond ring box surrounded him—proof of a life well-lived, a life of absolute control. But at that moment, none of it mattered. He was wealthy enough to buy anything, yet he was host to a horror his fortune couldn’t touch.

His face was pale, drenched in sweat. He could feel them again, crawling, wriggling beneath his skin. Every pulse made his heart race faster. He wanted to scream but bit his lip until he tasted blood, trying to stay silent, trying to maintain the fragile illusion of control. The antique mirror in front of him reflected not a millionaire, but a man losing his mind, slowly and grotesquely.

He pressed his palms against his head, trying to flatten the strange hills and valleys that trembled under his skin. Small, circular bumps pushed outward like something trying to escape its prison. He felt a strange, internal pressure building near the top of his skull.

He groaned, tears filling his eyes. “No, no, this can’t be real,” he whispered. But the sharp, deep pain told him otherwise.

That’s when Maria re-entered the room. She was quiet, her movements measured, her initial panic replaced by a chilling resolve. She clutched a towel, her mind racing for a practical solution, a human explanation.

Her eyes widened instantly at the sight of him. “Sir, your head,” she cried, her voice trembling.

He didn’t look up. He couldn’t. He was too afraid of what she might see, afraid of the judgment in her loyal, frightened eyes.

She stepped closer, forcing herself to look. The red marks weren’t normal. They were circular, moving in a slow, horrific rhythm, like a machine driven by meat and terror. Her jaw dropped, and a short, choked shriek escaped before she could stop it. The sound echoed through the mansion like a warning no one could ignore, a signal that the sanctuary had been invaded by the unthinkable.

And the millionaire finally realized whatever was inside him wasn’t human.

🐛 The Slithering Shadow

Maria’s scream cut through the stillness like glass breaking. He winced, gripping his head tighter as if trying to hold his skull together.

“Make it stop!” he yelled, his voice trembling with pain and desperate command.

Maria froze, her hand clamped over her mouth, eyes locked on the moving shapes. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. It looked as if something was alive under there, pushing, twisting, fighting to break free.

“Sir, we need to call a doctor,” she cried, finally finding her voice.

“No!” he barked, shaking his head violently. “I’ve seen three already. They said it’s all in my mind.” His voice cracked, full of fear and exhaustion. “But this—this is real.” He slammed his fist on the table, scattering piles of currency onto the floor.

Maria took a hesitant step closer. The bumps on his scalp pulsed again, this time harder, nearer the surface. A faint squelching sound followed. She gasped, backing into the chair behind her. “Something’s moving inside you,” she whispered, the truth almost too large to speak.

He stared at her, eyes wide, desperate for hope. “What do I do, Maria?”

She looked around, panicked, searching for anything to help—a clean cloth, alcohol, anything that could stop the inevitable. But when her eyes fell on his reflection in the mirror, she froze again because now she could see something thin and dark sliding just beneath his skin, and it was heading toward his eye.

Her scream filled the mansion once more, but this time it sounded like the beginning of something worse.

He stumbled to the mirror, clutching the sides of his head. The veins on his scalp bulged like tangled, pressurized wires. Maria’s voice trembled behind him. “Please, sir, don’t touch it.”

But he couldn’t stop. He had to know the identity of his invader. He leaned closer to the mirror, eyes darting across every bump and shadow. And then he saw it: something thin and black, wriggling just beneath the surface. It slithered slowly, tracing a horrific line from the back of his skull toward his temple.

His breath hitched. “God, what is that?” he whispered.

He pressed his fingers to the spot. The thing moved away from his touch like it was alive, intelligent, like it could feel him. He screamed and backed away, knocking a heavy lamp to the floor. The bulb shattered, sparks flickering in the dim light. “Get it out!” he shouted, his voice raw and desperate.

💉 The Sin of Arrogance

Maria rushed to his side, trying to hold him still, but his body was shaking uncontrollably, like every nerve had caught fire. The crawling sensation spread down his neck. He gasped, grabbing his chest. Now it was moving lower, branching out.

Maria cried, “We need to go to the hospital!”

He looked at her, eyes bloodshot and full of terror, and whispered, “It’s too late. They’re everywhere.”

Maria tried to stay calm, helping him sit down. “What do you mean, they’re everywhere?” she asked.

He pointed weakly toward the locked drawer beside the desk. “Open it,” he murmured.

She hesitated, then pulled it open. Inside, dozens of small, half-empty bottles, unlabeled, rested on velvet lining. Maria picked one up. A faint, acrid chemical smell stung her nose. “What is this?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

He looked away. “An experiment,” he said hoarsely.

Her eyes widened in dawning horror. “You experimented on yourself?”

He nodded slowly. “They said it would make me stronger, sharper. I didn’t know it would do this.”

Maria stepped back, horrified. “What did you inject into your body?”

He shook his head, whispering, “It was supposed to heal my mind. Erase my flaws. Give me perfection.” But now the healing had turned into horror. The bumps grew larger, forming perfect, pulsing patterns in rhythm with his failing heartbeat. She could almost see the things moving beneath his skin, alive, spreading, consuming.

Maria clutched her cross necklace, praying under her breath. And then the millionaire screamed again, this time louder than before, because something had just broken through the surface.

A single, thick drop of blood rolled down his scalp, then another. Maria gasped. A small tear had formed on his head, a perfect circular wound. From inside it, something black glistened. He cried out, clutching his head with both hands. “Make it stop!” he sobbed. The black shape twitched and began to move.

🔥 The Final Release

Maria’s knees went weak, but she forced herself closer. She grabbed a towel from the desk and pressed it to his head. “Hold still, please,” she pleaded.

He screamed again. The towel turned crimson in seconds. Then she felt it: Movement under the cloth. Something small, warm, and alive.

She dropped the towel instantly. A dark, wormlike shape, glistening wetly, slithered out, falling onto the polished wooden floor. Maria shrieked and stumbled backward, tears streaming down her face. The millionaire stared, trembling, unable to process what he’d just seen: the grotesque birth of the thing he had created.

“What did you do to yourself?” Maria whispered, but he just sat there shaking, blood dripping from his scalp.

He gasped and stumbled back in terror as the black creature began to crawl toward his foot. “Kill it!” he cried.

Maria grabbed the broken lamp from the desk and smashed it down hard. Glass shattered. Sparks flew. The thing writhed and sizzled under the heat and pressure. The smell of burning flesh filled the room. She lifted the lamp again and struck once more.

“Thank God,” he whispered, slumping to his knees.

Maria fell beside him. “It’s over,” she said softly.

But both of them were wrong. As she looked closer, she saw movement again. Not on the floor, but beneath his neck—dozens of small, pulsing bumps, forming in perfect rhythm. The nightmare had only just begun. They were multiplying.

🪓 The Necessary Destruction

The mansion, once grand, now felt like a cage. Maria locked the doors, shutting every window, terrified of what might get out. The millionaire sat trembling on the couch. “They’re multiplying,” he whispered.

Maria grabbed her phone with shaking hands. “I’m calling the hospital,” she said firmly.

But before she could dial, his hands shot out and grabbed her wrist. “No!” he shouted. “They’ll lock me away. You don’t understand.”

“I don’t care about your pride! You’re—you’re dying!”

He pulled back, his head twitching. “Maria,” he said weakly, looking around at his ruined luxury. “If I die, promise me you’ll burn this house.”

Her heart sank. He wasn’t joking. Something deep inside her whispered that maybe that was the only way.

He had collapsed on the bed, body twitching. The wounds on his head had turned dark, almost black, and faint movement could be seen—small shapes pressing against the surface, trying to escape. She covered his head with a towel, but when she pulled it back moments later, the shapes had multiplied.

“Dear God,” she whispered.

He opened his eyes. Red, glassy, unfocused. “They’re in my blood now,” he rasped. Black veins crawled down his arms, branching like roots. “Please,” he begged. “Don’t let them take me.”

Maria ran to the drawer and grabbed a bottle of high-proof cleaning alcohol and a lighter. Her mind raced. She had to stop it somehow.

But before she could act, his body arched in pain. And from his scalp, tiny holes began to open again. Maria screamed, because this time, more than one thing came out.

The room filled with a sickening, wet, crawling sound. Tiny black creatures slid out from the wounds. One after another, they squirmed across the sheets, glistening under the dim light.

Maria’s breath caught in her throat. The millionaire was still conscious, his eyes wide with horror. “Get them off me!” he cried, thrashing. But no matter how hard he shook, they kept coming. His skin rippled like boiling water, each wave releasing more of the infestation.

Maria ran back to the desk, grabbed the lighter, and flicked it on. Her hands trembled as she whispered a prayer, holding the flame near the bottle of alcohol.

Then she threw it. Flames erupted, crawling across the floor. The alcohol ignited instantly, splashing the creatures and the sheets. The creatures screeched, curling and blackening in the fire. The millionaire screamed, pain and fear mixing into one final, protracted cry.

The smell of burning flesh filled the air. Maria covered her face, tears streaming. The fire spread fast, catching the curtains, the books, the carpet. The mansion began to glow with a haunting orange light. The millionaire’s voice grew weaker. Then silence.

🌑 The Lingering Horror

Maria was carried out, coughing and crying. “I had to do it. I had to,” she kept repeating. Paramedics tried to calm her down, but her eyes stayed fixed on the burning windows. Inside that inferno lay everything: the fortune, the man, and the monsters.

Hours later, when the flames finally died, investigators went in. They found the millionaire’s body near his desk, or what was left of it. His head was burned beyond recognition. Around him, the floor was covered in strange black ash, small circular patterns like nests.

One investigator leaned closer, confused. He brushed the ash gently and then froze, pale as death, because something twitched beneath it. A faint, wet sound.

The captain shouted, “Everyone out now!” But before they could run, the ash moved again, shifting alive. And from the charred floor, dozens of tiny shapes began to crawl.

Maria screamed from outside, as if she somehow knew the fire hadn’t killed them. It had set them free.

The millionaire thought money could buy him control over life, over death, even over his own body. But when you tamper with nature, nature always takes its revenge. No amount of gold can heal a poisoned soul. No science can undo the sin of arrogance. He wanted perfection and became the host of his own destruction.

Maria learned something that night she would never forget: that monsters aren’t always born in darkness. Sometimes they’re created by human hands.

She left that place forever, carrying the memory in silence, but every time she closed her eyes, she could still see those shadows moving under his skin. The world called it a tragedy. But for Maria, it was a warning, because some nightmares don’t come from outside. They start inside, where the greed begins to crawl.