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come back. He walked home slowly feeling resentful, nurturing feelings of injustice, the world was just so unfair. He knew he had made a fool of himself and it made him angry. He didn’t remember getting home but here he was.

He could hear laughter coming from somewhere. At first it was faint, but as he concentrated on it it seemed to get louder and louder. He looked around. There was nobody about but there was that maggot again. It was on the other side of the room now, rolling around and around on the floor, as if convulsed with laughter. Spike walked across the room to where it lay and as he approached the laughter seemed to get louder. The maggot was still rolling around. Then the laughter stopped as a voice said, ‘You’re such a sap. You break me up. You’re a prize idiot and you’re too stupid to know it.’

Spike looked around.

‘Over here dumbo,’ said the voice.

He looked down at the maggot.

‘Yeah here. Where do ya think.’


‘Yeah me. Don’t look so surprised.’

He couldn’t believe he was talking to a maggot.

‘You think I don’t know what goes on?’ it said. ‘I’ve been observing you. I know all about you. You ain’t got no secrets. We’re buddies.’


‘Yeah. We both get looked down on by those sons-of-bitches out there. Any excuse and they’re on to us. Am I right?’

‘Yeah, you’re right,’ said Spike, feeling conspicuous.

‘You can speak up, nobody’s eaves dropping,’ said the maggot.

‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Don’t. I have some advice for you.’

‘You do?’

‘Yes, I do. Grow up. Stop beating up on yourself. If you don’t love yourself nobody’s going to love you - look at me.’

He looked at the pulsating creamy coloured maggot.

‘I may be just a blob to you but I know what’s what.’

‘What should I do?’

‘Come out of your chrysalis and fly my friend. You can do it. I know you can. Just have faith in yourself.’

‘Thanks Mr. Maggot.’

‘No problem. Glad to help,’ it said.

Spike was feeling better already. He thought he’d start by getting a glass of water for his parched throat. He turned to go to the kitchen and stepped on the maggot. Oh no! he thought, as he looked down at the gooey paste that had once been his friend. It never pays to give advice.

Colin Pink lives in London, England and writes plays, novels and short-stories. He won 2nd prize in the 1999 London Writers Competition for his play 'Crawling'. His scary stories have been published in the print anthology 'Tales from Tartarus' and the magazine Enigmatic Tales. He recently completed a novel 'Erase and Rewind'.

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