Tick Bus

Jasper hates ticks, but they love him

Photo by Erik Karits on Unsplash

He stood over the toilet, a wiggling tick held between his thumb and finger. The insect had crawled into his hair sometime in the night, discovered while reading the newspaper that morning. His finger had passed over it lightly, then back again, dread souring the last bite of buttery rye toast.

“Goddamn it,” he hissed, shoving back his chair. “Got a tick again, Ella. I told you not to let that goddamn tick bus into the house.”

“Dog’s been outside, Jasper,” Ella hollered from the kitchen, elbows deep in sudsy water. Her tone was unconcerned; Jasper was always complaining about something, and since the weather had turned warm, the dog had been banished to the backyard. Besides, it was summer; what did he expect?

“Then where in the hell did I get this goddamn tick?” Jasper slammed down the newspaper and stomped upstairs, fingertips feeling around his scalp just in case there was more than one bloodsucking bastard creeping around up there.

He grasped the small body and yanked it out, unconcerned about leaving mouthparts in his skin. He just wanted it out, he didn’t give a shit about being careful or saving the little corpse in case he got sick. A few hairs came out with the tick which pissed him off even more. He didn’t have that much hair on his head to spare, goddamn it!

Trapped between his fingers, the tick wriggled its legs. Jasper flicked it into the toilet bowl and pressed the handle, watching with pleasure as the nasty thing disappeared into the septic tank.

As he washed his hands at the sink, he wondered how many ticks he’d flushed over the years. Ever since Ella had brought that damn dog home, every spring and summer had been full of ticks. She would argue that the five or six he pulled out of himself during that time didn’t count as ‘full of ticks’ but he wasn’t one to argue semantics. Even one bloodsucker was too many.

Five or six was a lot, even if Ella wouldn’t admit it. She never seemed to have the trouble he did, no doubt because she was so damn sour. Not that he’d ever been called sweet, he admitted as he dried his hands on one of Ella’s white hand towels instead of the blue one resting on the counter. The white ones were for show, she said, but Jasper was in no mood to coddle her womanly whims. But there had to be some reason ticks preferred him over her. Wasn’t there something about mosquitos liking the way some people tasted versus others? Mosquitos were bloodsucking bastards too, so maybe the same thing applied to ticks.

“Aw, who cares,” Jasper muttered. He was reaching for the light switch when a gurgling noise came from behind him, and when he turned, he saw the toilet bowl was full of brown. What the hell? Was the toilet backing up? Visions of dollar signs floated before his eyes at the thought. Plumbers were expensive, and he sure as hell didn’t want to dip into the money he’d been saving for vacation, no siree.

Jasper grabbed the plunger from beside the commode, then froze. What the hell? The brown stuff was…moving? He blinked hard, shook his head and leaned over the churning bowl.

One of the brown things crawled onto the rim, brown against the white porcelain. The bottom dropped out of his belly and his mouth went dry. A tick. A tick had crawled out of the toilet bowl. A tick. No. Impossible. Jasper dropped the plunger and closed his eyes for a moment. It wasn’t real. He was having a–an episode. Yes. A brain fart. That’s all it was. He inhaled deeply and opened his eyes.

The toilet rim was dark with round, multi-legged arachnids and the bowl churned with them.

“Gaahh,” Jasper choked, stumbling back as a stream of hungry ticks erupted from the bowl. Summoning up bravery from somewhere, he darted forward and pushed down the handle. The water swirled briefly, then stopped. Clogged, goddammit!

He wasn’t scared anymore, no, he was pissed. Ticks in his home! By god, they were not going to beat him, no sir. Brandishing the plunger, he thrust it into the teeming bowl, jerking it up and down, up and down, until the water began to swirl again and the ticks were sucked back down into the septic.

Breathing hard, Jasper set down the plunger and went over to the sink to wash his hands, triumphant. Damn bugs. Well, he showed them who was boss, didn’t he? He smoothed his hair and turned toward the door. As his finger came down on the light switch and the room went dark, he heard a familiar gurgling come from the toilet behind him.

***

Ella let the water out of the sink and frowned. What in the world was that man doing? A glance at the wall clock told her that if they didn’t leave in the next five minutes they were going to be late. And that bastard of a doctor’s office cancelled if you were even five minutes late, and charged $25 to boot!

She hollered up the stairs even though she knew it would only make her husband mad. What else was new, though? He was already furious about the tick he’d found at the breakfast table so her hollering at him wouldn’t make much difference. Ella frowned again and started up the stairs. He was such a codgerly man lately, she reflected, half irritated, half amused. It was as if the moment he turned 60 an old man switch had been turned. He didn’t want to take walks anymore, didn’t want to play cards, didn’t even want to get intimate very often, if she was being honest. Spent all of his time complaining about the newspapers, neighbors or the dog. And ticks, she added, rolling her eyes. Ticks weren’t really that big of a deal. You found one, you pulled it off and flushed it. No big deal. Except for Jasper. He acted as if each tick he found was a personal affront. As it the tiny bloodsuckers were targeting him specifically. Some people were just tastier than others. Ella rarely got bitten by mosquitos, and she hadn’t found a tick on her in years. The ticks just liked how Jasper tasted, that’s all.

She reached the top of the stairs and paused, listening. She could hear a strange noise, a kind of hum. It wasn’t the air conditioner. She moved down the hall, stopping before the closed bathroom door.

All of a sudden the hairs on the back of her neck rose. She had to swallow twice before she could speak. “Jasper? Honey? You all right?” The doorknob was cold beneath her hand when she twisted it and pushed open the door. And screamed.

An undulating carpet of swollen, humming ticks covered the Jasper-shaped thing on the white tiles.