I might be a drunk, but sure as hell, I ain’t a god damn liar.

Jackson’s always been a few trees short of a forest, but he’d been acting damned shady the last few weeks. I’d spy him through my curtains, loafing around his yard for hours, staring at the ground, muttering to himself, pacing and turning to and fro. That kind of erratic movement that makes you all uneasy.

Like I said, he’s always been a bit touched, but I was really starting to think he might’ve lost it, a shame too ‘cause he was always good for a few drinks, every once in a while anyway.

I was getting quite worried about him and I didn’t want to see him carted off, so, I did my neighbourly due diligence, I checked up on the guy. When he opened the front door I knew the poor fella had clocked off. It happens to the best of us I’m afraid.

He opened the door, socks and a t-shirt, cock and balls hanging out, clear as daylight, and exclaimed “Good evening neighbour!”

I was ushering him inside, out of sight from the street, ready to assess the severity of the situation, when I noticed a translucent sluglet shimmying into his ear canal.

Strange.

I meant to stop it and was reaching out, but the little fucker sunk itself in deep before I even raised my hand. I didn’t fancy playing tug of war inside his cavities, so I let off a little shudder and pressed on.

“Jesus” I said, unable to stop myself. His house had gone to shit.

“You sit here Jackson, let me get you something, some water, you look a little peaky.” I pulled out a chair from underneath the dining table

I’m not one to judge on cleanliness, but the state of his living-room-kitchenette was insane, I mean, there were literal mounds of dirt, all over the room. He had clearly forgone traditional notions of etiquette; the fridge was open and empty and all the food had been moved to the table, just rotting in a pile.

“So how have you been?” I asked him, mostly as a joke to myself while I tried to find him a clean glass.

“Yes. Jackson has been acceptable. Thank you.” He replied, and then as an afterthought added my name, “Marco.”

Two glasses in hand, I went to the sink and twisted the faucet, and found it was coated in a slimy residue.

“Eugh!”, Jackson you should really think about cleaning this place up. It’s gotten a little unruly, don’t you think?” I filled him a glass, but decided to forgo my own, I’d spied a couple cans in the cupboard and cracked one of them open. It was warm, but I’d take a tepid brew over slimy tap water any day of the week.

“I find the conditions in here quite acceptable” He said as I passed him the glass, and then added “But thank you, Marco, for your suggestion and the water. Water is nourishing.”

I took a hefty glug from the can and was just starting to wonder if I really should call the nuthouse on him, when I saw the second one.

A big, juicy almond coloured one. Crawling up and struggling around his neck. Then I spied a third, crawling from his hand and onto the table, then slipping away to nestle itself in the rotting food.

I couldn’t hold it in this time. “God, Jackson - what the fuck is going on with these slugs? What, are you growing crops in here or something? Jesus!” It was revolting.

I reached over to him, wanting to pluck the slug from his neck and toss it outside, but his arm snapped out to mine, catching me by the wrist, mid-air. I wasn’t expecting him to move so fast. His hand was cold and clammy.

“This is bad behaviour, Marco. Sit down and finish your beer. There’s another on the table, if you find it satisfying” said Jackson, the slug had moved out of my reach and retreated out of sight. Jackson released my hand, and standing up, began walking over to the kitchen to make himself busy, bare ass bouncing side to side.

“Uh, sure. If you insist.” I replied. “Listen, why don’t I go and get you some trousers man?” Mostly I just wanted to get out from the dirty kitchenette, but I was still worried for the guy.

Crushing the can, I placed it next to a bowl of uncooked egg whites and yellows and let off another little shudder. I opened the second drink, and began to walk upstairs.

Honestly the whole house was in a real way. In places, I could see half-assed attempts at redecoration. Floorboards had been stripped from the ground, revealing the earth, and muck and piping. Doors had been taken off their hinges and left laying on their sides next to the open frames. The carpet on the stairs was moist, and there were those random piles of dirt everywhere. I really did have to call someone.

I made it to his top of the stairs and found that he’d left the water running in his shower and sink. They were gently overflowing, running water over the carpet and wood. At least I knew why it was so moist now. I grabbed the first pair of trousers I could find and hurried back down the stairs, splish-sploshing as I went. Jackson had well and truly lost it.

I called out to him as I turned the corner into the kitchen-living-dining room, “Hey, I got you som-“ and was rendered speechless by what I saw.

In front of the sink, staring up at the ceiling, hands in the air, Jackson was stood. Crushing raw eggs above his greedily expectant face, shovelling the shells into his open mouth and spitting out the gooey-egg-fluid.

“Jackson, I-“ Stepping backwards, I put my foot into one of the bigger piles of dirt and, in my surprise, yelled some strange yelping cry like “Uhyeeouugh!!”. I slipped on the dirt, my beer can went flying, and I did, what must have looked like, an attempt at some strange gymnastic pose.

As I was falling I kicked out my leg and sent the large dirt pile scattering across the room.

And with that dirt pile.

Slugs.

Hundreds of tiny little, translucent fucking sluglets, cascading with the dirt, all the way across the room.

That really upset Jackson. I mean he was pissed.

He stormed over to me, swinging everything, and grabbed me by my shirt. He lifted me up and off of the floor, and placed me and my feet back down on the ground.

“No. This is bad. This is not acceptable. M-m-Ma-Marco!” He was fuming, and trying to talk to me through what sounded like a mouth full of eggshells. But it wasn’t angry like how you or I might be if someone started sending shit flying all across our living-room-kitchenette. He seemed genuinely sad, disappointed, like a school teacher or something.

And, right there, and I will swear this on my mother, to the court and to fucking Jesus Christ our Lord and Saviour up above. Right in that moment, inside of his mouth.

Hundreds upon hundreds of miniature sluglets. Feasting on broken, gooey egg shells.

“Uhh-huh, yeah uh, sure Jackson” I said, backing away from him and looking for the front door latch with my hands.

“You get out of here! Jackson doesn’t want you here anymore!” He said to me, visibly upset, on the brink of tears even.

“I’m really trying buddy!” And Hallelujah! I felt the little knob, twisted it and got the fuck outta there before I had to witness any other nightmares. It was only stepping outside, into the daylight and the fresh air, that I realised how musty, and cold, and damp it had been in there.

I went back in my house and locked the doors, cracked open another brew and went right back to spying out of my window.

Jackson surely had been touched, lost his god damn mind even. But there was something more going on, I knew that for certain.

xxx