29 Sep The Nest

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📅 Published on September 29, 2024

“The Nest”

Written by James Dermond
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

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⏰ ESTIMATED READING TIME — 13 minutes

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May 3rd

It’s been months since I’ve written in this journal. I’ve been preoccupied with applying to medical schools, and now I’ve been accepted to the program of my first choice. I’ve gone on at length about this university and its merits, so I’ll restrain myself here.

I’ve worked so hard for this, and now it’s happening.

Moving across the country will be challenging, as will school, but I feel that I’m prepared for that challenge. When I first decided to practice medicine as a career, I was only a high school student, young and naïve about the sacrifices this decision would require of me. But I now move forward to my future as an adult, a man ready to take his place as part of the medical community.

I wish my parents were alive to see me now. These last few years have been so hard without Mom—not just emotionally, but without her financial support too, I’m sorry to write. School will be costly, but with loans and some academic grants, I’ll pull through. I’ve yet to settle

on a specialty, but it’ll be a lucrative one, whatever I eventually choose. I was always very handy—Mom said I should be an engineer—but now I’m going to be a doctor instead.

I broke up with Allison this past weekend. She took the news quite hard, I’m also sorry to write. I just felt our relationship wouldn’t work long-distance and that she would eventually hold me back from success in the medical profession. Her hope, most likely, was to marry well, and I wish her the best in the years to come, even if I never see her again.

I never really loved her—this was the root cause of our break-up, more than anything else. I would go through the motions, telling her I loved her only when she said the same. But there was no real feeling there, only some attraction, and even that faded after a while. In hindsight, I’m surprised we lasted as long as we did, considering that only one of us was ever really serious about it. I may meet someone new in medical school, though my first year will certainly be a hectic one. I’m not sure how I feel about marrying another doctor. Are such couples likely to divorce? I’ll have to do a quick search and see what I find (the answer is most probably yes). But the university is a large one, and there are many students there from all over the country, if not the world.

August 24th

Today was the first day of class. I have “Gross Anatomy” tomorrow, which will involve dissecting a human cadaver. I’m not entirely sure what to expect from this class, but I’ve already heard several worrisome (read: disgusting) stories. In any case, I purchased my copy of Grant’s Dissector from the bookstore today, and I’m ready for it. One of the other first-year medical students informed me that while some of the cadavers arrive at the medical school as willing donations, many others are “donors by circumstance,” meaning that no one claimed the body and that the state ended up giving the remains to the school.

The cadavers are ostensibly screened for infectious diseases beforehand, but I’m not so sure.

That said, I think I’ve decided to specialize in internal medicine: either oncology or even hematology, which would make me a “blood doctor.” Cancer may finally be cured one day, and I’d like to be a part of that—or at least the beneficiary of some cancer research largesse (ha!).

My assigned lab room is across from the school’s immunology department, where some of the program’s Ph.D. students conduct their dissertation research. I saw a sign outside their office today requesting blood donations and a cohort of subjects for clinical trials. It seems the department is working on an experimental vaccine and needs to evaluate its potential side effects on subjects with certain blood types. I’m interested in the work being done there and would like to meet some of the graduate students. Who knows, something worthwhile may come of it.

August 26th

Anatomy class was yesterday, and I couldn’t face eating dinner afterward. Our team’s cadaver is in relatively good shape—I’d guess he died in his forties. We won’t know the cadaver’s documented age or cause of death until the end of the course.

This morning, I stopped by immunology to donate blood with the intention of participating in the experimental vaccine’s clinical trials. I’d never given blood before, and I didn’t know my blood type (odd, isn’t it?).

The study will only select donors from the ‘O’ and ‘A’ groups, which constitute most of the general population, and will screen for other variables. There will be another set of clinic trials later for the ‘B’ group, and potentially the uncommon ‘AB’ group blood type. The variant of the virus being studied appears to hold a higher chance of infecting some blood types than others, with worse symptoms for those infected from the high-risk blood groups.

The woman administering the blood draw was quite pretty and is a year ahead of me. She said her field will eventually be toxicology. She intends to return to her native country after graduation and work with her father, a physician himself.

I asked her why she was working in immunology, and she revealed her plans to pursue a Ph.D. in the field in addition to an MD. I have to say, I was immediately drawn to her: she’s olive-skinned, doe-eyed, and… well, I’ll stop there. It’s my hope she was flirting with me when she told me her first name, “Aradhya,” (spelling?) and then said, “But my friends call me Andi,” smiling coyly. I’ll know the results of the tests next week.

September 2nd

My blood type is “Vel-negative,” one of the rarest known blood types! I always knew I was special, but this is a surprise. Andi seemed pleased as well and said the department might contact me some time for a study of seronegative subjects in unusual blood groupings. I wanted to ask Andi out on a date before I left, but she was pulled away by the department’s PI after giving me my results. Maybe I’ll see her around on campus. Hopefully soon.

September 13th

I was walking back from class this afternoon when I saw Andi. She approached an empty bench with some textbooks, a large flock of pigeons abruptly scattering as she took her seat. This was quite strange—the few others seated on benches nearby hadn’t perturbed the feeding birds.

She didn’t seem to notice me. I walked up to her bench and then announced, “I would use an old pick-up line, but you already know my blood type.” Andi looked up, smiled, and then laughed. Corny, I know, but it worked. We’re having dinner this weekend.

September 17th

We ate at a restaurant of her choosing, a hole-in-the-wall place with candles in wine bottles on the tables. Andi said it was “cozy,” but I thought it was just dark. The waiter seated us in the back, where it was quiet, which was fine with me.

After finishing our meal, we talked about medical school, her home overseas, her family, and her research interests. She did most of the talking, as I’m not fully comfortable discussing my past. Her family seems quite well-off, if not wealthy, and I don’t want her to possibly dismiss me as unsuitable before we’ve grown closer. She’s beautiful, and I could become quite serious about her.

As the sun began to set outside, shadows drew over our table, Andi’s face now only partially visible in the flickering candlelight. Her voice grew distant, and I felt myself nodding off, the lids of my eyes becoming heavy. There seemed to be a second voice whispering to me, even as

Andi spoke at length, hissing in some secret, unknown language…

It could’ve only been my overtaxed mind. I sat up and apologized to Andi, saying that I must have almost dozed for a moment. The stress of medical school, even early in the semester. She said she didn’t notice anything and thanked me for listening to her for so long, that she didn’t have many friends even after more than a year at school.

Andi said she would like to see me again, maybe even during the week if she had time. I was thrilled—I felt pulled to her, and I didn’t even consider refusing.

December 10th

My final exams are done. My grades have been slipping as I’ve been spending more time with Andi, but I still feel confident I’ll finish in the top quarter of my class this semester. Onto the next set of courses. Andi and I have been meeting each other as time allows, she being more studious than even myself. We’ve gone on several more dates around town, and I hope to see her again once we return from winter break. She said she’ll be flying home for the next few weeks to visit her parents.

I think about her often when we’re not together, which is distracting. I wouldn’t say it’s an obsession; more of an infatuation. She’s shown up in some of the dreams I can hazily recall after waking, and I find myself daydreaming about her even in class (bad). Things will ramp up next semester, but I want to keep seeing her. I can think of almost nothing else.

January 7th

I met Andi yesterday after class and she said she wanted a break for a few months. That we both needed to focus more on school. I reluctantly agreed and said we could at least meet for lunch occasionally, on campus. She said she would call me once she found her footing under her current course load, maybe at the beginning of next month.

That night, I dreamt about Andi again, but I can remember the entire dream this time, in detail. We were somewhere in a jungle (weird), at the entrance to an overgrown and dilapidated palace. Andi stood at the entrance and bid me follow her, but I stayed put. She then began a seductive dance in response, her arms sensually writhing and undulating as she gazed at me. The strange, shrill whispering I had heard on our first date filled my ears, and I felt I had to obey…

My overactive imagination! Andi’s right: we need to concentrate on medical school and make it through this semester. But I hope to spend some time with her again soon.

April 9th

I spent the night at Andi’s apartment last night. We had met earlier that evening for our first real date since last semester. Over dinner, Andi looked lovely and glowing; she had never been more desirable to me.

She also seemed happy and rested, as if she was more assured of her academic progress. We’d met several times over the past few months for campus lunch dates, where we mostly talked about our classes. The last time, Andi had suggested a date night soon, “as the weather is getting warmer.”

After our dinner date, I walked her home and she invited me up. She is an amazing, intoxicating woman, unlike anyone I’ve ever met. I believe, for the first time in my life, that I might be in love. I’d do anything for her and be glad to do it.

June 7th

As soon as my last exam was written, I received a call from Andi. She told me she had to meet with me, her voice strangely nervous. I asked her why the urgency, and she said she had to tell me in person.

So, I find out that Andi’s pregnant. She’s known since last month but didn’t want to tell me as exams were coming up. I asked her what she wanted to do, and she said, “Get married.” I’d not wanted it to happen this way, but I’d already been considering proposing to her, just not so soon. And now I’m going to be a father, even as I have three more years of medical school to complete.

June 8th

Andi called me again today, this time telling me that we have to travel outside the country over the summer break. The plane will leave this Saturday, apparently, the day after both of us get our final grades. Andi assured me we would be back in plenty of time for the fall semester, but that we had to meet her parents. “Otherwise, they just won’t understand,” she told me before hanging up the phone.

June 10th

I’m writing this from the airport. I did well on my exams, but not as well as I had hoped. I’ve brought next semester’s textbooks with me just in case; I can’t stop studying even for a few weeks. Andi didn’t tell me about her exams or how she did. She must be too worried about her pregnancy.

We took a taxi here and I noticed as she got in that Andi was already wearing maternity clothes, even though it’s only been a few months. She is quite visibly pregnant; maybe it’s bloating, but it seems peculiar. We haven’t slept together since last month (exams and all), so I can’t really tell how much her body has changed.

June 12th

We landed in the early afternoon local time and then took a car to our hotel. Andi had apparently made the arrangements before we left. This city is a huge slum, I must say. While there are some signs of modernity, the trash, the beggars, the air and noise pollution, etc., are overwhelming. I couldn’t wait to arrive here as our hotel, at least, is clean and well-appointed. Andi says we’ll leave for her family’s home in the countryside late tomorrow morning, after we’ve had some breakfast.

June 15th or June 16th?

I don’t know how many days have passed, to be honest, so the recorded dates are only a guess. I was able to recover my journal, as it had been left in our rented car along with some of our luggage. I couldn’t carry the suitcases – even so, it wasn’t really an option – and instead grabbed a knapsack with my journal inside as I made my escape.

I question my sanity after the events of the last several days. I need to write this all down, as I’m not sure what I believe that I witnessed really happened. We left for Andi’s family’s home before noon on the 13th and drove for several hours. The driving was hard going as it’s monsoon season and the waterlogged dirt roads are treacherous.

When I wrote earlier that I suspected Andi’s family was wealthy, I wasn’t wrong. Her family’s “home” is more of a palace, but one shrouded by the surrounding jungle. The isolation is due to her family’s lineage, Andi explained when we arrived. It was only later that I found out exactly what that meant.

We were greeted by servants at the gates, who then parked our car in the circular driveway. Her parents were genial and seemed genuinely happy to see me. We ate an early dinner in the dining room and then settled into a room that could probably be considered the parlor to discuss wedding plans.

Her father, who when not speaking seemed very stern, eventually said that the wedding must take place there, in the family home, and that relatives and friends would attend. I asked him when the wedding would take place, and he said “tonight.”

Needless to say, I was taken aback. Andi had never mentioned any plans for a wedding so soon. I also didn’t see any other guests anywhere in the house. When I asked about them, Andi only said the wedding guests were “downstairs.”

After our conversation, Andi and her father withdrew from the parlor and seemed to disappear. I spoke with Andi’s mother for a while, who mostly asked me about medical school and some other personal matters, and then she left as well, saying the servants would fetch me soon.

I roamed the halls near the parlor, noting the unusual décor. The paintings on the walls were not what I had expected; one appeared very old, and showed a snake charmer playing his flute, a cobra rising from its basket at his command. Nothing in the home’s art revealed the family’s religion, and Andi had never said what faith she practiced, if any.

A servant appeared, an old man, who said he would lead me to the reception. I passed a window as we left the hallway; night had fallen. The man opened a heavy door leading to stairs, and I followed them down to a narrow hall that wound beneath the house, ending in yet another door and then another hallway. At the end of the second hall was a burning torch in a wall fixture, dimly illuminating a third and final door. The man took the torch from its holder and opened the door, gesturing for me to enter this dark place.

I walked out onto the plateau of a cavern, one which spread out before me. The servant stood behind me with his torch, making sure I didn’t try to leave as he closed the door. Below us were dozens of people, the “wedding guests,” all holding lit torches of their own. We made our way down a flight of stone steps to the bottom of the high-vaulted cavern, a dais made of the same harsh stone rising at its center.

Andi’s father appeared from among the crowd, his eyes and cheeks daubed with white paint in some ceremonial fashion. There were two circles around his eyes joined together by a curved line that ended at his chin. I then noticed that every member of the gathered throng displayed these same face-painted spectacles.

He held out his hand to me, saying, “Here is the groom. Come to me, my son, take your seat and meet your bride, my daughter.” Above me, on the stone dais, was a high-backed chair, a kind of throne. Andi’s father led me to the chair and I sat down, not knowing whether they were mad or whether this really was some strange foreign custom.

Andi’s father then said I belonged to an ancient bloodline, one apparently associated with many places I had never even heard of (where is Lemuria?). He daubed my face with the same white paint he and the guests wore, making the same two circular marks and connecting line.

As he finished his work, I heard the sound of something large moving from the shadows beyond the light of the torches, something slithering on its belly. An enormous brown snake appeared before the dais, rearing its head and flicking its forked tongue as I gazed up at it. The hooded snake was easily thirty feet long and heavy-bodied, long enough to wrap itself entirely around the dais where I sat.

I don’t quite remember what happened next. I perhaps screamed or tried to flee—there’s a black spot in my memory. My mind… Where was Andi? I was then held by two men, one on each arm, restraining me as the snake coiled itself at the foot of the throne. It watched me, its reptilian eyes devoid of any feeling, yet somehow intent.

The female snake began to lay its brood of eggs, one after the other, into the soil gathered in a loose pile on the dais.

Nearby, at the dais’s edge, was a copper vessel of some kind, something which could hold the newly laid eggs if needed.

Once the pregnant snake had laid its clutch, it hovered over me and fanned its hood as if beckoning the others.

The mob stepped onto the dais, shouting with joy, dancing wildly as if in celebration. They then began to chant—a strange song in a language I didn’t recognize, hypnotic, the monstrous snake swaying to its rhythm as the guests repeated its words again and again.

I was led away by the two men who had restrained me to a wood cage fitted with iron bars. They pushed me inside, one of the men locking its barred door. The crowd filed up the stone steps out of the cavern, a line of torches lighting their exit. My prison was not far from the dais, and I could see the snake coiled around its eggs. The men who’d imprisoned me hadn’t searched me thoroughly. I had my multi-tool pocket-knife, something I always keep with me. The snake looked asleep around its eggs, or at least supine.

I reached through the bars of the cage and worked its old lock with my pocket tool’s short blade. The lock clicked, and I cautiously eased open the door. Several torches in holders still threw light about the cavern, and I reached for one of them as I approached the sleeping snake.

I struck the snake with my fiery torch. It recoiled in shock, slithering away from its eggs and then falling off the dais. I leaped down after it, swinging with the torch, the snake trying to strike but being beaten down by the fire as I struck again and again. I took my knife and stabbed into its eye, pulling the blade free and stabbing again, cutting its head and throat until, finally, it was dead. The snake made no sound as it lay on the cavern floor, dark blood oozing from its wounds in the faint torchlight.

The brood of eggs. I scooped up the soil around them with my hands, dumping it into the copper vessel until it was mostly full. I carefully put the multitude of eggs into the container, making sure each of the so, white ovals was unbroken and secure. Were these my children? Was that the snake that I had just killed? Was that Andi? My mind…

The door from the cavern was unlocked. I made my way down the halls, vessel in hand, leaving the nighttime house as both its owners and their servants slept or celebrated or plotted, I know not which. Andi had driven us here, so I had no keys to our car. But its doors were open, so I

grabbed my knapsack and fled into the jungle. I’m not sure where I am now. They may be looking for me. I managed to find a palm hut after only a few hours of stumbling through the underbrush, and it’s here where I write in this journal. I need to keep the eggs warm. When they hatch, I’ll be able to be with them—my children—in their nest. So many of them.

It’s raining outside, so hard I can scarcely hear myself think. How long will it take? I don’t know. Sometimes I think I hear Andi’s voice, calling to me from the darkness outside. Isn’t she dead? All I can do now is wait and hope they don’t find me. Not before my children hatch.