Worms

This post is in response to the 100 Days of Writing challenge I’m doing with the L.A. Writer’s group, where I will try to write 200 words (minimum) a day to get back into the writing groove.

The prompt was narration of a time when I believed something ridiculous someone told me. This is actually a true story.

——

“Don’t walk on the grass, or the worms will getcha!” my friend’s dad told me.

Worms? What’s all this talk about worms?

“How will they get me?” I asked him.

He looked at me straight in the eye as he whispered. “These are special worms. They can eat through the soles of your shoes and crawl inside your body!” he shuddered.

My six-year-old self doesn’t even remember if I’ve ever seen a worm, much less one that could burrow through your shoe and into your foot, but I’m not taking any chances.

I carefully walked around the grass as I made my way to the front door to go inside. I took one long look at the green, spiky growth and back at Mr. Oswaldo. He answered my unasked question with a nod.

“They’re real. I even managed to catch one a while ago.” He’s pointing to something on the windowsill by the door.  It’s too high up for me to see clearly, so he reaches up and pulls down what looks to be a jar filled with a brownish liquid.

“I actually caught two, and put them in here to show people, to warn them.” He held out the jar towards me and I felt my heart hammering in my little chest.

In the jar, floating were two long, brownish things. They look like what I understand worms are supposed to look like.

Is there something in particular that marks them as shoe-eating worms? I wondered.

How come they only live underneath the front lawn?

I had more questions but I didn’t dare ask. I already knew I’d be having nightmares about the worms. I could feel it. I kept quiet as he put the jar back on its high ledge.

“Just remember,” he tells me again, “no matter what you do…”

He ushers me inside so I can go play.

“Never, ever walk on the lawn…”

And I never did.