What if I Was a Worm? - Chapter 3 (Cyrus)

By the time the sun began to set in the distance, giving way to the brilliant illuminance of the fairgrounds, Cyrus was already sitting in his truck outside the gates, tapping an anxious beat against the steering wheel.

That is obnoxiously loud.

He sighed, removing his hand from the wheel to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I still don’t understand what you plan to achieve here. It’s not like you can enjoy the fair.”

It’s not about enjoying it, she answered. It all started here. The answers we need are here, I just know it. What’s the worst that can happen?

“I drop you. You get dehydrated. People see me talking to a worm. We don’t find any answers. You get stepped on. You get turned into something worse. The—“

Okay, jeez, take a breath. I’m already bloated from all the nasty dirt water, so as long as you don’t bend over again, I’ll be fine. And it’s 2026 for crying out loud, people will assume you’re wearing an AirPod if they see you talking. We’re just gonna retrace our steps. It’ll be quick and easy. In and out in a flash. Won’t take—

“Stop managing me,” he snapped.

Then suck it up, buttercup. Do you want to marry a worm?

His eyes narrowed. “Is this another test?”

For fuck’s sake, Cyrus. Yes or No. Do you want to stand beside my wormy body, before the altar, and kiss my pink ass—given that you can’t even tell which end is which?

He sighed, resigning himself to the knowledge that this point of contention would undoubtedly be brought up in every argument for the rest of their lives . . . until an epiphany struck.

“What if that’s the trick?”

The trick to what?

“Turning you back,” he mused, growing more excited as he considered the possibility. “True love’s kiss.”

Like the frog movie?

“Exactly.”

You want to . . . kiss me?

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

You turn into a worm and then we slowly roast to death as the sun rises tomorrow and your truck transforms into an easy bake oven.

“Alright.” He pursed his lips. “Let’s try the fair first.”

Yeah, she agreed saucily. Let’s do that.

Rolling his eyes, he popped the lid to the console and pulled her container out of its depths. He lifted it up before his eyes, noting the multitude of tunnels she’d dug.

“You’ve been busy.”

Only because you scattered the coffee every-freaking-where. You couldn’t just pile it up neatly in one corner?

“No, you needed to move around to get water.”

You needed to move around to get water, she mimicked, sotto voce.

“Alrighty.” He glanced up at the entrance, noting the lines beginning to move. “I’m coming in to get you now. Gates are opening.”

Finally. She hummed, poking one wriggling end through the surface of the soil. He chuckled softly as he reached forward and plucked her free, before lowering her gently into the breast pocket of his wool button up. It was too hot for such a heavy shirt, but it was the only one he had in his closet with a buttoning flap over the pocket. He’d learned his lesson.

Oooo, I love your face, she mumbled, having located the pinch of coffee grounds he’d added to his pocket for her to snack on.

The lady behind the glass window eyed him suspiciously as he stepped up to her booth, cash in hand. Her narrowed gaze flicked to the breast pocket he kept touching and he dropped his hand back to his side, averting his gaze.

You’re acting suspicious aren’t you?

“No.” He blinked when the lady raised her brows at his outburst, her hands pausing as she counted out his change.

Lia’s laughter rang in his pinkening ears as he stammered over his words. “I— uh, sorry. I meant no . . .” His gaze landed on the cash still held loosely between her fingers. “Change. No change. Thank you.”

Cyrus accepted his ticket, choosing not to dwell on the ten bucks he’d just forfeited in his panic, as he tried to remember which direction they’d gone after the roller coaster. A row of twinkling lights blinked to life above his head, and brought with them the memory of how Lia had stared up at them like they were magic, a warm smile brightening her expression as she’d pulled him along the path.

He could almost feel the tug of her hand in his as he followed the memory of their steps, ducking into the same hidden alcove between two tents where he’d given her the ring.

“We’re here,” he said as he pulled to a stop, glancing around at their surroundings. The glimmering mirage of the memory faded and he found himself simply standing in a cramped corner, with weeds twining around his ankles and the neighboring tents encroaching on his personal space.

Are you sure it’s the right spot?

“Yes.”

Let me see.

“You don’t even have eyes,” he pointed out dryly as he unbuttoned the pocket, pulling her out into his palm.

Psh, I have those photo things you were reading about.

“Photoreceptors.” The ability to sense light and dark. Not much help in their shadowed corner beneath the blackened new moon, but he was smart enough to keep those thoughts to himself. He simply raised a brow as he stared down at her in his palm. “So . . . how’s it look?”

She was quiet for a beat, just as stubborn as always. Yep, this is the spot.

“Great.” He glanced around, not seeing anything that stood out. “So . . . what now?”

Now you answer one very important question.

“Yeah?”

What if . . . I was a worm?

Cyrus shook his head, exasperated, teetering right on the line between laughter and hysteria. “Lia, I don’t know what the fuck is going on. I don’t know what to do next and I certainly don’t know what tomorrow will look like. I don’t even know if my outfit works since you weren’t there to style it. And I sure as fuck don’t know what I ever did to deserve a woman like you. But if there is one thing I do know, without a shadow of a doubt, it’s that I love you. I don’t care if you have legs or arms or if you’re a fucking worm. I’ll love you and protect you and carry you around in my pocket for the rest of my life, feeding you coffee grounds until you shit espresso, if that’s what you need. I’m yours, for as long as you want me.”

That . . . Lia sniffled. That was a good answer.

“It sure was,” a wispy voice called out from the dark end of their hiding spot, on the opposite end from the fairgrounds. “I almost feel bad to tell you now that it doesn’t make a difference.”

“Who’s there?” Cyrus called out, swiftly tucking Lia back into his pocket and buttoning the flap despite her muffled objection.

“A friend,” the voice responded, stepping just beyond the shadows to reveal a willowy woman with thick, knee-length blonde hair almost completely obscuring her thin frame.

“You turned my fiancé into a worm and you call yourself our friend?”

Yes, let’s piss the witch off, that seems like a surefire way to get my body back.

The stranger tilted her head back with a cackle. “My name is Elda.” She smiled, revealing a multitude of missing teeth. “And I had need for a small creature to complete a task of mine. I happened to overhear your conversation last night, and, well— let’s just say it was inspiring.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Cyrus gritted out between clenched teeth.

Calm down, Lia hissed. You can hear me, Elda?

“Yes, child.”

Tell me about the task.

Elda clapped her hands excitedly. “It’s all quite simply actually. There’s a gopher, hiding several feet below where we stand, and I simply need you to deliver him a message.”

That’s it? Just find the gopher and deliver a message?

“That’s it.”

And then you’ll change me back into a human?

“On my cauldron, I swear it.”

Alright.

“Alright? Alright?” Cyrus repeated. “How about fuck no? How do we know she’s not just sending you as a snack to the gopher?”

“Gophers are strict herbivores,” Elda noted.

“Fine. Turn me into a worm then.” Cyrus demanded. “I’ll do the task.”

Elda tsk’ed. “Unfortunately, the spell requires a sunrise to go into effect, and I plan to be long gone by dawn.”

“Then, just— No.” Cyrus shook his head. “Lia can stay a worm.”

Excuse me?

“Being a worm is better than being dead or lost or who knows what else can happen down there.”

How about you speak for yourself, Mr. homo sapien. All I gotta do is dig a hole. You already complemented me on my quick digging skills. Calm your tits.

His eye twitched as he blew out a long breath, glaring at the witch who had turned her gaze to the side, eyeing her three-inch long nails as she allowed them to bicker in peace.

“Will she be safe?”

“Safe enough.” Elda shrugged. She glanced at his expression and sighed. “She probably won’t die.”

“Probably won’t die,” Cyrus repeated. “You hear that, Lia? You probably won’t die.”

Sounds like good odds.

He choked, at a complete loss for words as his heart galloped in his chest, bringing him closer and closer to the brink of a panic attack.

Cyrus, Lia’s voice softened. I will come back. I promise.

He pulled her back out from his pocket, intending to argue further, but his eyes had adjusted to the low lighting and he was just able to make out the pink splotch at her back end. She’d wiggled reactively when the cool pen had touched her, causing the tip to pull to the right, leaving a trail that reminded him of a tiny little jellyfish. The mark centered him. Reminding him that this was Lia. The Lia who always blazed her own path. Who always came out on top. She wouldn’t fail.

He looked up to Elda. “She needs to dig here?” he asked, tilting his head toward the ground at their feet.

“No, let’s move behind the tent. He’s likely tunneled further from the path of the fairgrounds.”

Cyrus followed her around to the back, stopping when she paused at the base of the tree line.

“Here works,” she said.

He nodded, lowering himself to sit by a particularly loose section of soil and digging out a few handfuls to get Lia started, before lowering her down into the divot he’d carved.

“The gopher’s name is Lukas,” Elda said. “And I need you to tell him that Elda said she was sorry.”

Right, Lia mumbled. Tell Lukas, the gopher, that Elda, the witch, is sorry. That makes sense.

Cyrus could feel the hesitation in her thoughts, and he couldn’t help but throw out one final offer— “It’s okay if you change your mind, Lia. We could have her turn me tonight too and then we could just both be worms.”

“Ooo, you got yourself a good one, Lia.” Elda sighed.

Yeah, I know. I’ll be back. Then she burrowed, disappearing swiftly into the soil below.

For a while, Cyrus just listened as she kept up a steady cadence of internal monologue, remapping her dig a dozen times after coming across smells that she deemed suspicious. She began humming the Dig a Tunnel song from Lion King, then remixed Dory’s famous ditty into Just Keep Digging. She was just reaching the crescendo for the eighth time when her voice cut out, her mind going eerily silent.

Cyrus sat forward, listening intently. “Lia? What’s wrong?”

There’s another worm, she answered, her voice cast low and distant—far, far away. Our paths just intersected and . . .

The words trailed off, but the thoughts continued to filter through. Awareness of the creature, caution as she evaluated it for danger, and a sudden, unbearably fierce instinct to . . . mate.

“LIA!” He bent forward, panic coursing through his veins as he shouted into the itty bitty hole she’d left behind. “DO NOT FUCK THAT WORM.”