Worms (Patreon)

I don’t know exactly what got me started. I mean, I’d walk to school with my big sister and her friends, and when it would rain they’d be all over the place. They’d comment on how gross they were and how they hated seeing them, so it seemed only natural to kill them.

I know I wasn’t the only one stepping on worms. Most of us squished a few here and there, but I hunted them down and really stomped them. Michelle and her friends laughed and encouraged me--called me Sherry the Slayer. I wouldn’t let a single worm live. The penalty for being slimy and disgusting in our presence was being flattened under my feet, and the more it happened, the more I thought about it.

I liked the way they recognized me, and I started really looking forward to walks in the rain. I was always scanning the sidewalk, walking ahead of everyone as I hunted my helpless, ugly prey. I liked how my foot would slip a little when I stepped down on one of their wriggling, pink bodies. I liked the nasty smears they’d leave behind when I dragged my shoe back. I liked the bits that would stick in my tread and the raised shapes that they’d make if I just gave them one good stomp as we were walking by.

I started calling my rain boots my “crushers.” When it was time to go shopping for new shoes, I thought about how they’d look to the worms on the sidewalk. I thought about they’d feel underneath them, what they’d think as they saw me coming towards them.

I started humanizing them. I imagined they talked about me, that there were stories about Sherry the Slayer. I imagined they trembled with fear when they felt me stomping through the puddles, getting closer and closer.

I’d ask them. I’d stand over them and ask if they were scared. I’d ask them if they liked my shoes. I’d push my toes down on half of their body and grind it flat, and then I’d ask them if it hurt.

The more vicious and cruel I was, the more Michelle and the girls laughed. It didn’t take long until I wasn’t doing it for them. I’d go out hunting on my own, getting up early on Saturdays or wandering through the neighborhood in the late afternoon. I’d take my time with them, mocking them as I kicked them around. I’d gather up groups and and imagine them watching as I stepped on their siblings, their kids, their friends.

I guess I got tired of that eventually. I mean, I still step on every worm I see, and I definitely get some satisfaction from smashing them under my boots.

*****

I looked over the inch-tall man pinched between my forefinger and thumb. He’d been weeping uncontrollably since about the midway point of my story. “I just need something a little deeper nowadays. I need something more.”

I sat cross-legged on the floor and kept stealing glances at his mate and offspring, watching them struggle against the pieces of clear tape keeping them pinned to the ground in front of us.

“Nobody really knows if worms feel pain. They definitely don’t respond to my questions or experience emotions. They’re kind of boring, now that I can have little things like you.”

I reached down and pushed his tiny body into the underside of my sock. I wasn’t going to do anything to him yet, but I enjoyed feeling his desperate struggles as I slid him back and forth across my sole.

“You’re still worms, though. The only place for you is under my feet.” I uncrossed my legs and shifted a bit so I could slowly turn my foot towards the floor. It was easy to keep him in place until my knee was fully bent and he was completely trapped between the ball of my foot and the hardwood floor.

My thigh-highs weren’t very thick. I could feel his arms fighting against me, and his frantic screams created a pleasant vibration under my toes. I could have crushed him so easily, and I was absolutely tempted to, but that would have wasted our entire conversation. I knew how much pressure he could take before things started to crunch and snap. I knew how long he could last before suffocating beneath  my sock. Littles weren’t that hard to come by, and ever since I offered the neighbor kid a dollar for every one he found, I never seemed to go too long without someone to play with.

“Do you like my shoes?” I lifted my toes and let him free, and he barely had an instant to catch his breath before I’d demanded his attention. The footwear in question was within arm’s reach, and I slipped fingers inside the backs of them so I could pick them up and dangle them horribly close to his face.

These weren’t the sneakers and rain boots I’d worn years ago. These were patent leather platform stiletto heels, perfectly polished with straps and buckles gleaming in the soft light of my room’s single lamp.

These were my grown-up “crushers.” I laughed a little at that silly thought combined with the comical way my little man started vigorously nodding in a wild attempt to appease me. Of course he liked them. He’d like anything I told him to at this point, and that’s how I knew I was going to have a good night.

I left him on the ground while I lifted myself onto the edge of my bed. He didn’t dare move even though I took my time slipping my feet into my heels. I liked to savor the moment, enjoying an audience totally captivated by my lethal footwear.

“Good,” I buckled the last strap and rose up five inches higher than my usual full height. The man and his family were so far below me, so impotent and insignificant on the ground at my feet.

“Because one of these beautiful shoes is going to squish one of those worms over there, and I need you to pick which of them gets the privilege. Unless, of course, you want to see everyone smashed to smears.”

There was wailing and shuddering and shouts, but I knew he was going to choose. His only chance for salvation was obedience, and even if he was really only helping me determine an order for my crushing, it was still far more exciting just stepping on worms.

Besides, if he was good, maybe I really would keep him for tomorrow. Once he’d watched me wipe all their guts from my soles, it might be fun to see just how broken he could be.