Skin

Paul could hear someone screaming. It took him several seconds to realize it was his own voice he could hear.

The rash crawled down his legs as the spray from the shower tore away great strips of skin to reveal the dazzling kaleidoscope of color beneath. The drain at his feet quickly became choked with the discarded skin and the shower started to fill with water, slivers of pale flesh bobbing across its surface…tapping against his shins.

Filled with revulsion, Paul leapt backwards. His foot slipped, skidding sideways, and he fell out of the shower. He grabbed at the shower curtain, tearing it from the rail and dragging it down to the ground with him as he fell. Time slowed as he crashed into the bathroom floor, waves of pain reverberating through his shoulder. His head cracked against the tiles sending bursts of red and blue and orange across his vision.

The shower curtain had become tangled around Paul's legs. He could feel the cold, wet plastic clutching at his ankles. He kicked out, suddenly claustrophobic. Ignoring the pounding in his head and the screams of agony from his shoulder, he scrambled across the bathroom floor and away from the curtain's embrace.

Paul reached the door and pressed his back against it. He sat there panting, eyes closed, trying desperately not to imagine the rash spreading, growing relentlessly up his body towards his face. How long before it would reach his neck, his face, his mouth? Filled with trepidation, he looked down at his legs. A heady mix of confusion and relief rushed through his system.

The rash had gone.

Paul began to laugh. What an idiot. He'd imagined it. He was tired, stressed.

Then he felt something…someone…grab his ankle and drag him back towards the shower. His blood ran cold as he stared in shock across the bathroom. Where moments ago there had been an empty shower, now there was a man crouching beneath the spray. He was heavily muscled and naked, his skin a writhing mass of color.