One morning, I got out of bed and noticed that there was a slight itch on the back of my head. I ran my fingers through my hair and felt a tiny bump resting on my scalp. "What is that?" It stung when I touched it. Maybe it was a bug bite? I went on with my day, ignoring the small blemish on the back of my head. No one would see it anyway.
I won't touch it.
Later on in the evening while I was eating dinner, the bump began to itch again. I had already forgotten about the bump as the day went on but was instantly reminded when the itching started again. I pressed my index finger against my scalp and felt for the bump. It felt bigger than it did that morning. I scratched and it helped relieve the itching. When I took my hand away, I noticed a bit of blood and tiny flecks of skin under my fingernail, then I put my hand back to the bump to see if I was still bleeding. There was a bit more blood but I managed to stop the bleeding quickly by pressing a tissue against it.
Maybe I shouldn't touch it anymore.
When I woke up the next morning I immediately lifted my hand to the back of my head and felt the hair around the bump. My hair felt slightly damp with blood that left a ring around the bump which had scabbed over. The scab was flaking up and away from my scalp. Almost instinctively, I dug my fingernail under the edge of the scab and pulled it up from the wound. It hurt but for some reason, I didn't want to stop. I kept lifting the small bit of scab from my scalp, felt a little drip of blood, and then peeled it off completely. I brought my hand around to my face to get a look at the scab that I had ripped off. It was small, dark, and dry with a little blood decorating it.
I really shouldn't pick at it.
The next day, the wound was even bigger, almost the size of a dime. It had scabbed over again overnight and felt dry and flaky to the touch. I couldn't help myself. I once again dug my fingernails under each flaky layer and scratched the scab off again. This time there was no blood, just an open wound, and I could feel the raw and wet flesh. I noticed that the scab had stopped itching, it was now just painful. I stood with my back turned to my bathroom mirror while I held a small mirror in my hand to see if I could see the wound. I had to lift up my hair but I could see it. It was there and it looked pink and inflamed. All I could do was sigh and urge myself to stop.
It'll just get worse if you don't stop.
I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. My head was pounding and the skin on the back of my head felt like it was burning. I got out of my bed and stumbled into the bathroom, meeting my pale reflection in the mirror. I ran my fingers through my hair and down to the wound and felt something weird. The wound felt deeper. It felt mushy. Then I felt a hard pinch at my fingertip. I gritted my teeth as I pulled my hand away quickly. "What the hell?" I groaned. There were marks on my finger, not deep enough to draw blood but deep enough to break the skin. I grabbed the small mirror from the countertop to check the back of my head. I lifted up my hair and in the reflection, I saw a tiny mouth with sharp little teeth.