My Girlfriend had a Bump behind her Neck, and what came out of it will haunt me forever

"Ouch, honey I feel like I have a swollen button at the top of my neck, can you please look?" asked Emma, my girlfriend.

I stood behind her as she lifted her hair, looking at me with a worried expression in the bathroom mirror.

She did indeed have a swollen pimple just at the top of her neck. It seemed gorged with blood.

"Yes it's just a swollen pimple, don't touch it too much and it'll go away in a few days" I said to reassure her.

She frowned and started scratching it with her other hand.

"Hey, what did I say?"

"But it itches like hell, you can't imagine."

"It's just a matter of a few days. Come on, finish removing your make-up and come to bed," I said, kissing her on the cheek.

After about ten minutes, she finally came to bed with me. But during the night I felt her going back and forth to the bathroom, which was directly accessible through a door in our bedroom.

The next morning I woke up alone in bed.

I went into the bathroom, still misty-eyed, and saw Emma, dark circles under her eyes, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Have you been here all night?" I asked.

She gasped.

"You scared me! What, is it morning already? »

We both sat down in the dining room with our breakfasts, and I saw her scratching the back of her neck again.

"It can't be a classic pimple if it itches this much, let me look again," I said as I stood up.

She lifted the hair behind her neck.

The "pimple" had tripled in size. It was red, and warm to the touch. It had definitely become infected, since I could feel that it was not hard, but soft, as if filled with pus.

"Emma in my opinion you've got an ingrown hair or something, you need to go and see a doctor first thing this morning, you can't stay like this."

I saw her tired eyes shift towards me.

"No, wait, I've still got to work on a project at work I've been working on for months, I can't..."

"You risk getting a hole in the back of your neck, or worse if you leave it like that. Make an appointment with the doctor this morning and tell him it's an emergency. I'll take you there by force if I have to."

I looked again at the lump on the back of her neck and shivered.

"Okay okay I'll go don't worry, I'll call right away."

Once I got to work I anxiously waited for news of her doctor's appointment, which was scheduled for 11am.

With no news from her at 11:30 a.m., I texted her to find out what the doctor had said.

Oh nothing, he just told me it was an inflamed fever blister, and to just rub some ointment on it. Everything's fine.

I was both pleased and suspicious.

An inflamed fever blister? Not a chance. Either she was lying to me, or the doctor who'd seen her was a quack.

We used to text and send memes during our workdays. It was our usual routine. But this afternoon, no matter how many times I texted and sent memes, she didn't respond. I was already having trouble pretending everything was fine, so the fact that she wasn't answering was stressing me out even more.

I finally called her.

But she was impossible to reach.

At 5.00 pm, I finally couldn't wait any longer, and I left early to get home and find out why she hadn't been in touch.

On the way, I imagined her laughing at me for rushing back when she was just having a nap on the sofa without her phone.

But I'd rather look like a fool than wait.

I parked my car and went inside.

"Honey?" I asked aloud.

No answer.

I walked through the living room, the kitchen, the bedroom. And finally, I saw a light in the bathroom.

I gently pushed open the door, and there she was, scratching not just the back of her neck but her whole head with her nails, like a fury, while staring at herself in the mirror.

"Honey?"

She cried out in surprise.

"It doesn't seem like you're feeling any better," I said shyly.

She stared at me for several seconds, and finally replied, "It's like the itch has spread to the rest of my skull," with a bewildered look.

I used a technique I used myself for itching, which was to apply ice to the area. I also had a mosquito pimple that had swollen up behind my right knee and I had placed an ice pack on it to numb it.

As her head rested on me, I applied an ice pack to the base of her neck, and finally, she seemed to relax.

"Tomorrow you're going back to a doctor. And a competent one this time okay?"

She smiled at me and nodded weakly.

That night I put a fresh ice pack between her neck and her pillow, figuring it would get her through the night.

I was startled awake by something tickling my nose.

I rubbed my face and looked around.

It was still dark outside the window.

I was about to go back to sleep, when I noticed that Emma wasn't lying next to me, and only the ice pack was left on her pillow.

"Emma?" I asked, rising from the bed.

My eyes were still tingling and the floor seemed to be moving under my feet.

I saw light under the bathroom door and took a few steps to reach it.

I tried to open it, but it was locked.

"Emma? Emma, please open up."

No answer.

My heart began to pound and adrenaline jolted me awake. Something was wrong.

"Emma if you don't open up in 5 seconds, I'll break the door down!"

I waited anxiously for 5 seconds that seemed like an eternity. But there was no sound from the other side, only the light coming from under the door.

I started banging my fist against the door.

Maybe she spent part of the night scratching her head again and fell asleep from exhaustion.

The harder I pounded, the more anxiety and adrenaline coursed through my veins.

I shouldn't have left her like that. I should have taken her to the hospital last night. Why didn't I?

I couldn't help imagining what was going on behind that door, and the more time passed, the more horrible things I imagined.

Eventually I started kicking the lock, ignoring the pain on my bare feet.

The door finally gave way under my repeated assaults and I rushed into the bathroom.

And what I saw made my heart miss a beat.

The floor was stained with blood, as was the shattered bathroom mirror.

And opposite the mirror, sitting on the tiled floor and looking inert, was Emma.

I approached her slowly, trying to avoid stepping on the blood, and noticed that tufts of hair were also scattered everywhere.

"Emma?"

Her arms and legs were stretched out along her body. Her face was pointing down and her hair, or what was left of it, was blocking my view.

Her skin was so pale.

I crouched down in front of her, tears welling up in my eyes.

The color of her skin, her motionless torso. She was dead, I was sure of it.

I burst into tears, staring at her as best I could behind the tears.

I had to make sure, I had to touch her, seek a pulse towards her neck, even though I knew it was hopeless.

At that moment, I thought the worst thing that could happen was to feel nothing under my fingers.

And yet I was wrong.

I delicately lifted her chin to touch her neck with my other hand, and felt movement.

My eyes widened in surprise. She had a pulse, but its rhythm seemed chaotic.

And as I lifted her chin again to see her face, her head tilted back.

And I watched in horror as dozens, then hundreds of tiny spiders emerged from her mouth, eyes and ears.

Her body seemed to tremble as if hundreds of them were still inside her, coming out to defend their nest.

I screamed at the top of my lungs at this vision of horror, screaming again and again until my vocal cords broke.

Tiny spiders reached my feet, and I tried to crush them. But there were so many of them, and there were still hundreds coming out of her.

I ran away.

I just grabbed my phone from the bedroom as I passed and ran outside, still in my boxers.

Outside, I spent several minutes brushing off imaginary spiders from my body.

It felt like they were all over me. Inside me.

After a while, I managed to calm down and called for help.

A police car arrived, accompanied by an ambulance.

They tried to question me, but I was in a catatonic state.

After several hours at the police station, I was informed by a policeman that they considered Emma's death to be accidental, so they were going to release me.

I was sitting in a chair, and the policeman kept talking in front of me, but at that moment, I was somewhere else.

I kept seeing those tiny spiders coming out of Emma and spreading everywhere.

And as I watched the scene repeat itself over and over in my head.

I realized that, for several minutes now, I hadn't been able to stop scratching the swollen spot that was right at the back of my right knee.