Centipedes. Not the small, screech-inducing bugs I’d glimpsed scurrying across the floor of the storage closet back at Eli’s cottage. These are a giant variety I’ve never seen, never even fathomed, except perhaps in legends of old. Each as long as a horse and as wide as a barrel, with hundreds of legs jutting from either side of their armored insectile bodies. A pale, putrid white hue, they remind me of maggots. And they reek—an acidic stench that stings my nostrils and makes my eyes water.
Disgusting
